Wuyishan Spiritual Diary: A Stream of Clear Water Reflecting Mountain Light!

Taking the evening high-speed train from Xiamen, my little cousin and I headed south, arriving late at night at the Sangudujia area in Wuyishan. We stayed at the Jinjiang Metropolo Hotel, which was clean and comfortable. Through the window, we could faintly see distant mountains, and the night breeze carried a refreshing scent of tea leaves and earth.

That night, we went to bed early, silently anticipating the encounter with nature the next morning.

Waking up early, sunlight filtered through the mist and into the curtains. The temperature was slightly cool, perfect for venturing into the mountains. Our first stop was the highlight of the trip: bamboo rafting on the Nine-Bend Stream.

We boarded a traditional bamboo raft, guided by an elderly boatman who paddled while softly introducing the scenery: "Nine bends and eighteen turns—this is the soul of Wuyishan."

As the bamboo raft gently glided into the stream, the world instantly quieted down. The water was so clear it resembled glass, reflecting the red sandstone cliffs and lush mountain shadows on both sides.

As we passed the first bend, the mist had not yet fully dispersed. The mountains were faintly visible, and the stream seemed to be shrouded in smoke. At that moment, I understood the meaning of "traveling within a painting."

The stream twisted along the mountain contours, and the boatman pointed out rock formations resembling "Eagle Beak Rock" and "Jade Maiden Peak." We said nothing, simply watching quietly, listening to the sound of water cutting through the air. Our hearts, like the stream, gradually became clear and calm.

After the rafting, we took a car to White Cloud Zen Temple halfway up the mountain. Along the way, clouds began to gather, the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and Wuyishan seemed gently wrapped in mist.

Walking up the stone steps to the temple, we saw its roof submerged in a sea of clouds from afar, as if the entire temple was floating in the heavens.

White Cloud Zen Temple was not as grand and ornate as imagined; instead, it was understated and ancient, quiet like an elderly sage in deep thought. Following the pilgrims, we slowly ascended to the observation deck beside the temple, known as the legendary Cloud Sea Viewing Point.

Standing above the clouds, distant mountains emerged like islands in a sea of mist. As the wind stirred the clouds, time seemed to pause.

After leaving White Cloud Zen Temple, we chose a less-traveled path down the mountain. This hidden trail, known locally and humorously nicknamed "Internet-famous Moss Path," was a secret gem.

Thick moss covered both sides of the stone steps, and the moist air made the ground glisten, as if stepping into a fairytale forest.

Birdsong echoed through the woods, and sunlight filtered through the trees, casting beams onto the moss-covered stones. Time felt elongated. We said little along the way, listening only to the sound of our footsteps on the mossy ground—a sound more comforting than any words.

Emerging from the forest, the afternoon sun was slowly setting. Looking back, the mountain, the stream, the clouds, and the mossy path seemed to still echo our footsteps and breaths.

Returning to the hotel, we packed our bags, preparing to head to Fuzhou.

A thought lingered in my mind:

"The mountain speaks no words, yet it always understands."