The immortal days around Chengdu

Chengdu → Mount Emei

The morning in Chengdu always carries a bit of laziness. The owner of a noodle shop on the street is holding red oil and copying hands. The hot air bursts out of the bamboo steamer, mixed with the sound of mahjong from the neighboring teahouse, making it difficult for people to move their feet. But if it's a clear and sunny day, it's better to take a walk to the west - with just a backpack and a high-speed train ride, you'll be plunged into the mist of Mount Emei within an hour or so.

Early car, slow scenery

The high-speed train to Mount Emei is like a bamboo chopstick, gently picking it can dispel the fireworks of Chengdu. The neighbor was dozing off holding a thermos, with yellow rapeseed flowers and green paddy fields swaying on the glass windows, and several green tiled roofs leaning at the foot of the mountain. When passing through Leshan, there are always people who say, 'You should have a bowl of beef with stilted feet on the way.' But the mountain is waiting there, why are you in a hurry?

Don't rush up the mountain even when you arrive at the station. At the Baoguo Temple in front of the mountain gate, there is an old monk sweeping fallen leaves and sweeping the bluestone with a broom, making a rustling sound. Spend five yuan to get a cup of vegetarian tea, sit on the porch and watch the pilgrims fold their hands and bow their heads. The copper bell at the corner of the eaves is hit by the wind, and with a "ding" sound, my heart is half still.

The winding mountain path is full of wild charm

The stone paved road on Mount Emei understands human emotions the most. Tired of walking, there must be a shiny big stone waiting at the corner; Thirsty, the mountain spring dripped down from the bamboo tube, holding a handful to wash my face, feeling cool and refreshing. The stream at Qingyin Pavilion sings, and when two small bridges are built, water droplets splash on the face, as if hit on the forehead by a mountain god.

I often encounter monkeys halfway through. These hooligans were dressed in grey and crouched on the railing peeling oranges, their peels swinging more agilely than humans. There is an old lady wearing a straw hat carrying a bamboo basket selling roasted corn. When she sees someone, she smiles and says, "Don't be afraid, they're fine. They know you haven't eaten in your pocket." It's better to give half of the corn to the monkey and see it eat better than humans.

Clouds on the mountaintop, soup at the bottom of the bowl

It's important to take the cable car to the Golden Summit. The iron box swayed leisurely into the clouds, and the fog covered the windows. Suddenly, it lit up - ho! The sea of clouds stretched to the horizon, and the sun shone behind the golden body of the ten wise men. The glazed tiles of the Buddhist temple shone brightly, and even the clothes were dyed with a layer of gold powder. Only then did I understand why I used to call Emei the 'Silver World'.

When I went down the mountain, my baseboard felt hot, so I happened to go to the foot of the mountain to soak in the hot water. The pond of Hongzhu Mountain is hidden in the bamboo forest, and when I sink into the hot water, my body feels comfortable and my hair feels refreshed. Looking up and counting the stars, one or two, as they counted, the evening bell of a distant temple buzzed and startled a few night birds, their wings flapping and cutting the moonlight.

Always bring some thoughts on the way home

On the bus back to Chengdu, there are also vegetarian Dim sum from Wannian Temple in my pocket. The paper package was soaked in oil, and the sesame fragrance wafted out in waves. The child sitting next door was holding up the car window and shouting, 'Mom, look, Mount Emei has shrunk!' The mountain gradually shrank into a green shadow, as quiet as when it came.

It's already night when I get home, cooking a bowl of plain noodles and pouring two spoons of spicy sauce brought from the mountain. As soon as I took a bite, my tongue jumped with the numbness of Sichuan pepper and the freshness of fermented black beans, and I heard the sound of mountain springs ringing in a daze. It's hard to say that the Zen spirit of Mount Emei is not in the temple, but in the midst of rolling clouds, in a bowl of hot soup, half a piece of corn, or when you get tired of walking and find a stone to sit on, you suddenly forget about the idle time.