Mount Hua, known in ancient times as the Western Peak, had long been hailed as the most perilous mountain under heaven.
The rising sun gilded its summit, making it gleam like a divine sword drawn from its sheath and pointed straight at the sky.
Seas of cloud churned, hiding and revealing the peaks by turns. The scene resembled an immortal realm, vast and primeval.
Along the steep mountain path, pines and cypresses stood tall and green. Wildflowers dotted the way, giving off a faint fragrance.
At a clearing, the view opened onto range after range of lush mountains. The sight lifted the spirits, as though every worldly worry had drifted away on the breeze.
Though it was winter, Mount Hua looked full of spring. The bitter cold seemed to have been left behind.
At the North Peak, a narrow cleft appeared between two sheer walls. Looking up, one could see only a sliver of sky—a sight that inspired both awe and wonder.
Beyond the long, narrow passage, the view opened suddenly. Ancient trees towered beside a bluestone path, birds sang, and flowers scented the air. It was a paradise hidden from the world!
The higher the path climbed, the rougher it grew. In the stillness, only heavy breathing and a pounding heart could be heard. Now and then, wind swept through the pines, raising a ceaseless roar like waves breaking on shore—a reminder of nature's immense power.
At last, from the summit of Mount Hua, mountains stretched away on every side, their forests washed in color. It felt as though only this solitary peak remained between heaven and earth, cut off from the world.
The mountain wind carried a chill, but the fire in one's heart burned hotter. It made one want to sing aloud and give voice to everything