Ridge of Empty Valley Orchids: In Search of China's Contemporary Hermits (Part 10)
Mount Hua is not only beautiful in scenery, but has been an ideal place for hermits to cultivate themselves since ancient times. On our way up Mount Hua to visit hermits, we passed a stone with the words "Voice of the Crane" carved on its front. In Taoism, the crane symbolizes transformation, transcendence, freedom, purity, and longevity, making it a perfect representation of Mount Hua. But obviously, this crane has already flown away.
As Taoists claim, the historical form of Taoism may have originated at the Louguantai at the western end of the Zhongnan Mountains. But its prehistoric form flourished on Mount Hua at the eastern end of the Zhongnan Mountains long before that. For Taoists, the significance of Mount Hua even goes beyond prehistoric times, all the way back to the creation of all things.
In the beginning, chaos divided into yin and yang. Yin and yang divided again, becoming old yin, old yang, young yin, and young yang. These four forces interacted to produce all kinds of life. The first of these lives was Pangu. As soon as Pangu was born, he picked up a hammer and a chisel, and spent his whole life separating heaven and earth—the space in which we all now live. He did not take seven days, but 18,000 years. When he finally fell to the ground and died, his body transformed into the Five Sacred Mountains: his head became the Eastern Mountain, his arms became the Northern and Southern Mountains, his abdomen became the Central Mountain, and his feet became the Western Mountain.
After thousands of years of weathering, Pangu's feet gradually became like a flower blooming on a stone leaf, so early Chinese people called the Western Mountain "Huashan"—Flower Mountain. It bloomed in the heartland of China's earliest tribal civilization, and to this day, Chinese people still like to call themselves "Hua people." This term indicates how significant this mountain was to their ancestors.
Mount Hua has a special power that has earned people's respect. Its appearance is unique among the mountains. Climbing it requires great courage and great desire—not physical desire, but spiritual desire. Because Mount Hua is one of China's earliest spiritual centers, a place where shamans came to seek dreams. The Yellow Emperor was such a shaman; he climbed Mount Hua several times to converse with the immortals. Around 2600 BC, the Yellow Emperor rode a dragon back to the celestial realm, and his earthly power as leader of the northern tribal alliance passed into the hands of the White Emperor.
Although the White Emperor built his court far to the east on the Yellow River floodplain, one branch of his descendants still migrated near Mount Hua and began to regularly offer sacrifices to their revered ancestors who had been here. In the following centuries, the sage emperors Yao, Shun, and Yu all visited Mount Hua. The Zhuangzi records a visit by Yao around 2400 BC. During this visit, the administrator of the sacrificial center (fengren) admonished the sage emperor not to worry about his prayers for many sons, long life, and wealth:
"At first, I thought you were a sage, but now I see you are only a gentleman. Heaven gives birth to all people and must assign them duties. If you have many sons and assign them duties, then what is there to fear? If you are wealthy and share it with others, then what is there to do? The sage lives simply like a quail and eats without display, moves like a bird without leaving traces. When the world is well governed, he prospers with all things; when the world is not well governed, he cultivates virtue and seeks leisure. After a thousand years, weary of the world, he departs and ascends to immortality, riding on white clouds to reach the emperor's realm. The three calamities do not come to him, and his body is always free from harm—then what disgrace is there?"
—Zhuangzi, Chapter 12, "Heaven and Earth"
The place where this administrator—this Taoist of Mount Hua—admonished Yao was called "Huafeng," located about three kilometers east of present-day Huayin county town. Unfortunately, the last relics of this former sacrificial center were destroyed in 1958 during Mao Zedong's "Great Leap Forward" movement. Since then, Neolithic sites have been excavated here, and the place is now known for its Neolithic remains. Two other ancestral halls have also disappeared. One was built in the early Zhou dynasty, south of Huayin, and has now become Huashan High School; the other was built in the early Han dynasty, originally at the entrance of the nearby Huangfu Valley, and was washed away by floods several centuries ago.
The fourth and final ancestral hall was built around AD 160, just east of Huayin. It is known as the Xiyue Temple. I was told it is a magnificent monument to Chinese architectural craftsmanship. As one might imagine, its main hall enshrines the White Emperor. At some point 4,500 years ago, the descendants of the White Emperor became the guardians of Mount Hua. In addition to many buildings, the courtyard also contains a grove of fragrant cypress trees. It is said they were planted long before the original Xiyue Temple was built. The entire temple is enclosed by a wall, and foreigners are not allowed inside. Over the past few decades, it has been used as a military barracks, which is probably why it survived the Red Guards.
It was now mid-August, the middle of the rainy season. After waiting a week in Xi'an for the weather to clear, we decided to take a chance. After traveling 120 kilometers in four hours, we saw a muddy mountain road stretching toward Mount Hua. Here, we could see blue sky.
We threw our clothes into a cheap inn and set out to explore. After running the gauntlet of two rows of tourist souvenir shops, we entered the main gate of Yuquan Yuan. Yuquan Yuan is a Taoist temple built in the mid-11th century in honor of Chen Tuan. In the 10th century, Chen Tuan had lived in seclusion here. His Wuji Diagram inspired the early Neo-Confucian scholars, and in addition, he practiced Taoist meditation, able to maintain a sleep-like trance for months at a time, which brought him considerable fame. In a small cave west of the temple, a reclining statue of Chen Tuan is still enshrined. We donated only a small amount of money, and the old woman in charge of the main hall let us in. We reached out and touched Chen Tuan's stone statue—since it was carved in AD 1103, countless hands must have touched it, so that it now looks and feels like polished black jade.
Nearby there is a pavilion, built by Chen Tuan on top of a rock. In front of this rock, Chen Tuan once planted cuttings from the kind of tree under which the Buddha was born—according to a Taoist story, after Laozi returned to his native land, he was reborn as Sakyamuni—and now only one remains, still living in solitude. Clearly, the Red Guards back then thought they had completely eradicated these four trees, but now new shoots are sprouting from their gnarled, withered stumps.
Just outside the entrance to the main hall, a stone stele carved with a depiction of Mount Hua caught our attention. It was broken in the middle, but we strained to study it carefully, as if we could reach over the protective railing and see through the dust on its surface. If this mountain really looked as it was depicted, then Stephen and I would both need to lose weight.
On the east side of the courtyard foundation, we stopped again before a stone stele, which stood close to another rock. This is one of the many tombs of Hua Tuo. Hua Tuo was China's greatest medical genius, who died in 207 AD at the age of 97. Hua Tuo once lived for many years in a cave on Mount Hua. He also gathered medicinal herbs here—and to this day, Mount Hua remains famous for these herbs: a special variety of mountain ginger, ginseng, Asarum, and calamus, among others. The use of acupuncture techniques and surgical operations based on cannabis-derived anesthetics were two of Hua Tuo's many achievements. In addition, the creation of the Five Animals Exercise is attributed to him, which later laid the foundation for the basic styles of Chinese martial arts. Although Hua Tuo repeatedly declined official positions, he was still forced to treat Cao Cao's chronic headaches (Cao Cao usurped power in the late Han Dynasty). When he refused to continue treatment, Cao Cao ordered him killed, to prevent Hua Tuo from revealing his health condition to his many enemies.
Past Hua Tuo's tomb, outside the eastern wall of Yuquan Temple, there are two small Taoist temples. The first is the Twelve Grottoes Temple, where most wandering Taoist priests stay. We passed through its rusty iron gate and walked another hundred meters, entering the brick-and-wood gate of the Immortal Maiden Temple. A Chinese friend in Xi'an had once told us that this was where Priest Xie lived. When we found him, he was propped up on his bed, using a heat lamp to warm his knees to treat arthritis. He was once famous for his martial arts, but now he even had some difficulty walking. His room contained two wooden beds pushed together, with a mosquito net hanging above them (the rooms of the other Taoist priests were also arranged this way; they meditate, study, and sleep on their beds). There were also two trunks containing books and clothes, as well as a table, two folding chairs, and a new color TV (a gift from the provincial government for his contributions to cultural preservation). On the wall there was also a calligraphy scroll with the character "endure" written on it. After introducing ourselves, I offered Priest Xie a cigarette and lit one myself. As we smoked, he told me the story of his life.
Priest Xie's parents were originally from Shandong Province, and during the years of poor harvests in the Qing Dynasty, they moved south to find a way to make a living. He was born in Anhui Province, and when he was still in his teens, he became a monk. After the standard three-year apprenticeship, he came to Mount Hua to cultivate himself. When we met, he had just turned 80 and had already lived on Mount Hua for 60 years. Apart from a bit of arthritis in his knees, his body was exceptionally strong, and his mind was as clear as the sky after a long rain. I asked him questions about Taoism.
Xie: Laozi said, cultivate stillness and impartiality. Be natural. Being natural means not forcing things. When you act naturally, you will get what you need. But in order to understand what is natural, you must cultivate stillness. As a Taoist center, Mount Hua has long been famous for its quietness. In the past, there were many hermits here, but now the mountain has developed tourism. The tranquility is gone, and so are the hermits.
Question: Where did they go?
Xie: That's hard to say. Hermits want to be alone, so they are not easy to find. They prefer seclusion. Some of them returned to the cities. Others moved deeper into the Zhongnan Mountains, where it is still quiet. But even if you find them, they may not be willing to talk to you. They don't like to be disturbed, but prefer to sit in meditation. They are not interested in conversation. They might say a few words to you, then close the door and never come out again.
Question: But they have to eat. They will eventually come out, won't they?
Xie: Not necessarily. Sometimes they eat once a day, sometimes once every three days, sometimes once a week. As long as they can nourish their inner energy, they can live well without needing food. They might enter meditation for one day, two days, a week, or even several weeks. You might have to wait a long time before they come out again.
Question: Aren't they interested in teaching others?
Xie: They are. But before you can teach others, you must first cultivate yourself. Before you teach anything, you must first understand it. You cannot explain inner cultivation just by relying on words you have seen in books. First, you must figure out what they mean.
Question: If people cannot learn the Way from hermits, then can they learn from the Taoist priests in the temples?
Xie: You cannot learn anything just by visiting temples. You must stay in the temple for at least three years and do the daily chores. If you can endure this hardship, then after three years, you can ask a Taoist priest to be your master. This is not easy. You must have a clear mind and a pure heart. As I said before, only after at least three years of physical training will your mind become still enough to understand the Way.
Question: When you lived on the mountain, you must have needed some things from below. How did you get them?
Xie: We carried everything up ourselves. When I was younger, I often went up and down the mountain. Now, tourists sometimes give money to the Taoist priests, and the priests pay others to carry things up, so they can devote themselves to cultivation.
Question: Has the number of Taoists living here changed greatly?
Xie: When I first came here, there were forty or fifty old masters on the mountain, more than two hundred Taoist priests and priestesses, and countless young apprentices. Now, only a few remain here.
Q: What happened to them all?
Xie: Some died. Many left. And many more returned to secular life.
Q: How about the temple?
Xie: The temple is crowded with tourists. Everything has changed. Now the tourism bureau manages the temple.
I asked Master Xie whether I could talk with Master Xing, the 90-year-old head of the Xiangu Temple. Master Xie suddenly became serious and said that it would not be convenient. Clearly, Master Xing had a problem—but not a health problem. On our way out, we saw Master Xing, who was giving instructions to a young man who had traveled all the way from Zhejiang Province to carve dragons and cranes for the temple. Stephen and I bowed and then left.
Later, Master Xie joined us for a simple dinner in our hotel room. He said that for Taoists, the development of Taoism itself was not getting better but worse. Across all of China, no more than 150 Taoist priests and priestesses could be called masters.
Two thousand years ago, Han dynasty historians said that during the reign of Emperor Ming of Han, the national population was about 50 million, and there were 1,300 registered Taoist masters. In other words, at that time the national population was one-twentieth of what it is now, yet the number of Taoist masters was ten times what it is today. This is indeed a sad state of affairs, but many Chinese people still call Taoism their national religion.
On the way back to the temple, Master Xie pointed out to us the door of the only place in the area where one could take a hot bath. It was a home for retired veterans, housing several hundred soldiers wounded in the border conflict with Vietnam. At the entrance, we bid each other farewell, and Master Xie, leaning on his cane, hobbled slowly back to Xiangu Temple.
Later, as Stephen and I walked back to the hotel in bright moonlight, I wondered whether Master Xie might be the last name on the long list of Taoists who had come to Mount Hua over the past five thousand years. That list includes Mao Meng, who came to Mount Hua more than two thousand years ago. After cultivating to the point of immortality, he rode a dragon into the clouds in broad daylight and disappeared. His descendants migrated to the eastern coastal province of Jiangsu, where on Mount Mao they built one of China's most famous Taoist centers. Flowers and wind are old friends. If the seeds of Mount Hua could reach eastern China, then they might also drift across the ocean.
The next morning, Stephen and I woke up in sunlight for the first time in over a week. We walked back through the courtyard of Yuquan Temple and began hiking up the valley toward the summit. Even after a week of continuous rain, the river water was still as clear as rippling glass, with no trace of silt, only granite pebbles and sand. The shamans' guidebook to mountains and rivers—the ancient Classic of Mountains and Seas—said that in a mountain near Mount Hua, there was a type of rock that could cure skin diseases if boiled in water for bathing. The sand in this river looked so white that it seemed capable of washing away all the dust of the mortal world.
It was midsummer, and the morning sun was already scorching. As we began our climb—which we later learned would take eight hours—we were glad to walk in the shade of the valley trees. A few kilometers later, at a place called Suoluoping, the valley opened up—Suoluoping was named after two giant "suoluo trees" that had once been planted there. Sakyamuni (whom some Taoists claim was the reincarnation of Laozi) entered nirvana between two such trees. Those two trees had once stood in front of a shrine on the western wall of the valley. A nearby hotel manager told us that they had been cut down during the Cultural Revolution. But the local gazetteer said they had been washed away in a flood in 1884.
Across the river, at a place called Xiaoshangfang, many caves had been carved into the eastern wall of the valley. Now the cave entrances were overgrown with weeds, clearly abandoned many years ago. Farther up was Zhongshangfang. During the Tang dynasty, the younger sister of Emperor Xuanzong once lived in one of the rock caves there. Higher still, in the clouds, was the cave complex of Dashangfang. According to the records of the Buddhist travel diarist Gao Henian, when he visited Mount Hua in 1904, all three places—Da, Zhong, and Xiao Shangfang—were inhabited by Taoist hermits.
We continued up the valley and stopped again at the foot of Maonü Peak. The peak was named after a young woman who had cultivated the Tao. This young woman, originally named Yujiang, once lived in a cave near Maonü Peak. In 210 BC, when Emperor Qin Shi Huang died, many of his concubines were selected to accompany him in the afterlife. Some concubines were chosen to serve as zither players, and Yujiang was one of them. But the night before she was to be taken to the emperor's mausoleum near Mount Li, an old eunuch helped her escape to Mount Hua.
Later, she met a Taoist master who taught her how to live by eating pine needles and drinking spring water, how to meditate on the Big Dipper, which is connected to human life, and how to walk the shamanic Yu steps. Through such practice, her body gradually grew long green hair, and people began to call her Maonü, the Hairy Woman. From then on, hunters would occasionally report hearing her zither music or catching a glimpse of a green figure flashing past near the peak where she once lived. I looked around. Apart from myself standing on a rock, there was only a blue-tailed lizard enjoying the morning sun.
A few hundred meters past Maonü Cave, the Mount Hua valley came to an end. We arrived at Qingke Ping, the site of the Eastern Taoist Temple. This small temple was a modern version of an ancient Taoist shrine, housing the Nine Heavens Mysterious Goddess. According to Taoist legend, she once taught the Yellow Emperor how to win in battle. As a result, the Yellow Emperor defeated Chiyou at the Battle of Zhuolu, a hundred kilometers northwest of Mount Hua, and became the founder of Chinese civilization.
Qingke Plain is also the midpoint between the entrance to the Huashan mountain valley and the summit. From Qingke Plain to both the foot of the mountain and the peak, the distance is 5.5 kilometers. But the remaining half is the most difficult to traverse. The mountain path seems almost vertical, and in some places, the slope of the hillside truly reaches 90 degrees. According to legend, in the 3rd century BC, King Zhaoxiang of Qin, in order to transport an ancient pine tree down from the summit of Huashan to make a huge chessboard, had craftsmen install a series of iron chains and ladders, which for the first time allowed ordinary mortals to enter Huashan. But shamans and Taoists had been climbing Huashan for hundreds of years before that—if not thousands.
The scene at Qingke Plain shows that when the author of the Classic of Mountains and Seas described Huashan as "cut sheer on all four sides, its height five thousand ren," he was not exaggerating. Passing Heart-Turning Stone, we began to climb higher, wondering how anyone could reach the summit without the aid of iron chains. I walked ahead and no longer saw Stephen. It was not until two hours later, when I looked back down at the dragon's back of Canglong Ridge, that I saw him.
During the Tang Dynasty, when the Confucian scholar and poet Han Yu visited Huashan, he had only climbed halfway up Canglong Ridge when he collapsed in fear. Like all scholars, he never forgot to carry his writing materials wherever he went. In despair, he wrote a farewell letter and threw it over the edge of the cliff. Eventually rescuers came and carried him down the mountain. From that time on, the path on Canglong Ridge was widened, and iron chains were installed on both sides for safety. Even so, when I was about to call down to Stephen, I suddenly fell silent, frightened by the thought—my voice would fall into the abyss and take me with it.
Through the binoculars, I saw Stephen startling several climbers. He had climbed over the iron chains to get a better angle for photographing Huashan's North Peak—whose rocky summit at that moment stood alone in the swirling mountain mist. Beside me stood three commercial artists from Guangdong, who, like me, were watching the same scene. Two of them were using oil paints, and the third was using pastels. Chinese ink was nowhere to be seen.
A few minutes later, I arrived at an archway, the Golden Lock Pass. It was the former entrance to the summit and the point where the mountain path began to fork. Priest Xie had once suggested that we spend the night in the small inn on the East Peak. So I chose the left fork. A few minutes later, I stopped to share a small watermelon with a porter. He made his living carrying goods up the mountain. He said the loads generally ranged from 40 to 50 kilograms, and each trip earned him 10 yuan, about 2 US dollars. I tried to lift his pack and it felt like it weighed a ton.
This was also where the belt of oak and pine forests began. I stretched out under the shade of the trees, watching the clouds in the sky, wondering where they had drifted from and where they disappeared into the realm of nothingness. Listening to the sound of the pines, I thought of Yu Boya and Zhong Ziqi. Whenever Boya played the qin, Ziqi could always tell what Boya was thinking: sometimes high mountains, sometimes flowing water. After Ziqi died, Boya smashed his qin and never played again. I thought that what the wind was thinking of now was the high mountains.
Finally, I stood up and climbed the remaining path to the Middle Peak. Like the North Peak, it was more of a promontory than a peak. In fact, Huashan has only three true peaks, but for reasons of numerology, the Middle Peak and the North Peak are often included as well. The Taoists like to use the concept of the Five Elements: metal, wood, water, fire, earth; white, green, black, red, yellow; west, east, north, south, center.
Because of the daughter of Duke Mu of Qin, the Middle Peak is also called Jade Maiden Peak. 2,600 years ago, the daughter of Duke Mu of Qin (Nongyu) came to Huashan with her husband. Her husband was named Xiao Shi, and he was skilled at playing the flute. After living on Huashan for several decades, she and her husband drank an elixir of immortality prepared with jade liquid and flew back to the realm of immortals. In memory of his daughter, Duke Mu built a temple here. It has been rebuilt many times, the most recent being in 1983.
From the Middle Peak, the main path to the East Peak descends along a long flight of steps, then ascends again along the eastern edge of the mountaintop interior until it reaches the East Peak. But there was also a shortcut, and I needed one. I turned back and took a fork leading to the Pavilion of Summoning the Phoenix. It was here that Duke Mu's daughter used to play the flute while her husband played the xiao, and the wind carried their music all the way down to the plain to her father's palace.
Looking south from the Pavilion of Summoning the Phoenix, I could see the handprint left by the giant on the East Peak—the one who pushed Huashan and Shouyang Mountain apart, allowing the Yellow River to turn east and flow into the sea. Scanning the valley below with my binoculars, I spotted a small thatched cottage hidden among the bamboo groves. I decided to ask about it later.
Dragging my weary body, I climbed the last stretch of iron chains to the back gate of a temple—now a hotel—just below the East Peak. While checking in, I asked the manager about the small thatched cottage I had seen far below in the Huangfu Valley. He said it belonged to a farmer. I was disappointed, but at the same time relieved—I would not have to climb another valley, even for a short while. I sat outside the front gate and drank a bottle of beer—one of those brought up on the shoulders of local porters along with other necessities of life. By the time I was drinking my second beer, Stephen arrived. We shared a third together.
The place where we sat was exactly where the photograph in the airline magazine had been taken. I was astonished: the scenery was real, and here we were, indeed sitting in it. Directly below us was the very same incredible pavilion as in the photograph, perched on the very same incredible promontory. The benches and the chess table in the pavilion had recently been rebuilt, carved from white granite. To get there, you had to climb down along a section of iron chains. At a certain point on the chains, you were forced to hang horizontally in midair, with your back to the rocks hundreds of meters below. More than 2,000 years ago, during the reign of Emperor Wu, a Taoist named Wei Shuqing was seen playing chess with several immortals on this promontory. A thousand years later, in the 10th century, Chen Tuan played chess here with the first emperor of the Song Dynasty. It is said that Chen Tuan won, and so the emperor granted him the entire Huashan Mountain.
Stephen and I watched the setting sun, which illuminated this pavilion. The moon drifted across the sky. We set down an empty load of luggage for the porters to carry down the mountain the next day, and then returned to our room to rest.
The East Peak is also called the Sunrise Peak. Before dawn, a hundred tourists were shivering outside, and we joined their ranks. Most of them had climbed the mountain at night with flashlights. They were part of a two-day tour group: leaving Xi'an in the morning, visiting the Terracotta Warriors of Qin Shi Huang at Mount Li, climbing Mount Hua at night, and returning to Xi'an the next evening.
The sun rose, and a hundred cameras clicked at once. It rose from behind a mountain——according to the "Classic of Mountains and Seas," a black pheasant lived there, and it could be used to treat sores and boils. This shamanic geographical guide also declared: "(On Mount Hua) no birds or beasts dwell. There is a snake called Fei Chong Yi, with six legs and four wings; when it appears, the world suffers great drought." But we did not see it. However, we did see a mouse nibbling bit by bit on a leaf, bustling bees visiting thistles, orange-yellow sunflowers, lilies yellower than the sun, and a family of eagles beginning a new day above the peaks.
After eating breakfast noodles, Stephen and I began our journey to climb the other petals of Mount Hua's flower-like summit. On the way to the South Peak, at the Southern Heavenly Gate, we passed through the gate of a small temple. After coming out, we found ourselves on the southern face of this peak. Here, Huangfu Valley and Xianyu Valley encircled the base of Mount Hua, with a vertical drop of a full 1,000 meters. To the south across Xianyu Valley were the Three Lords Mountain and the Three Phoenixes Mountain. Along the cliff, there was a plank road made of iron chains and wooden boards, leading down to He Lao Cave below. It was one of several hermitages carved into the steep cliffs on the front of Mount Hua by the 13th-century Taoist He Yuanxi.
How he discovered this place is a secret; an even greater secret is how the calligraphy above the cave was written. It proclaims this place to be Quanzhen Cliff, named in honor of the Quanzhen school of Taoism. The six-inch-wide path to He Lao Cave is considered the most dangerous spot on the mountain. A manager said that almost every month someone falls off, and he then added that a clear awareness of danger can make a person highly focused. I eased my tension about the danger, but Stephen gathered his courage and slowly climbed halfway down to take a few photographs. As soon as he came up from the abyss, we set off toward the main peak of the South Peak.
The South Peak is also called the Wild Geese Landing Peak. At the top there is a stone pond that can store rainwater, which is probably why it attracts wild geese. It is also the highest point of Mount Hua, at almost 2,200 meters. In the 8th century, the poet Li Bai stood here and sighed: "This mountain is the highest; the breath of air seems to reach the seat of the Heavenly Emperor. I regret not bringing Xie Tiao's astonishing lines to scratch my head and question the blue sky."
From the South Peak, the mountain path winds downward, passing over another dragon's ridge, leading to the West Peak. The West Peak is also called the Lotus Flower Peak, said to be named because a rock looks like a lotus leaf, and because in a pond near the summit, a thousand-petal lotus once grew. From the edge of the West Peak to Xianyu Valley, there is another precipitous drop of a thousand meters.
We gazed at this sheer cliff for a long time, then turned our steps toward Cuiyun Temple. It nestles on the inner side of the dragon's back.
In the main hall, I met Abbot Xue Tailai. He was 70 years old, and since he left home to become a monk at the age of 22, he had lived on this summit for 45 years. Like Abbot Xie, Abbot Xue also had arthritis, but when he stood up to pour tea for me, his movements were very graceful. I asked him whether any other Taoist priests or nuns still lived on this summit.
Xue: There is one other Taoist priest, Abbot Su. He lives on the South Peak. But two months ago, he withdrew from the Taoist Association and, together with a disciple, moved to the middle of the valley below Mount Hua—to Dashangfang. I am the only one here now.
Question: If people want to live here and study with you, is that allowed?
Xue: First they must go to the Taoist Association at Yuquan Temple and obtain permission. The association decides where to send people. I cannot take disciples on my own.
Question: Does the government support you?
Xue: No. We must support ourselves by accepting alms. The government sometimes helps with repair work. But we have to submit an application, and it takes a long time. However, the government has relaxed its restrictions on religion. In the past, the situation was really very bad.
Question: Have you always lived here on the West Peak?
Xue: No. When I first came here in 1943, I lived at the Southern Heavenly Gate on the South Peak. For several years too, I lived in caves. That is why I have difficulty walking now. After liberation, I was sent to almost every Taoist temple on Mount Hua. Wherever the association sent us, we had to go.
Question: Is this a good place for spiritual practice?
Xue: No, not anymore. Not on Mount Hua. The Taoist priests living here have to take care of tourists. We cannot devote ourselves to spiritual practice. In this way, no one can accomplish anything. Those who want to practice have to move deeper into the mountains. Of course, neither the government nor the Taoist Association approves of this, but some people still do it. The place where Abbot Su and his disciple moved, Dashangfang, is still very secluded. There are some caves up there.
Question: What about Louguantai?
Xue: They do not have as many tourists as Mount Hua, but too many people live there. That is not beneficial either. Their lives are too comfortable. If you want to find a place to practice, you must go into the mountains. But if you go into the mountains, food and clothing become a problem. Either you have to go out of the mountains yourself to buy things, or you have to rely on others. That is a problem. But people who practice in the mountains have ways to solve this problem. They fast and do not wear clothes. Maybe they wrap themselves in a few rags. They practice yoga, so they do not feel hungry or cold. But most people cannot live in the mountains. It is not easy.
Question: How can people learn such practices?
Xue: Basic things you can learn anywhere. There are books. To learn the deeper secrets, when your cultivation reaches a certain level, you will naturally meet a master. But you cannot be impatient. You must be prepared to devote your entire life to cultivation. This is what religion means. This is not a matter of paying money. You must pay with your life. Not many people are willing to do this. If you are ready to learn the Dao, you do not need to go looking for a master; the master will find you. Daoism is very profound, and there is so much to learn that you cannot accomplish it all at once. The Dao cannot be transmitted through words. You must cultivate before you can awaken to the Dao. Laozi teaches us to be natural. You cannot force things, including cultivation. Awakening happens naturally, and it is different for everyone. The main thing is to purify the mind and reduce desires. Cultivation takes a very long time, so you must keep your body healthy. If you have many thoughts and desires, you will not live long enough to reach your goal.
I liked Master Xue. He spoke directly, yet gracefully and gently. I could have talked with him for hours. It was already noon, and a few more tourists had arrived. Later, I read in the Daoist Association magazine that Master Xue had recently donated all the savings he had accumulated from offerings over the past 40 years to the Daoist Association, to be used for building a new Daoist temple. The total amount was 2,000 yuan in RMB, roughly equivalent to 400 US dollars.
When Steven and I were about to leave, Master Xue went into the bedroom. When he came out, he was holding a bag of pine nuts, which he had collected from the pine trees growing at the summit. The Huashan pine is a special variety, found only at the tops of the higher peaks of the Zhongnan Mountains. They are famous among forest cultivators in China, Korea, and Japan, and the pines growing on the western peak of Huashan are the most renowned of all Huashan pines. Their seeds, pollen, and even their needles were staple foods for the Daoists who lived on Huashan in the past. Ancient books say that the resin of the Huashan pine turns into amber after a thousand years, and eating it can transform one from mortal to immortal. Master Xue said to eat these pine nuts, or plant them and let them grow into trees. I told him that I am an old friend of the pine family and would prefer to plant them.
We did not linger. Two hours later, I stopped at the Temple of the Immortals to wait for Steven. Before Master Xie developed arthritis, he had been the abbot of this temple. In 1919, Master Xie's master built the temple. Now it was empty inside, except for a young Daoist priest who was preparing lunch for a group of tourists. When I rested on the steps, this priest came out, and we chatted. He said that young Daoists were in a difficult situation. All they did was take care of tourists. He said that most masters, in their entire lives, transmit the core secrets to only one disciple, and that the great masters had retreated deeper into the mountains, refusing to teach in this material age. He said that the teachings in the temples were superficial. He sighed and went back inside to continue preparing lunch.
When Steven arrived, we walked down the mountain path together. Along the way, we passed a rock with the words "Voice of the Crane" carved on its face, painted in red. The crane is a symbol in Daoism of transformation, transcendence, freedom, purity, and longevity. It could not have been a more perfect symbol for Huashan. But clearly, this crane had already flown away.
In 1904, when the Buddhist travel diarist Gao Henian visited Huashan, he was amazed at how the Daoists of Huashan could live on so little. He also commented on the tranquility of Huashan and the devotion of the people who lived there to a life of seclusion. He said that none of the other famous Daoist mountains were like this—and he had visited all of them. Revisiting Huashan at the other end of the 20th century, I could not help but wonder why any Daoist would still be willing to live on this mountain. No matter how spectacular its scenery, it could not replace tranquility.
On the way down the mountain, we stopped again at Suoluoping to rest. I remembered Master Xue saying that Master Su had moved with a disciple to a cave at the summit of Great Upper Fang. Great Upper Fang was a place in the clouds over there. My gaze crossed the valley and looked at that cliff face, and I could not help muttering to myself aloud: I wonder how far Master Su's cave is. At that moment, a man selling slices of watermelon said he knew Master Su. He also said that Great Upper Fang was not far, and he was willing to be our guide.
We accepted his kindness and followed him across the river. On the other side of the river, he pointed out where the path began. We were dumbfounded, unable to believe it. The beginning of this path was a section of iron chain, hanging down along the cliff face, about 30 meters long. Our guide grabbed the chain and climbed up, then waved for us to follow. Steven and I looked at each other in dismay, but what decent excuse could we come up with? So we had no choice but to follow. The next section was even more terrifying: using hands and feet together, fingers and toes clinging tightly to the cliff face, which sloped at 70 degrees and was constantly seeping with spring water, making it slippery. And there was no iron chain. We did not dare look down at all, and just kept climbing, so as not to think about falling.