I intended to eat and visit some temples, but I wasn’t sure whether to pay for the room another day. If I figured out why I was here and where I needed to go next, I’d leave. Otherwise, I’d stay.
While eating, a Chinese couple kept looking at me. They assumed I couldn’t understand Mandarin, and though they spoke low, I caught enough of their conversation to grasp their wonder at my red hair. Finally, the woman came to my table and, in stilting English, asked if she could touch my hair.
I replied in Chinese. “Yes, of course. What brings you to Nányuè?”
“To see the mountain. The temple. You speak Mandarin!?”
“Have you seen it yet?”
She nodded. “Yesterday, and we stayed on the mountain to see the sunset. You are here alone?”
“No. My daughter came with me to China. Is this the only place you’re visiting?”
“Next, we are going to Guìlín and then Yángshuò.”
“Oh. The Li River is the most beautiful place on Earth. I know you will love it.”
“You have been?”
“Yes, and I would love to return.” I tell all Americans about the little Italian restaurant in Yángshuò, because Chinese people don’t understand how tired we Americans get of eating Chinese food day and night, every morning, every evening — and it isn’t just that it’s the only thing you can get in a restaurant, because the ingredients for western dishes are nearly impossible to find in stores. The first time I found the little Italian restaurant in the middle of nowhere, I nearly cried.
Instead of telling this couple where to get Italian food, I talked to them about where they were staying, the time of day they departed on the river cruise, and whether they’d ever seen cormorant fishing before.
Over the next two days, I explored the multiple temples, parks, tourist spots, and sacred places — and heard about Guìlín several times a day. However, when I walked towards the train station to buy a ticket, The Monkey King appeared before me and walked in step with me.
“Does this mean I haven’t found what I came here for?”
Before Chaos was divided, Heaven and Earth were one;
All was a shapeless blur, and no men had appeared.
Once Pángǔ destroyed the Enormous Vagueness
The separation of clear and impure began.
Sometimes, Heaven arrives on Earth.
When it arrives on a mountain, it is worshipped.
I sighed and stopped walking. Everyone around us was still walking though, so I started again. Stopping on a sidewalk in China is like stopping on the interstate in Atlanta at five o’clock on a Friday. It isn’t a good idea.
“Pieces of the Pángǔ creation story remind me of Atlas, holding the world, except Pángǔ held the sky.” I tried to remember more. “Clear and impure — yin and yang, right?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Which is Yin? The sky or the Earth? Which is Yang?”
No answer.
“Either way, the meteor on the mountain is the dot in the symbol.” In English, I added, “Sort of.”
Sūn Wùkōng carried his staff. He wore yellow flip-flops with huge red flowers glued to the tops, yellow pants with green polka-dots, a solid red silk or satin pullover blousy shirt, and a yellow sash around his waist.
I wore black microfiber crop pants, a lavender wicking shirt, and sport sandals.
“Can I call you Monkey, or should I say Sūn Wùkōng? Or something else?”
“Monkey is fine.”
“Would you like to accompany me back up the mountain? I’ll pay for us to ride the cable car.”
Never invite The Monkey King to ride a cable car with you. He decided it would be great fun to make it swing all over the place. I nearly threw up, and I wasn’t the only one.
I went straight to the meteor, walked close, circled it, and walked as far away as I could get while on the same level. It resembled an egg in a cup, a little. Pángǔ was born of an egg. So was Monkey.
“And what would come out if it hatched?” I asked myself in English.
I’d researched the area from an internet café, and nothing online talked about this rock being a meteor. The locals all knew it, and I heard guides telling people while I stood nearby, but I couldn’t find a single place that mentioned it online.
When I’d been here before, it’d looked like a meteor. Now, it looked like a boulder. What was the truth?
I’d been to two sacred mountains now. The other holy mountains in China are either sacred to Buddhists, or sacred to Taoists. This was the only one revered by both.
“You are thinking too much.”
I growled without thinking. “You aren’t helping.”
I looked down and noted my toenails were in horrid shape. I was traveling light and didn’t want to have to buy nail products. Perhaps I’d splurge for a pedicure later.
I looked back up to the meteor. Pángǔ supposedly died, and his body makes up the Earth and sky. How does the creation myth explain meteors? My eyes went to the sky, and I noted planes flying without the white trail behind them, like we see at home. I could take a picture and make conspiracists so freaking happy.
“We revere the unusual — things that break the rules and yet survive.” I told him.
“Revere them or despise them. Who decides?” Monkey asked in the same sing-song voice he’d used for the riddle.
He disappeared, and I shook my head, but answered in English. “Usually, the people in power decide. Sometimes, the people with no power fear what they don’t understand, and thus despise it.”
I walked to the temple, made my way through it, and was careful to be respectful. There are large boards you have to step over to move from room to room, called a threshold. In some temples, they’re a foot tall. I’ve asked why they’re there dozens of times, and have only received the same answer once — it slows down the rats. Others talk about it holding the energy of the room, or of making you lift your legs in respect to enter, and of ensuring you’re looking down in reverence when you enter. Also, that since ghosts shuffle their feet, it keeps them out. Oh, and for those wearing robes, lifting the legs so high often revealed hidden weapons, which was handy when warriors carried swords and long knives. Some say it keeps out evil spirits with bum knees. Everyone has a different answer. My guess is it has something to do with both energy and rats.
There was no place to meditate outside, so I kneeled in front of one of the statues with other worshippers, and breathed until I fell inside myself.
Later, I’d wonder if I felt the statue or the mountain, inhaling and exhaling. I felt a water system within the mountain, almost as a circulatory system in a human.
The meditation ended naturally, I settled some money with the other offerings in thanks for allowing me some peace to meditate, and I walked back to the crowded courtyard.
Monkey had disappeared without anyone seeming to notice, so I stepped into the nothingness and came out in my hotel room. I’d had my backpack with me on the mountain, but without my clothes or extra shoes. I put them in my backpack, checked out of the hotel, went into a restroom, and stepped back into the nothingness.
Mordecai was waiting for me this time — his feet shoulder width apart, his arms crossed. It was easy to see him as some kind of warrior god. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve been tasked with figuring out how to make a gateway between realms — to match up a particular place on Earth with a particular place on…” I shrugged. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you more.”
“And you’re consorting with Monkey?”
“Ummm. He was kind of assigned as a guide.”
He pulled me into his arms. “Kitten, ask yourself, would a wise man follow a fool?”
“If he knew the way, yes. Probably.”
I relaxed in his arms a few moments. It was good to be held. Safe.
But that wasn’t what this trip was about. I pushed away, and he let me.
“I appreciate you caring enough to check on me,
but I have a feeling this is a quest I have to do on my own.”
“I would point out, quests have as much to do with the journey as they do the destination.”
“So, I’m supposed to move between places the old fashioned way?”
“I don’t know, Kitten. If you need me, two quick trips through the void, back to back, will bring me. Safe travels.”
I nodded, but he disappeared before I could say anything else.
I stepped out of the nothingness onto the top of Fubo Hill in Guìlín. No one seemed to notice I’d just appeared. Interesting.
I took in the view, and began the long descent. I decided to treat myself to a night in a luxury hotel, and I took a taxi to the one I wanted. I arranged with the hotel for a boat-ride down the Li River in two days’ time. I’d explore Guilin the following day.
My evening was spent getting a massage and a mani-pedi. I also sent all my dirty clothes out to be laundered. This tourist doesn’t wash her clothes in a bucket of water when she’s vacationing, and that was what I was supposed to be doing, right?
The luxury hotel catered to westerners, so after a wonderful night’s sleep on the softest mattress ever, I was ready for Reed Flute Cave early the next morning.
I’d been on top of mountains a lot in recent days, perhaps it was time for me to be underground. Honestly, I didn’t see a whole lot I wouldn’t see at Ruby Falls back home, though I’ll admit the Chinese are better at lighting the various rock features.
Still, I worked hard to experience the cave.
Guìlín is full of beautiful parks, and I spent time in several. It was the first decent-sized city I’d been in since we’d left Changsha. I bought a lightweight folding keyboard so internet research would be easier on my phone, and a super heavy-duty battery. If I did the math right, I could charge my phone twelve times. It weighed a third of a pound, but it was totally worth the extra weight. I also bought a long charging cord, so the battery could stay in my backpack while I used my phone.
Words can’t describe how excited I was to leave my hotel on the morning of my Li River cruise. I’d splurged for one of the nicer boats, and I intended to sit on the top deck most of the trip. I’d once paddled my way down the river, but regulations have changed since then.
So, I’d experience the area from a boat today, and would arrange to hike through the area in the coming days.
Of course, the day had to start with a taxi ride from hell to get to the docks. I might have felt a smidgen better if the vehicle had seat belts, but without them, I was buffeted around the backseat. I tried to tell the driver I was more interested in getting there safely than quickly, but he either didn’t understand Mandarin (unlikely), or was a fucking sadist who got off on terrifying passengers. Either way, my legs were shaky when I exited the vehicle and paid him.
I made friends with a nice couple while we waited in the stalls to board our boat. They were from England, exploring China on holiday. They’d been married three years, didn’t have children, and he was a college professor. I was slightly squicked when I learned she’d once been his student, but I didn’t say anything.
I sat with them at a table and kind of acted as a guide. This would make my fifth cruise on a ship down the Li River. I’d also done portions of it on a bamboo raft, and I’d hiked most of the journey, back when it was possible.
What can I say about the most beautiful place on Earth? The mountains, the mists, the river, the people. Seeing pictures is breathtaking, seeing it in person is indescribable. My heart was at peace, my soul was full of wonder. Nirvana. Glory.
I wish I were a poet, so I could write sonnets about the true joy this little section of the planet brings me.
And then lasagna that night, followed by key lime pie, and heavenly biscuits and gravy the next morning with scrambled eggs. Life was, indeed, good.
In the following days, I hiked to the top of several karst mountains, and took more pictures than anyone would think possible in a single day. I wasn’t the least bit lonely — so into being a tourist and meeting new people, the fact I wasn’t lonely didn’t even cross my mind.
The Monkey King joined me a few times, but he never answered my questions. Annoying, but that’s Monkey.
On one such occasion, he pointed me to a cave I’d have never found otherwise. It only went perhaps forty yards into the mountain, and there were dozens upon dozens of holes leading out of the larger tunnel and room, but none large enough for a human. I went as far in as I could, and meditated a while, hoping I’d take away what I should from this place.
The little karst mountain was much smaller than others I’d been on — probably close to the size of Missionary Ridge back home. It seemed to breathe faster, once I was still long enough to sense it. There was no liquid circulatory system, but one of air because of the holes in the soluble rock. I sensed it would be liquid after a rain, with water flowing through as well as over.
My thoughts were all over the place on the hike back to town. I hoped I’d gotten the information from the small mountain that Monkey wanted me to grasp.
Meanwhile, I was looking forward to another dinner, because the food in Yángshuò is unlike any in the rest of China. On this day, I had spaghetti and bruschetta! French onion soup! I was in food heaven. I mean, don’t get me wrong — I love Chinese food, but day after day of it grows tiring.
I spent nearly a week in the area before taking a train to Zhāngjiājiè National Forest, where the mountains seem to grow into pillars.
I could recount the dozen-plus mountains I visited during the following months, but suffice it to say, I got into learning how to be a tourist. I also got a sense of which mountains breathed, and which didn’t seem to.
I’d set up an offshore bank account before leaving home, so I could access more funds once in China, if necessary. I ended up having to get more cash several times, and once I knew I could, I spent money to travel in luxury, and stayed in more five-star hotels.
I also stayed in hostels when it felt right. I wasn’t too good to sleep on a hard, wooden bed in a bunkroom, and I met the most interesting people when I did.
Through a long series of adventures, I found myself within a two-hour bus ride of the village I’d need to return to. I had six weeks until I’d need to collect Lauren and go home, and I still had no idea how to create a gateway, but The Monkey King didn’t seem troubled by my lack of learning. He showed up every once in a while, and either walked silently with me, or pointed me towards something — a cave, a play I should watch, a park, a restaurant. I’d met hundreds of people, and spent a few days with perhaps a dozen, at various times. My most interesting conversations had been with an archeologist at Xiàn, and a historian at the Jokhang Temple in Llasa. The archeologist had worked there, and had given me a bit of a behind-the-scenes tour. The historian, however, had been visiting Llasa, and the two of us, along with his boyfriend, had explored the city together.
I was certain I’d seen a gateway near one of the other temples in Llasa, but of course I didn’t mention it, and tried not to pay too much attention to it. If one existed, it was likely important it remain a secret.
I was full of conflict during my bus ride back to the village. Had I learned what I should? Was there somewhere else I could go to learn more?
13
I wanted to text Jūn Yí to let him know I was coming back into town, but wasn’t sure how to explain why I was there without Lauren.
I’d stopped in a city to buy a sleeping bag and small tent, as well as a larger backpack to put them in. I had enough food to last a week in the woods. Also toilet paper, and a journal. My main backpack came onto the bus with me, but I stowed the other in the luggage compartment.
When I finally arrived, I collected my things, put the big backpack on my back, the small one on my front, and walked to the edge of town.
I messaged Nathan, Aaron, and Cora that I’d be without cell service for an indeterminate amount of time, and gave them a date I’d contact them by — three days
before our flight home. I turned off the failsafe, turned off my phone, and made my way to the base of the mountain.
I set up camp close to the river, filled my four water bottles, and dropped a treatment tablet in each.
My small backpack went on my back, and I hiked to the spot where the gateway used to be.
Common sense said it would be easiest to put it where the rocks around it remembered the energy. Strategy told me I should put it somewhere else.
Still, I hoped the stones would share something with me. The rocks. The cliffs. The land.
If this were Pángǔ’s body, what part would it be? It seems a silly question, but it led to a train of thought that ended with me understanding how close the myth was to reality, if viewed allegorically.
I spent a week getting to know different parts of the mountain. Some days, I walked perhaps five miles. Others, I walked at least twelve. A few times, I carried a compact hammock with me and slept on the mountain, instead of at the base.
It was November, and chilly. Not impossibly cold at the base of the mountain, but I had to wear layers to sleep at the top.
Some days, I didn’t eat. Others, I ate very little. My week of food lasted three weeks, and I didn’t miss the calories. The mountain fortified me. Sustained me.
I talked to trees, I scaled cliffs, I bathed in the river on warmer days with lots of sunshine. I brushed my hair and teeth — and ignored all other upkeep.
One day, I hiked to the location I estimated the old temple would’ve been, and sat to look out over the valley. I leaned against a boulder, my butt on the ground, my legs crisscrossed.
Were the realms layered one over the other, like the pages of a book? Sophia had once told me the mountains in and around Chattanooga mirror a particular part of Faerie, but she said it wasn’t the case when you traveled away from the two areas. This would lead one to believe they weren’t layered one over the other everywhere else, but possibly in some places?
Edge of Humanity (Only Human Book 5) Page 10
