《天下名山記》Vol. 4

During the Yuanxing era of the Eastern Han Dynasty, eunuchs seized control of the imperial court, and petty men abused power through the emperor's favor, colluding in wicked deeds. Mediocre officials hesitated in uncertainty, unsure how to respond. With the Han court losing its authority, all governance collapsed completely. Yet among the high-ranking officials of that time, many outstanding figures stood forth courageously. United in purpose, they spoke frankly to admonish the throne, clearly distinguishing right from wrong without yielding to powerful interests. Though ultimately persecuted on false charges and imprisoned, they grew even more steadfast in their integrity. Though their aspirations went unfulfilled, they left behind undying loyalty. Thus after their passing, the Han dynasty soon perished.

When people throughout the land heard of their unyielding character and admired their moral courage, all were profoundly moved and inspired. Some even voluntarily resigned official posts and relinquished noble titles, while families encouraged each other to face death without fear. For over a hundred years afterward, though many sought to usurp the throne, none dared act recklessly for fear of this righteous energy. Though the Han fell, this spiritual power endured.

The recluse Xu Ruzi (Xu Zhi) of Yuzhang (modern Nanchang) refused all summons to office from Governor Chen Fan of Yuzhang and Grand Commandant Huang Qiong. Even when recommended as a "Dao-virtued" worthy and appointed Governor of Taiyuan with carriages and horses prepared for his honor, he declined. Choosing reclusion and self-cultivation, his methods differed from court officials though his aspiration to aid the world remained the same. Those scholar-officials who maintained integrity during chaotic times remained unshaken by life-or-death circumstances, utterly unlike officials greedy for emoluments. Xu refused office because he believed true principle lay in practical action to assist people.

He once told Guo Linzong (Guo Tai): "When a great hall is about to collapse, no single rope can hold it up—why exhaust oneself in futile busyness?" This shows he wasn't content with mere mountain reclusion, wholly indifferent to worldly affairs. Confucius praised Yan Hui for "acting when employed and receding when set aside"—precisely this attitude.

(The Wugong Mountain section) The Ancheng region (modern Jiangxi's Anfu) boasts mountains famed for immortals: Wei the Immortal on Fushan, Huang the Immortal on Dongyangshan, Hu the Immortal on Qinghuashan, and Ge the Immortal (Ge Xuan) on Wugongshan—all recorded in local gazetteers, though Wugongshan remains most celebrated. Some say the three great mountains west of the Yangtze are Hengshan, Lushan, and Wugongshan.

Mount Wugong, due to its remote location, is rarely mentioned in classical texts and cannot rival the fame of Mount Heng or Mount Lu. Yet examining its mountain range carefully, it actually connects end-to-end with Mount Heng, towering majestically between the regions of Jing-Chu and Wu-Yue. It would be entirely reasonable to consider it one of the "Three Great Mountains" alongside Mount Heng and Mount Lu.

Baihe Peak (legendary abode of immortals) pierces the clouds, and from its summit, one can gaze upon rainclouds drifting below. To the southeast, the peaks of Kongtong are visible, while to the northwest, the waterways of Changsha meander like fine threads across the horizon. The summit features a massive natural stone cavern capable of holding hundreds, though disturbing the cavern's Qi (vital energy) will summon thunderclaps. Below the cave lie jagged rock formations—natural stone beds, Dan chambers (Daoist cultivation sites), and rare medicinal herbs like frankincense, spiritual herbs, snow bamboo, dragon grass, Solomon's seal, and curculigo. Local villagers must use rope ladders to climb here, but they dare not profane this sacred ground, surrounded as it is by dragon pools and wind caverns (Daoist power spots) where weather shifts unpredictably.

The mountain's base was anciently called "Little Peach Spring," fronted by a natural seven-tiered stone pagoda. Ascending further brings one to Chessboard Rock, then to remnants of ancient alchemical furnaces. Further back, the Great and Small Winnowing Peaks faintly reveal shapes resembling immortal sages, along with a dish-shaped stone—if water collects here during the dog days of summer, it foretells a drought-free year. Nearby, a stone crevice for delivering Fulu (Daoist talismans) suggests some mystical transaction. Had renowned literati like Sun Chuo (Eastern Jin dynasty writer) or Su Shi visited such marvels, how could it be inferior to Mount Tiantai or Mount Luofu?

The stone bamboo shoots of Yuanzhou territory and the cliffs of Kuangzhou are equally extraordinary. The westward-flowing stream passes Mount Lu before merging with the Xiu River after sixty li.

(Excerpt from "Record of Wandering Baochanshan")

Baochanshan, also called Huashan, gained its name when the Tang dynasty monk Huibao first built a hermitage here and was later buried on its slopes. The present-day Huikong Chan Temple marks his former dwelling. Five li east of the temple lies Huashan Cave, named for its southern exposure. A hundred paces from the cave lies a toppled roadside stele with weathered text—only the characters for "Flower Mountain" remain legible, revealing that the modern reading "Huashan" stems from a phonetic corruption.

The mountain's base spreads broad and flat, with springs gushing from its sides, drawing many visitors to this so-called "Front Cave." Climbing five or six li upward leads to a profound cavern—its interior so chilling that even adventurous souls dare not venture deep—known as the "Rear Cave."

This travelogue recounts the author's exploration of a cave with four companions, carrying torches. As they ventured deeper, the path grew increasingly treacherous, yet the sights became more wondrous. When one companion, exhausted, suggested turning back as their torches were nearly spent, the group reluctantly retreated. The author reflects that they had penetrated less than one-tenth the distance hardcore explorers might reach, and noticed how fewer inscriptions from previous visitors appeared the further they progressed.

The author contemplates: easily accessible places attract crowds, while extraordinary vistas in perilous, remote locations remain seldom visited. The world's most magnificent and rare landscapes often lie precisely where few tread. Those without steadfast determination cannot reach them; even with resolve, insufficient physical strength proves inadequate. And should one possess both willpower and stamina, the absence of proper tools when lost in darkness still prevents success. When capability exists but abandonment midway invites ridicule, regret follows; yet having exerted one's utmost effort brings no remorse, even if the goal remains unattained.

Noticing a toppled ancient stele, the author laments how countless historical inaccuracies arise from lost texts. In Records of Mount Lu Travels, Wang Tinggui depicts the Yangtze flowing eastward from Shu to Xunyang (modern Jiujiang), where nine tributaries cascade like rolling clouds and snowy waves. From afar, Mount Lu appears merely as another towering peak, but its true grandeur reveals itself upon deeper exploration—its majestic momentum, spectacular cliffs, and exquisite Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries (the "lín gōng fó wū"). The further one ventures, the more breathtaking the scenery becomes, truly deserving its reputation as "foremost mountain under heaven." Having frequently passed its foothills with officials, the author speaks from profound personal experience.

Standing at the mountain's base gazing upward toward the summit, one longs to climb and explore the Celestial Pool (a sacred Daoist cultivation site), to witness the wondrous manifestations of Heaven and Earth's creative power. Yet upon arrival, one encounters only biting winds, hailstorms, or scorching sun. Dark mists surge from caverns as if to swallow travelers whole. Venomous serpents and fierce beasts lurk baring fangs, while treacherous bird paths and moss-covered trails threaten deadly falls at every step. Tumbling boulders could startle one's soul from the body. Even the most adventurous souls abandon the ascent upon seeing these perils, contenting themselves with distant views to satisfy their longing.

On the seventh day of the tenth month during Emperor Huizong's Zhenghe era, I met Nie Mingshi of Wuyang on the road. We lodged together by Tiger Stream's lotus pond at East Grove Abbey. The next day we ascended the Arhat Pavilion, passed Bai Juyi's thatched cottage, and reached the Five Cedars Pavilion. Leaning on the railings, we glimpsed ninety-six peaks fading in and out of the horizon—among them Incense Burner Peak stood most majestic. No wonder recluses cherished this place where Bai Juyi's cottage once directly faced this very summit.

Heading five li westward along level paths brought us to Precious Sage Hermitage, after which the mountain trail grew steep, requiring rest every few dozen steps. Passing Three Mao Pavilion (a Daoist shrine honoring the Three Mao Perfected Lords), we entered Brocade Valley. They say in spring, layered blossoms of rare flowers bloom here like embroidered silk. Another half-li brought us to Celestial Pool's Marvelous Auspicious Temple, already twenty li higher than the plains.

That evening while paying respects to Manjusri (Buddhist embodiment of wisdom) at Auspicious Light Pavilion, hundreds of flickering lanterns suddenly illuminated beyond the railings as I bowed. Monks explained these were manifestations of "Sacred Lamps." I pondered privately: Could these be numinous phenomena born from the mountain's spiritual Qi? Or perhaps self-illuminating plants and stones? Some say two Tang Dynasty monks hid golden Buddha statues in Brocade Valley during the Huichang era, their auspicious glow leaking forth.

Cloud-Storage Hermitage behind the monastery perches atop sheer cliffs where swirling mists seem within reach. Next day we descended three li northward to Buddha's Hand Cliff, where a clear spring about ten feet deep murmured below the precipice. A stone-carved dragon's head emerged from the water—its majestic form spewing a stream that perfectly filled a stone basin. Such divine craftsmanship could only be the work of celestial beings.

This passage from Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven recounts the author's travels and impressions of Mount Lu (Kuanglu):

Half a li west of the cliffs, ascending to Xiangguang Pavilion, one can admire the Thrown Brush Peak and Meditation Platform. Local lore tells of a monk who glimpsed a jeweled temple amidst bamboo groves here—vanished in the blink of an eye—hence its present name "Bamboo Grove Mirage Temple." Descending northeast another three li brings one to the renowned Tang Dynasty Dalin Temple, which Bai Juyi praised as Mount Lu's foremost scenic wonder. So rarely visited are these paths that ancient and modern travelers' carved inscriptions remain crisply legible.

Three li beyond Dalin Temple along the path lies the Ox Drinking Pool, and another li brings one to Summit Nunnery. From here, the Incense Burner Peak appears beneath one's feet. To the east stand Manjusri Platform and Four Views Platform, where an ancient pine twists in umbrella-like splendor. Sitting beneath it, one overlooks temple complexes clinging to sheer cliffs—their azure-tiled roofs gleaming against the void. The white-capped waves of the Nine Rivers surge eastward below, a panorama so overwhelming it dazzles the eyes.

Descending ten li to Puzhao Temple, we passed three cloisters—Baoxing, Stone Basin, and Huguo—before visiting Guangyan Temple's Twin Branches Pavilion, finally lodging at Donglin Taoist Abbey. Perusing wall inscriptions, I noted most travelers turned back at Heavenly Pool and Buddha's Hand Cliff, while our duo had traced nearly all northern peaks.

Gazing across the Jiangnan lowlands—a thousand li of graceful plains—Mount Lu erupts riverward like Heaven's deliberate bulwark. Its pristine qi nurtures rare orchids, auspicious daphnes, lingzhi mushrooms, three-ridged ceremonial grass, and sky-piercing ancient trees. One wonders: might peerless talents still dwell undiscovered here? Figures like Magistrate Tao (Tao Yuanming, former Pengze county official) and the Eighteen Worthies (renowned Donglin Abbey scholars) became lifelong recluses—perhaps because their governance gifts found no outlet in those times.

(Note: "Three-ridged grass" refers to rare sacrificial rushes used in ancient rites)

This passage recounts Jiang Lu's travels to Donglin Temple during the Jiajing era of the Ming Dynasty, capturing his observations and reflections.

The opening alludes to ancient figures like Tao Yuanming and Bai Juyi seeking spiritual freedom amidst mountains and forests, implying the author's own journey was similarly motivated by a desire to escape worldly cares. With companions, he trekked thousands of miles, disregarding the hardships of travel solely to behold the magnificent landscapes between heaven and earth.

Vivid descriptions follow of Donglin Temple's surroundings: along winding mountain paths, sparse trees rustle as horse hooves crunch through fallen leaves. Distant pomegranate branches and maple leaves blaze crimson like fire, yet appear aged upon closer inspection—only the evergreen pines and emerald bamboo stand resilient against wind and frost. At Tiger Stream, mountains encircle the scene like a painting while the murmuring brook flows ceaselessly. Two grand memorial arches inscribed with "Tiger Stream" and "Foremost Mountain West of the River" gleam magnificently, inspiring awe.

An elderly monk guides their tour: Longtongue Stream earns its name from its perpetual babbling waters; an ancient well maintains crystal clarity regardless of drought or flood, its depth precisely three feet; the abbot's quarters brim with poetic inscriptions by renowned scholars. The author specifically seeks out the stupa of Master Huiyuan (the temple's founding patriarch), finding the stone mausoleum solid as iron. At dusk, returning to monastic quarters amidst silent mountain vistas, a sudden gust scatters leaves in whirlwinds before evening bells and chimes announce the monks' vespers.

Through meticulous landscape painting and dialogues with monks, the text reveals Donglin Temple's serene Chan (Zen) atmosphere and profound historical legacy, expressing the author's yearning for reclusive living and reverence for virtuous monastic conduct.

(Rambling at Mount Lu from Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven by Li Mengyang)

Resting at my lodging at night, the music I heard was beautiful, yet it paled in comparison to the sight that greeted me when I opened the door—the night sky clear as if freshly washed, stars scattered in abundance, and a half-moon hanging high above the ancient pines. The radiance of the stars and moon intertwined with the colors of the mountain temples, but as the chill deepened, we could not linger. Suddenly, a tiger's roar shook the valley, startling all present. I sighed, "This is truly the Tiger Stream!" and then retired for the night. At dawn the next day, I took up my brush to record my visit to Donglin Temple.

From White Deer Grotto Academy, we trekked northeast over the mountains, following the path along Five Elders Peak for several li until we reached the now-abandoned Xunzhen Abbey. Behind the abbey stood a stone bridge; heading northwest for over a li, we followed a rocky stream into a deep valley. Along the way were stone tablets from the Jiading era of the Song dynasty and the Dade era of the Yuan (carved by Lü Shizhong), though the inscriptions had faded beyond recognition. As we ventured deeper into the valley, the cliffs along the stream grew steeper. After several li, we reached Deer Grotto—the narrow pass at the mouth of the stream. Towering peaks rose on either side, with massive boulders crisscrossing the stream, forcing the torrent to crash violently against the rocks. The crevice was so tight one had to stoop to pass through—this was the true White Deer Grotto.

Beyond the grotto, we continued north along the stream for several li until we reached the Water Curtain (commonly called the Three-Step Spring). From there, the path became even more treacherous, requiring us to climb through crevices fit only for birds and beasts, where few human footprints could be found. The Water Curtain cascaded down the cliffs behind Five Elders Peak in three tiers, like a dragon soaring through the air or thunder shaking the valley. The snowy waves tumbled and roared, their echoes resounding through the mountains—truly Mount Lu's most extraordinary spectacle. It was a pity that neither Li Bai nor Zhu Xi had ever visited this place, and later generations mistakenly identified the Deer Slumber Field near the academy as White Deer Grotto, a regrettable error. Though Wang Yi's travelogue briefly mentioned this, he too relied on hearsay and even misplaced Xunzhen Abbey after White Deer Grotto.

From the academy, we ascended northwest to the foot of Five Elders Peak, then followed the Papaya Cliff westward to Zhegui Temple. The stream beside the stone bridge in front of the temple was where Zhu Xi once wandered. Continuing south along the ridge, we reached White Crane Abbey—the hermitage of the Daoist priest Liu Huncheng. Northwest of the cinnabar peak behind the abbey... (The remaining text is incomplete; the style follows the original.)

This passage describes the landscape and historical sites around Mount Lu. It begins with Qixian Bridge, a Song Dynasty structure built during the Xiangfu era that spans the Three Gorges Ravine, where jagged rocks line the torrential waters forming deep pools. A stone pavilion stands beside the bridge, with inscriptions by Qian Wenshi carved on the cliff face. Following the ravine westward leads to Jade Abyss, where cascading waters create a thunderous waterfall. The rocks bear the inscription "Beyond this lies Qixian Temple," though the temple now lies in ruins—once a dwelling place for the poet Li Bai.

West of Qixian Temple lies Wanshou Temple, from which a path ascends to Heavenly Pond at Mount Lu's summit. The northern route leads to Taiping Temple. Crouching Dragon Pool rests beneath Five Breasts Peak, fed by waterfalls, with dragon-scale-like stones lining its mouth—Zhu Xi once planned to build a hermitage here. Several miles further west stands Wanshan Temple, its cliffs engraved with the characters "Dragon, Tiger, Mist, Celebration." Further on lies Kaixian Temple, featuring landmarks from Li Bai's poetry: Dragon Pool, Yellow Cliff, Twin Swords Peak, Crane Cry Peak, and Incense Burner Peak, along with Prince Xiao Tong's Liang Dynasty reading platform and Southern Tang Emperor Li Yu's former residence.

A dozen miles west of Kaixian Temple brings travelers to Guizong Temple, where Horsetail Spring's waterfall encircles Purple Empyrean Peak. Wang Xizhi once lived here, leaving behind an Ink-Washing Pond and Goose-Raising Pond, with hot springs to the south. Northwest of Guizong Temple stands Lingxi Taoist Temple (Lingxi Guan), while westward lies Tao Yuanming's former residence at Chestnut Village. A bridge there leads to a valley mouth with giant inscribed stones commemorating the poet's drunken repose, alongside a Drunken Stone Pavilion. Further in lies the Cap-Tassel Washing Pool with poetic cliff carvings. Southward from the pavilion, the mountain path turns toward Tongshu Academy, housing a natural chessboard stone. Continuing northwest leads to Kangwang Slope and its Jingde Taoist Temple (Jingde Guan).

Beside the abandoned Daoist temple stand stone carvings bearing the characters "Gulian Spring." A dozen miles east of the temple lies the actual Gulian Spring, whose waterfall shares the same source as Kaixian Waterfall but flows along a separate course. Lu Yu, the Sage of Tea (renowned Tang Dynasty tea scholar), once evaluated the water quality here.

Heading northwest from Kangwang Slope, one reaches the ancient Chaisang region, where a place called Luzi Slope is located. The Miaoyang Mountain area contains the former residence and tomb of Tao Yuanming (celebrated Eastern Jin poet). Northward from Miaoyang Mountain leads to Yuantong Temple, though I never took that route myself. Instead, I approached from west of De'an County, following the mountains northeastward to Yuantong Temple. Opposite the temple stands Shier Peak, with Houxi (Monkey Stream) flowing before it. Yuan Dynasty scholar Ouyang Xuan once composed an inscription about this place, and Song Dynasty calligrapher-poet Huang Tingjian also resided here.

From Yuantong Temple eastward, passing through Shimen Gorge, I ascended Mount Lu to seek Tianchi Temple. Along Jin Gorge stands Jin Pavilion. Though requiring climbing, the path is well-maintained with lush, rarely felled trees. Monks explained this was a protected mountain area, opened only for transporting imperial steles. Every li (Chinese mile) features a pavilion, with stone carvings adorning flat cliff faces along the path. After passing five pavilions, one reaches Tianchi Temple.

Perched at Mount Lu's highest point, Tianchi Temple was constructed by imperial decree. Originally featuring iron-tiled corridors, bronze bells, and elephant-shaped drums, these were all destroyed by fire. Before the main hall lies a pool whose waters spring eternally from underground, hence its name "Heavenly Pool" (Tianchi). On this crisp autumn day, gazing downward revealed a sea of clouds resembling piled cotton, with distant views of Min Mountain, Mount Emei, and ranges across Jiangnan and Jiangbei regions—though the Yangtze River and Poyang Lake appeared quite small. Monks pointed out landmarks like Shijing Peak, Tiechuan Peak, Shizi Peak, and Furong Peak.

Eastward lies Bailu Terrace, where I examined Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang's personally inscribed stele commemorating Zhou Dian (Ming Dynasty Daoist). The inscription's archaic, vigorous style truly conveys imperial grandeur, though its pavilion shows signs of decay. Further east, stone carvings at Zhulin Temple display calligraphy neither seal nor clerical script—said to be Zhou Dian's own hand. Still further east stands Foshou Cliff, all located below the mountain's summit.

After visiting Donglin Temple and Tiger Stream, I proceeded to Xilin Temple's pagoda. Eastward lies Taiping Palace, where Zhu Yuanzhang erected steles seeking Zhou Dian. Continuing east brings one to Lianxi Academy, then another dozen li to Zhou Dunyi's (Northern Song Neo-Confucian scholar) tomb facing Lotus Peak. From Lotus Peak eastward to Wuzhang Mountain, passing Shizi Gorge and Xiangsi Gorge while following Wulao Peak leads to White Deer Grotto Academy. Xiangsi Gorge forms the lower course of Water Curtain Waterfall. These constitute Mount Lu's essential northern and southern features. According to local records, Mount Lu possesses major ridges and...

The Records of Famous Mountains documents the historical changes and natural landscapes of two renowned sites at Mount Lu.

Regarding the Nine-Fold Screen (a famous scenic spot at Mount Lu), Li Bai's poetry once praised its magnificence resembling nine layers of cloud brocade, though its exact location is now lost to time—only the place name "Brocade Screen Slope" remains before the Kaixian Temple. Wang Yi of the Ming dynasty recorded that during the early Ming period, this area was densely forested with roaming tigers and leopards, making it inaccessible without a group of hundreds. Today, however, the mountain stands bare, and even woodcutters cannot find firewood without ascending its highest peaks. Mount Lu's scenic sites were first developed by the eminent Eastern Jin monk Huiyuan on its northern slopes. Later, Li Bo of the Tang dynasty opened the White Deer Grotto on the southern slopes, followed by the legendary figure Zhou Dian. This account was written by Li Mengyang in the sixth month of 1513 during the Zhengde era of the Ming dynasty.

Zhu Xi's Record of the Reclining Dragon Hermitage at Mount Lu describes: The Reclining Dragon Hermitage lies at the southern foot of Mount Lu, beneath the Five Breasts Peak. In his youth, Zhu Xi read a poem by Yang Shi (Master Guishan), which mentioned a hermit surnamed Liu who practiced bigu (a Daoist fasting technique abstaining from grains) here, living past a hundred years with remarkable vitality and the ability to foresee visitors. Last year, upon assuming his post, Zhu Xi read Chen Shunyu's Records of Mount Lu, which stated that the mountain's fame stemmed not only from the Kaixian Temple waterfall eulogized by Xu Ning and Li Bai, or the Kangwang Valley water curtain recorded by Lu Yu in the Classic of Tea, but also from its secluded, perilous landscapes featuring breathtaking water and rock formations. West of the Reclining Dragon Hermitage, cliffs encircle a cascading waterfall that plunges into a deep pool, where massive yellow rocks loom in the torrents like a coiling dragon poised to take flight—hence its name. When Zhu Xi visited, he found the hermitage in ruins and Hermit Liu long gone, yet the landscape remained as stunning as ever, even more magnificent than Chen's description. Mourning its neglect but grateful its remoteness preserved its pristine state, he donated a hundred thousand coins from his salary, entrusting the restoration to Xiyuan (likely a local official).

The recluse Cui Jiayan built several thatched huts on the original site in preparation for his move, and inspired by the name of the famed pool, he hung a portrait of Zhuge Liang, the Han dynasty chancellor, in the main hall. His old friend Zhang Jingfu composed a poem to commemorate this. However, this thatched cottage was still several hundred paces from the pool, requiring passage through a jumble of boulders and three crossings of the stream to reach, with no suitable vantage point to enjoy the scenery.

Observing the eastern cliff, they carved stone steps to climb higher, and just below, they discovered a massive boulder spanning the stream. Here, towering ancient trees rose above, while below flowed crystal-clear waters, facing directly the cascading waterfall—the most breathtaking view in the valley. They built a pavilion here, naming it the "Rising Pavilion," symbolizing a hidden dragon's potential to soar and fulfill the Dao (the Way) of Heaven.

Su Zhe, in his Record of the Newly Built Monks’ Hall at Qixian Temple on Mount Lu, wrote: In the third year of the Yuanfeng era, I was exiled to Gao'an due to an offense. Passing through Mount Lu in the sixth month, I knew its scenery was extraordinary but dared not linger. After staying two days, I entered Qixian Valley from the southern slopes. The valley was filled with massive boulders, with water rushing between them—its roar like thunder, or a thousand chariots passing, shaking travelers where they stood. Even the Three Gorges could not rival its grandeur.

East of Three Gorges Bridge, following the mountain contours and water flow, the surface was smooth as white silk, but when meeting large rocks, it swirled into deep whirlpools, its currents fierce and endlessly shifting. The temple stood upstream, its right side leaning against a stone cliff, its left overlooking the rushing stream. The monks’ hall was built at the cliff’s base, where fierce winds whipped strange rocks as if dancing on the eaves, while pines, firs, and arrow bamboo grew in wild tangles. During storms, those inside feared the structure might collapse. When I asked those familiar with Mount Lu, they said that even among its many wonders, Qixian Valley ranked among the finest.

The following year, the temple’s abbot Zhiqian sent his disciple Huiqian to find me in Gao'an, saying the monks’ hall had stood for sixty years, its tiles broken and beams rotten, no longer fit to receive visitors. Huiqian, diligent and capable, rebuilt it sturdily and spaciously, transforming it beyond recognition, and asked me to record the event. I have heard that seekers of the Dao (the Way) do not pursue comforts of food, clothing, or shelter—yet when well-fed, warmly dressed, and securely housed, free from external disturbances, they are better able to focus on their spiritual pursuit.

The truly enlightened sages of ancient times often chose remote mountain forests for their cultivation of the Dao. They built thatched huts in the mountains, stored vegetables and grains, and welcomed wandering seekers from all directions. The reason why the two Eastern Han recluses (referring to Zhang Liang and Yan Guang) could persist in their practice without slackening was precisely due to this principle.

Scholars living amidst worldly chaos face daily vexations, yet their hearts never forget the pursuit of the Dao. How much more conducive are deep mountain valleys and waterside retreats—where one has shelter for the body and food to sustain life, where worldly judgments of right and wrong, glory and shame never reach the ears—here, attachments naturally fade without conscious effort. Confucius said, "To understand the truth in the morning and die in the evening would be acceptable." Those today who immerse themselves in worldly learning without comprehending the Great Dao (Da Dao) will toil their whole lives, yet I know their deaths will be meaningless. But should one awaken to the Great Dao even for a single day, dying immediately would bring no regrets. Thus, through the stories of these two recluses, I tell future seekers: Does such enlightenment not exist in our time? Recorded by Su Zhe of Meishan on the ninth day of the fifth month, Yuanyou 4th year.

(Excerpt from Bai Juyi's "Account of the Thatched Hut at Mount Lu")

The extraordinary beauty of Mount Lu is unparalleled under heaven, with the scenery between Incense Burner Peak and Temple of Lingering Love on its northern slope being particularly sublime. In autumn of the 11th year of Yuanhe era, Bai Juyi of Taiyuan passed through this place. Enchanted at first sight like a wanderer returning home, he lingered with deep attachment. Thus he built a thatched hut facing Incense Burner Peak, nestled against the Temple of Lingering Love. By spring of the following year, the three-bayed, two-pillared structure with two chambers and four windows was completed—its proportions perfectly balanced. The north window admitted cool breezes to ward off summer heat, while the south window welcomed sunlight against winter's chill. The timber was left roughly hewn without lacquer, walls plastered but unwhitewashed, steps made of stone, with bamboo window screens and hemp curtains all serving simple practicality. Inside stood four wooden couches, two plain screens, one lacquered qin, and several volumes each of Confucian, Buddhist and Daoist classics.

When Bai Juyi settled in, his days were filled with mountain vistas, spring murmurs, and contemplation of bamboo groves, cloud-wreathed rocks—from dawn till dusk, an unending feast for the senses. Soon the natural surroundings worked their transformation: one night's stay brought bodily tranquility; two nights, mental serenity; by the third night, self and surroundings merged in wordless transcendence. Pondering this phenomenon, he explained: Before this dwelling lies a hundred-square-foot clearing, its central platform occupying half the space, while the square pool south of it doubles the platform's size. Wild bamboos and mountain flowers crowd the pool's edges where white lotuses bloom—an environment of pristine detachment from worldly dust.

This passage depicts the breathtaking scenery of a mountain retreat. Following the stream southward, one encounters ancient pines and cedars lining both banks—their trunks so massive it would take ten people to encircle them, their crowns towering into the clouds. Slender branches brush against the pond's surface, some resembling upright banners, others unfurled canopies, still others coiling like dragons and serpents. Beneath this arboreal canopy, shrubs flourish amidst tangled vines, filtering sunlight so completely that even in midsummer, the shade remains as cool as deep autumn.

A white stone path leads to the Daoist hall. Five paces north stands a layered cliff face adorned with bizarre rock formations, all blanketed by rare evergreen plants bearing crimson fruits year-round. A cascading spring provides perfect water for tea brewing, attracting refined scholars who often linger here all day. East of the hall, a three-tiered waterfall feeds into stone channels, presenting different charms by day and night: by daylight resembling suspended white silk, by moonlight tinkling like jade pendants. To the west, bamboo pipes channel mountain springs, creating strings of droplets that cascade from the eaves like gentle rain.

Each season unveils unique splendors: spring paints Brocade Valley with blooming flowers, summer cloaks Stone Gate Gorge in rolling clouds, autumn frames Tiger Creek with a luminous moon, while winter crowns Incense Burner Peak with crystalline snow. The interplay of yin-yang, dawn and dusk, endlessly transforms the vistas. The writer reflects: "Eighteen sages like Zong Bing and Huiyuan once dwelt here in seclusion—who could imagine a millennium later, I too would witness this celestial realm? From childhood to old age, whether in poverty or wealth, the sight of landscapes always moved me to pile rocks into mountains and channel water into ponds. Though exiled to Jiangzhou as an official, I've been granted the gift of Mount Lu—is this not heaven's will? Once my siblings' marriages are settled and bureaucratic ties severed, I shall dwell here permanently."

(Note: "Zong-Lei" refers to Huiyuan—the Eastern Jin dynasty Buddhist patriarch—and recluse Zong Bing among the eighteen White Lotus Society luminaries; "career setbacks" alludes to political misfortune; "Sima" denotes a Tang dynasty vice-prefectural position.)

This passage recounts the author's travels and impressions of Mount Lu. The first half expresses his ideal of retiring to a mountain hermitage after leaving official service: when finally free from official duties, he would take his wife by the hand while carrying books and a zither in the other, settling permanently among clear springs and white rocks to fulfill his lifelong aspiration. On March 27th, he moved into his new dwelling, and on April 9th, hosted a purification ritual (zhaijiao) with twenty-two companions including Yuan Jixu and Zhang Yunzhong, offering tea and fruits while composing "Record of the Thatched Hall."

The latter half details his pilgrimage to Donglin Temple: a half-day journey from Jiangzhou along winding stone paths that hadn't yet reached the mountain's base. He recalls how Master Huiyuan established this temple, with luminaries like Zong Bing, Lei Cizong, Tao Yuanming, and Xie Lingyun leaving their traces here. The lotus pond before the temple had been converted to rice paddies, though years later a single white lotus miraculously bloomed—evoking Pure Land rebirth imagery. Sipping tea by spring-fed rocks, he rinsed his mouth at deep pools and paused on islets until unconsciously arriving at Xilin Temple. Through misty rain, cloud-wreathed peaks occasionally revealed half their faces; when sunlight broke through, lake reflections shimmered like scattered rainbows, compelling prolonged contemplation before departure.

The perilous ascent from Yunfeng Temple to Tianchi Temple follows: mist drenches shoes in emerald valleys while gorge waters hum like wind-harp strings. The single-stone Jinjian Bridge spans fathomless chasms; Jiudie Peak (aka Banner Ridge) coils like colored ribbons, while Iron Boat Peak juts forth like a menacing warrior. Every few li, cliffside pavilions offer respite from the steep trail requiring staff-assisted climbs. At Testing Heart Rock, Bamboo Grove Temple's spring and rustling trees seemed to chant sutras. Finally atop Manjusri Platform, he watched eagles circle below. Vividly capturing Mount Lu's sublime beauty and sacred Buddhist atmosphere, the text interweaves physical challenge with spiritual resonance.

This passage from Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven depicts the magnificent natural landscape of Shimen Jian (Stone Gate Ravine), a renowned gorge stream on Mount Lu. Located over eighty li northeast of Kangwang Valley, Shimen Mountain forms the largest valley in the entire mountain range. The stream called Shimen Jian originates from deep sources, gathering numerous springs along its course. During summer and autumn rains, its torrents can move massive boulders and shake trees, with roaring echoes heard dozens of li away.

The "Shimen Water" on Mount Lu's northern slope is even more extraordinary: two towering stone cliffs stand facing each other like a natural gate (hence the name "Stone Gate"), while a waterfall plunges from a cliff over three hundred paces high, appearing from afar like a white silk ribbon hanging from the sky. Near Black Dragon Pool south of Manjushri Temple, three colossal rocks stand in a row like a gate. The ravine water originates from Changchong, flows past Flinging Brush Peak, merges with streams from Nine Wonders Peak at White Dragon Pool, then cuts through Shimen Gorge to join waters from Shangxiao Peak before flowing north.

Master Huiyuan (a revered Eastern Jin Dynasty monk) visited this site twice during his thirty-year retreat on Mount Lu. In his Preface to the Poem on Wandering Shimen, he noted: Shimen lies over ten li south of the monastic retreat (jingshe). Though connected to the main peak, it stands distinct from surrounding ridges, where three springs converge. The perilous terrain—with its sheer cliffs, cascading waterfalls, and rugged paths—makes this scenic wonder of Mount Lu rarely visited despite its fame. Manjushri Temple, nestled deep in the valley, is encircled by iron-blue precipices, with only the thunder of water echoing ceaselessly, ranking as the most secluded and extraordinary among Mount Lu's temples.

Note: "Jingshe" refers to monastic retreats for Buddhist practice, while "Fashi" (Dharma Master) is an honorific for eminent monks. Shimen Jian's "three stone gates" and its flying waterfalls form a classic Daoist sacred landscape of grotto-heavens (dongtian) and blessed realms.

In the midsummer of the fourth year of the Long'an era (400 CE) during the Eastern Jin dynasty, the venerable monk Faxing, drawn by his love for mountains and rivers, set out on a journey with his staff in hand. Over thirty disciples eagerly prepared their belongings and departed in high spirits. Though the mountain paths were deep and treacherous, they vied to clear the way forward; even when treading on perilous rocks, their hearts were so filled with joy that they felt perfectly at ease.

Upon reaching their destination, they grasped vines to climb upward, pulling each other like monkeys when facing sheer cliffs, and finally reached the summit after much effort. Leaning against the mountain vines and looking down, they discovered the wondrous beauty of the Seven Peaks concentrated here—two towering peaks stood opposite each other like palace gates, with layers of rocky cliffs shimmering behind them, and undulating hills encircling the area like a natural barrier. In the open space enclosed by steep cliffs on all sides, they saw stone platforms and pools naturally formed into palace-like structures, with various fantastically shaped rocks delighting the eye.

Clear springs converged and diverged as they flowed into emerald-green pools, the water's surface mirror-like, reflecting the sky. Veined stones refracted light, as if human faces were glowing; tamarisks and pines intermingled with fragrant grasses, dazzling the senses. Such divine scenery was already perfection itself. That day, their hearts were so elated that they could never tire of gazing. While exploring, the weather suddenly shifted: at dawn, when mist enshrouded the land, all forms vanished; when sunlight pierced the clouds, the mountains' reflections rippled. In these shifts between opening and closing, there seemed an inscrutable spirituality.

As they prepared to ascend higher, birds swept past with fluttering wings, and monkeys wailed sharply. Swirling clouds evoked thoughts of immortals riding them in descent. The plaintive calls echoed one another, as if carrying mysterious celestial harmonies. Though faint and elusive, it lifted their spirits effortlessly; this joy was not sought deliberately, yet it filled them with delight all day. In such carefree contentment, they truly experienced an ineffable marvel.

Upon descending, they reflected deeply: the myriad things in the cliffs and valleys had no master, yet they naturally evoked such profound resonance beyond human sentiment. Was this not because the clarity of emptiness aligned with serene and profound emotions? Ponder as they might, the mystery remained. Only as the sun dipped westward did they realize: the hidden sage's mystical perception transcends ordinary things—such divine charm and delight surely lie beyond mere mountains and waters.

Thus, they lingered atop the high peaks, gazing afar where the nine rivers wound like ribbons and the hills resembled anthills. From this, they reasoned: just as forms vary in size, so too must wisdom. They sighed in awe—though the cosmos is vast, the principles of past and present are one. The Vulture Peak (a Buddhist sacred site) was now beyond reach, its desolate paths increasingly barred. Were it not for the enduring legacy of sages and their deeds, how could later generations awaken to such insights? Each of them stood long in silent wonder, hearts brimming with both joy and melancholy.

This passage contains two distinct literary works: the first half is a metaphysical landscape poem in the Wei-Jin style, while the latter part presents Su Shi's investigative travelogue "Record of Stone Bell Mountain."

In the opening poem, the poet spontaneously composes verses while touring famous mountains with friends, moved by the breathtaking scenery. With robes lifted, they ascend mist-shrouded cliffs, gazing upon mountain ranges resembling celestial palaces, their swift strides across elongated rocks making both body and mind feel weightless. When seated atop peaks discussing metaphysical principles (xuanli), they seem transported to the immaterial realm of Taixu (Great Emptiness), experiencing the Daoist state of "transformation with things" (wuhua) where self and cosmos merge completely. Here "spiritual towers" (lingque) denote immortal palaces, "Great Purity" (Taiqing) represents the highest Daoist heaven, and "cosmic transformation" describes the mystical unity between humans and all existence.

The latter section features Su Shi's meticulous investigation into Stone Bell Mountain's naming origin. He first questions Li Daoyuan's Commentary on the Water Classic theory of "water striking stone producing bell-like tones," demonstrating how submerged bells and chimes wouldn't resonate. He then refutes Tang scholar Li Bo's "struck-stone-as-bell" conclusion, noting such resonant rocks are commonplace. Only during a moonlit boat expedition does he discover the truth beneath sheer cliffs: the mountain's honeycombed cavities, when filled with surging waves of varying depths, produce booming bell-and-drum reverberations. The onomatopoeic "chenghong" mimics resonant bell tones, while "swirling turbulence" (handan pengpai) depicts water churning through stone cavities. This empirical inquiry forms a striking contrast with the first half's transcendent metaphysical contemplation.

This passage depicts the magnificent landscapes and architectural wonders of Poyang. The author first describes the breathtaking scenery of Longting Stream: nestled between Dexing and Yugan counties, the area is embraced by undulating mountain ranges veiled in mist. Verdant vines entwine throughout, creating a panorama resembling a nine-fold screen or a fifty-mile corridor of embroidered splendor. The stream flows across the mountain front, fed by numerous tributaries, with springs gushing alongside and waterfalls cascading from heights—their spray like drifting clouds or swirling snowflakes, their roar echoing like thunder or hailstones, the waters displaying infinite variations.

Where the current slows, it forms placid lakes; where it quickens, it gathers into deep pools. At times the surface lies smooth as silk, at others it curves like a white rainbow. Amid this natural grandeur, Wei Yancheng constructed an estate featuring gatehouses, winding corridors, and pavilions. The architecture follows deliberate principles: elevated towers command sweeping views while lower dwellings nestle in secluded tranquility. Phoenix trees grace the left side, osmanthus the right, complemented by a library, guest quarters, and spaces dedicated to Buddhist and Daoist worship. For convenient passage, a suspended walkway bridges two cliff faces.

Architectural details exhibit refined craftsmanship: vermilion roof ridges contrast with plain white eaves, taller structures pierce the treetops while lower ones hug the mountainside. Amid flowering plants and bamboo groves, the buildings appear and disappear like glimpses of a celestial realm. On auspicious days, the host arrives by carriage or on foot to admire the views.

The narrative interweaves discussions between the author and friends about mountain waters' musical qualities, comparing their rhythms to ancient chime bells—King Jing of Zhou's Wuyi Bell and Viscount Xian of Wei's Song Bells. The author critiques those who judge without firsthand experience, lamenting how boatmen and fishermen who truly understand these landscapes often lack means to articulate their beauty, leaving the world ignorant of such wonders.

Standing beneath the pine trees with a bamboo staff, facing the wind, waiting for the moonrise amidst the bamboo groves, sitting on rocks to watch the waves and recite poetry—roaming freely as the heart desires. Birds, beasts, insects, and fish play at ease, all things existing in harmony, so immersed in the moment that even the self is forgotten. Such a realm surpasses even the fabled Peach Blossom Spring. Later, Yancheng wrote to me, saying: "I observe how the nobility, weary of the extravagance of carriages and ceremonial caps, suddenly long to shake off the dust of officialdom and retreat to the purity of clear springs and white rocks—yet they cannot. So they settle for painting wintry forests, snowy bamboos, reeds, and sleeping ducks on round fans and screens to express their yearnings. Now that I have found such a wondrous place, I ask you to record it for me."

Regarding the travelogue of Xiaogu Mountain: On the first day of the eighth month, we passed Fenghuo Ji. During the Southern Dynasties, beacon towers were set up along the route from Wuchang to Jingkou, and this mountain must have been one of them. Viewed from the boat, its cliffs jutted out steeply. As we rounded the mountain’s base, we could see strange caves pocking the rock face, the stone itself lustrous and moist, unlike any other. Another massive boulder stood apart from the main peak, towering over a hundred feet high, entwined with crimson vines and green creepers like an ornamental screen studded with jewels. That day, the winds were still, the waters calm, and our boat moved slowly. With the autumn river receding, we could fully appreciate the scenery—just as Du Fu wrote, "Fortunate that our boat moves slowly, allowing us to savor every wondrous sight."

Passing Penglang Ji and Xiaogu Mountain, the two peaks faced each other across the river. Xiaogu Mountain belongs to Susong County in Shuzhou and has a military garrison. Famous solitary mountains in the river—such as Jinshan, Jiaoshan, and Luoxing Mountain—are renowned throughout the land, but none can match Xiaogu Mountain in sheer precipitous beauty. Seen from dozens of miles away, its emerald peak rises alone into the clouds, unrivaled by any other mountain. The closer one gets, the more striking it becomes, displaying endless variations in winter or summer, rain or shine—truly a masterpiece of nature. It is a pity that the temples on the mountain lie in disrepair. With some restoration and the addition of pavilions and terraces to complement the landscape, the scenery could surpass even Jinshan. Huiji Temple stands at the western foot, enshrining Lady Anji. In the early years of the Shaoxing era, Lord Zhang Wei (Zhang Jun, a renowned Southern Song statesman) renovated it upon returning from Hunan, as recorded in the stele inscriptions. Another shrine in Pengze County, surrounded by water on three sides with reflections shimmering below, is also a scenic gem. When boats pass Penglang Ji, waves churn even when there is no wind.

(Note: "Lord Zhang Wei" refers to the Southern Song statesman Zhang Jun, and "Lady Anji" was a river deity officially recognized during the Song Dynasty.)

This passage records travelogues from two scenic landscapes. The first part recounts the legend of Xiaogu Mountain and a temple visit in the rain.

Locals tell the folktale of "The Young Maiden Married to Penglang," claiming the Xiaogu Temple houses Penglang's statue while the Penglang Temple enshrines the maiden's image—though this proves untrue. At dusk, we anchored at Shajia, a mile from Xiaogu Mountain, braving drizzling rain to visit the temple by small boat. Gazing south toward the mountain ranges of Pengze and Duchang, we saw egrets and herons appearing intermittently through misty rain, creating breathtaking scenery. Pausing long at the temple gate, we witnessed falcons swooping across the river to hunt waterfowl before soaring southeast—a magnificent spectacle. The temple caretaker mentioned numerous falcons nesting on the mountain.

The second part documents Wen Tianxiang's observation of a flood at Wenshan. Entering through Wenshan Gate, past the Ten-Thousand-Pine Forest to the Tian Tuhua scenic spot, a great river stretched before us. Advancing several hundred paces brought us to Songjiang Pavilion, connected to a long embankment. At its end stood Zhangdong Bridge, beyond which lay the Daotitang Hall. Climbing the ridge right of the hall led to Yinwan—Wenshan's highest riverside vantage—featuring white rocks, bluish cliffs, the June Snow scenic spot, and a bridge spanning two peaks. The eastern and western attractions, spaced two or three li apart, outline Wenshan's riverside contours.

On the fourteenth day of the fifth lunar month in the Wuchen year (1268), while returning home after resigning office, Wen Tianxiang received sudden flood warnings. He immediately rode with friends Du Boyang and Xiao Jingfu to witness the phenomenon. Before reaching Tian Tuhua, thunderous floodwaters roared—submerging all riverside rice paddies and vegetable fields. The sandbar opposite Songjiang Pavilion, formerly elevated, now showed only its crest above water. Dozens of ancient pines swayed desperately in the torrent, some remaining upright. Seated at Zhangdong Bridge, they watched floodwaters cascade from June Snow like a thousand-zhang waterfall crashing before them—an awe-inspiring sight. Finally at Daotitang Hall, they found its once prominent front stones completely submerged. This vivid account captures the majestic transformation of landscapes during catastrophic flooding.

The water's surface seemed to have been swept clean of all traces of the banquet by some mysterious force overnight. People sent scouts to check whether the June snow (referring to mountain snow) had melted enough to allow passage, playing chess as they awaited news. The scouts reported that floodwaters had washed out the roads, forcing the group to halt. The terrain of Yinwan (a place name) twists and turns, causing the water to form whirlpools where it flows through.

The pavilion previously built here stood precisely at the river's bend, offering a panoramic view of two or three miles of waterway to the east and west—every form of the current visible in its entirety. Now it became clear that Yinwan was truly the finest spot for observing water landscapes. The group sat in the pavilion, chatting, laughing, and composing poetry, striving to capture even a fraction of the scene's grandeur with their words. One described the wind and rain as if they had carried the waters of the Three Gorges here, the thunder seeming to split the green mountains on either bank; another likened the thunder to bursts from beneath the earth, the Milky Way pouring down from the heavens; yet another depicted winds sweeping in from all directions, snowflakes falling like countless armored soldiers. Leaning on the railings, they marveled at this extraordinary spectacle until dusk gradually descended.

When visiting Yanjia Mountain, they emerged from the Qinren Cave (legendary refuge of Qin dynasty survivors) and followed a winding path toward Xiaoling. Wildflowers and grasses lined both sides of the trail, the unnamed blooms so captivating they could hardly take them all in. Sitting on a rock to admire them for a long while, they noticed hazy trees ahead, their shades alternating between light and dark, as if beckoning them to part the foliage and explore. So they proceeded along the field paths, following a stream deeper into serene seclusion.

Turning onto a smaller trail, they came upon a flat clearing about ten acres in size: vegetable plots grew taro, rice paddies stood lush with seedlings, and a clear pond reflected its sandy bottom where fish swam freely. High mountains encircled the area, covered with tall bamboo and cliffs blooming with wildflowers. Spiders (Xiaoxiao) spun webs among the young bamboo beneath the cliffs, while wind-blown petals either caught in the webs or drifted into the pond—fish darted to nibble at them but never quite succeeded. The scene was so mesmerizing it felt like a sudden return to an earlier time, as if touched by some profound realization.

The dozen or so thatched cottages housed simple, quiet folk. When they bought wine from them, the villagers also gifted mountain delicacies like torreya nuts and chestnuts. Sitting beneath the bamboo grove to drink, the dense leaves overhead blocked the sky, yet looking down, they saw sunlight filtering through the gaps, casting ever-shifting patterns of light and shadow. When asked the mountain's name, no one knew—only that all the residents shared the surname Yan.

In the second year of Pei Jun's tenure as Vice Director of the Ministry of Personnel's Bureau of Honors, governing Fuzhou, he built a high terrace (Nixian Terrace) at the eastern corner of the city.

This passage describes the construction processes and scenic characteristics of two renowned landscapes.

The first section recounts the building of Nixian Terrace (named for its resemblance to Xiangyang's Xian Mountain terrain). A local official discovered an abandoned hilly area east of the city that, though surrounded by magnificent mountains and rivers, had become overgrown due to long neglect. The official restored the site: repairing broken city walls, clearing weeds, and constructing railings and pavilions with soaring eaves, ultimately creating an elevated platform for panoramic views. From this vantage point, one could observe tranquil streams smoothing sandy banks under gentle breezes, as well as churning waves with passing boats; admire emerald cliffs piercing the clouds while spotting tigers and leopards roaming rolling foothills; and witness the ever-changing spectacle of shifting mists and sunlight across seasons and daylight hours. Visitors found their own pleasures here—some drinking and singing heartily, others strolling leisurely to enjoy the scenery. The official harmonized with local customs, governing with simplicity and tranquility, allowing both officials and commoners to share in the joys of this scenic retreat.

The second section, "Record of Spring Floating Garden," references the author's ancestral home along Willow Stream, quoting Minister Yang Shiqi's poetic line gifted to his forebears: "Stream reflections enter window curtains when spring rains abound," depicting garden scenes where rainwater mirrors penetrate latticework during spring showers. This garden excels in aquatic landscapes, skillfully integrating architecture with nature to create poetically habitable spaces.

About two hundred paces from Willow Creek, nestled against the city walls, lies a place where one can enjoy the pleasures of farming while remaining free from the clamor of the marketplace. Several houses stand here to shelter the family, with open plains stretching to the left, lush with water and trees, alive with the songs of cicadas and birds—a scene rich with the charm of mountain wilderness.

To the north lies the Public Peace Pavilion, an ancient altar site weathered by wind, frost, rain, and snow. The old trees have withered, their trunks eroded by time, yet the pavilion stands tall and solitary, like the legendary Lu Lingguang Palace, evoking a sense of transcendence from the mundane world as one lingers there.

Further ahead is the Hall of Golden Millet, surrounded by ancient osmanthus groves. To the east, a winding corridor overlooks the Lotus Pool, where morning dew glistens and the fragrance of lotus blossoms drifts on the breeze, refreshing the heart and spirit. Strolling along the Path of Graceful Bamboo, one encounters several acres of slender bamboo by the lake, named after Meng Jiao’s poetic line, "Bamboo, so graceful and fair." At the path’s end lies a crescent-shaped sandbar, where distant trees appear as small as shepherd’s purse, and beyond that stands Cup Mountain.

Half-submerged in the lake, the mountain resembles a cup when viewed from the water, while the lake itself seems like a floating snail shell in a basin when seen from the peak. Climbing to the summit, one feels as though fish are swimming among the treetops, people are walking in a mirror, and all the shadows of trees sway gently in the water. At the mountain’s base lies the Lane of Oriole Songs, where the birds’ melodies are as delicate as silk strings, lulling listeners into drowsy contentment. North of the lane stretches a hundred-pace bridge, where fierce winds whip up roaring waves, forcing even birds to fly close to its edges.

This bridge is best for moonlit nights in autumn, when the full moon reflects upon the rushing currents, its light rippling with a crystalline chime, scattering like frost or snow upon the ground. Sometimes the moonlight is obscured by the woods, only to emerge gradually past the treetops, appearing exquisitely small. South of the bridge stands an ancient cypress grove from the Song and Yuan dynasties, and a few hundred paces further, a bamboo-lined path winds in and out of sight, revealing the hidden Cloud-Resting Mound in its twists and turns. There, ancient vines and old camphor trees weave through misty clouds, and cool breezes bring a chill even in summer. Nearby, hundreds of crimson peach trees bloom by the water, their reflections shimmering with delicate beauty. Beyond lies Fool’s Mountain Path, where steep cliffs rise like locked horns on either side.

This passage depicts an exquisite landscape where mountains and waters embrace in perfect harmony. Along the Yangtze River, sails peek intermittently through the treetops, while the lake shimmers emerald-green like a wine cup, its shores veiled in misty grasses. Jade-like ribbons of clouds drift across the mountain slopes, where valleys contend with the river for space—torrents roar against the cliffs as howling winds threaten to topple the peaks, making even the most enthusiastic visitors struggle to enjoy the view in peace.

Nearby floats Mount Fu, its form seemingly adrift upon the waters, shifting eastward at dawn and westward by dusk. In winter's depth, plum blossoms erupt in full glory, their fragrance carrying for miles. The mountain stands in serene solitude, where flowers bloom and fall untouched by human hands. The Autumn Sound Pavilion nestles among sparse trees, surrounded by magnolias and crabapples that evoke Yang Guifei awakening from drunken slumber or Lady Guo in morning's unadorned grace. Leaning on the railings in quiet contemplation, one forgets not only worldly worries but even the passage of time itself.

Each season unveils its unique charm: at dusk, closed doors frame the scent of unseen blossoms as petals descend like snow; deep autumn strips the trees bare, leaving crows dotting the twilight sky; summer afternoons pass over chessboards until moonlight through pines reveals an unexpected companion. The interplay of shadow and light, dawn and dusk, holds mysteries no words can capture for those who haven't witnessed it firsthand.

The author once harbored youthful aspirations of celestial ascension (the "light-footed ambition" refers to Daoist transcendence), yet later realized the rigid protocols of immortality paled beside the clarity found in mountain seclusion. Though modest in size, this hill concentrates all the joys of elevated vistas—an ideal retreat for life's twilight years. Southern slopes brim with osmanthus trees (muxi) whose heavy perfume intoxicates the air; stone steps ascend to a viewing platform framed by placid lakes ahead and ancient trees behind, inviting travelers to pause and rest. Beyond the platform's edge, a hundred towering ancients deepen the sense of secluded wonder.

(Note: References to Wang Zinian and the immortal duo Tao-Pi allude to Daoist lore, while Yaoshan and Wumu denote celestial realms; "Xiao Studio" signifies a hermit's study.)

This passage describes marvelous mountain scenery and reflections on life, which can be understood in two parts:

The first section depicts a secluded mountain forest landscape: the trees are so luxuriant that sunlight filters through the leaves like scattered raindrops. When the breeze blows, the mist shifts between blue and white, spreading across the ground like a thousand-foot veil of gossamer. Even in the height of summer, this place remains refreshingly cool—so much so that one immediately feels the need to don a fur coat upon entering. Frost flowers dot the scene, exuding an icy fragrance that puts even narcissus blossoms to shame. Such scenery evokes the distant mountain vistas painted by the artist Guo Zhongshu. The author laments that if only he possessed the painting skills of masters like Wu Daozi or Li Shixun, he would capture every detail of this garden landscape.

The latter section draws parallels with history, using the example of Lord Xinling of the Warring States period: this hero once stole the imperial tally to rescue Zhao, repelling the Qin army and saving a weaker state, yet after his achievements, he wasted his ambitions in wine and women due to political suspicion. From this, the author reflects on a universal human truth—the initial joy of encountering love eventually gives way to melancholy when passion fades. Just as the wise grieve over life's impermanence when seeing mulberry leaves fall, the author, though his ambitions have waned, still harbors deep emotions, finding solace only in mountain and water landscapes. The conclusion emphasizes: what the heart truly cherishes can never be fully relinquished, just as those seeing off travelers must eventually stop, and wanderers must face the end of their journey. Those who claim detachment from worldly cares may be like wine diluted by the east wind—their true feelings long faded.

The excerpt from Account of Wandering to the Stone Cage records the wondrous Stone Cage of Long'an Mountain: entering eastward from the mountainside and ascending ten li through the clouds, one finds towering stones encircling the area. Twin waterfalls cascade from the stone peaks, forming a six-to-seven-xun-wide ravine below, so pristine that not a single weed grows around it.

The water here is free of silt, crystal clear and cold enough to drink directly. Fish swimming in the stream are distinctly visible, moving with effortless grace. The stones at the bottom take varied forms—some rise like steep cliffs, others dip like stone mortars, some lie flat like troughs, while others curve smoothly like bowls. These stones are naturally formed, polished and perfectly shaped, far beyond what human craftsmanship could achieve.

Walking a few dozen paces along the stream, one encounters what is called the "Stone Cage." This formation resembles a massive circular basin, its rocky walls sheer on all sides, with a base spanning five zhang in width. It gathers the entire mountain stream's flow into a circling current before releasing it back into the ravine. The previously mentioned cliff-like, trough-like, and bowl-like stones are scattered throughout, equally pristine, free of moss or sediment.

Further ahead, the streambed transforms into a broad, flat stone slab stretching several dozen feet. A narrow channel, barely a foot wide, runs through its center, while the full force of the stream rumbles beneath like thunder. Peering into the channel, one sees unfathomable depth, yet the trickling water is utterly charming.

In the ninth year of Emperor Shenzong's Xining era (1076), while staying in Long'an (in present-day Fujian), I led my students in search of springs and discovered this place. We were so delighted that we forgot to return home. Truly, this is a landscape crafted by heaven and treasured by earth! It is a pity that it lies not near bustling cities but hidden in remote mountains and deep valleys, unknown to those who chase fame and fashion. Had Tang Dynasty travel writers like Liu Zongyuan or Li Yuan encountered it, its fame might well have surpassed renowned sites like Stone Pond or Pan Valley.

East of Zhangzhou flows a spring-fed stream, its source deep within Peach Blossom Grotto. Emerging from the cave, it merges with the waters of Dengjia Spring and meanders westward, skirting the foothills of Ancient Zhu Mountain before reaching Zhangzhou—a journey of six or seven li. The entire route is framed by towering mountains and encircled by farmland, the fields winding between two ridges until they finally open into broad, endless plains at Zhangzhou.

The water has carved steep cliffs, plunging deep underground, making the fields appear elevated while the stream seems sunken. Farmers bending to till the soil cannot even draw water directly. In the past, to guard against droughts and floods, people built tall weirs at key points to regulate the flow. These weirs stand level with the fields, resembling a gorge when viewed from afar. During spring rains, the pooled water inside shimmers, merging with the flooded fields—holding back swift currents to store deep reserves while letting excess water cascade freely downstream.

This passage depicts a remarkable fluvial landscape, using vivid metaphors to showcase nature's extraordinary craftsmanship.

At the river's center, after centuries of erosion, the hardened bedrock has been exposed, forming undulating terrain. During crisp autumn days when water levels recede, spring water seeps through the soil like a slender thread, gradually carving out various hollows: deep as wells, shallow as mortars, round as platters, hollow as cauldrons, some swirling like millstones and others slanting like tile gutters—all producing crystalline trickling sounds.

The two riverbanks present stark contrasts: on the left, water crashes against rocks, spraying droplets like snowflakes; on the right, a waterfall cascades midair like silver ropes and jade blades scattering in the wind, eventually converging into a large depression below—about three feet in diameter and five feet deep. This basin resembles a tilted earthen jar, its perimeter solid as city walls with soil texture nearing stone, displaying a black exterior with yellow core interspersed with blue, red, and white hues, resembling painted armor from afar.

The swirling currents have sculpted honeycomb cavities—some like swallow nests, beehives, or ant colonies; others resembling sheep stomach patterns, brocade designs, or stalactite formations—all crystalline and flawless. The spring water first spirals within the depression, then snakes northwestward like a serpent before merging into the Zhang River.

This hidden wonder remained undiscovered until one June summer when the author's younger brother and his friend Qiu Hongdao stumbled upon it during a stroll through eastern fields. The next day, the author visited with his elder brother. While walking along the cliffs, they suddenly experienced the Zhuangzi-esque sensation of "observing fish at Hao Bridge." Removing their hats and robes to bathe in the basin during sweltering heat with lowered water levels, they occasionally spotted small fish leaping in the translucent stream while steep cliffs loomed overhead. Through meticulous observation and rich analogies, the text brings this natural spectacle to life with remarkable vividness.

Chaisang Mountain is located ninety li southwest of Jiujiang Prefecture. According to the Records of the Universe, it lies near Tao Yuanming's former residence at Luli. Tao Qian (Tao Yuanming), a native of this place, possessed noble character—his essay "Returning Home" alone fully reveals his authentic nature. Recalling how he casually took official posts yet returned to reclusion with effortless grace, one can almost envision him unloading his luggage onto a boat, joyfully seeking the "Three Paths" of seclusion to delight in rural life. Though traces of the past are hard to find today, the sight of cooking smoke amidst village willows remains everywhere—alas, men like Tao Qian are all too rare these days.

(From "Record of Traveling to Western Mountains") On the first day of the eleventh month, Yichou day, we reached Yuzhang on the winter solstice, the second day Bingyin day, and moored our boat at Nanpu Pavilion. Hong Qiaomen Zhifang (an official title), also known as Chengyun, mentioned that the opposite bank was the islet where Yin Hongqiao once discarded letters into the water. Ascending the Zhujia Pavilion in hopes of viewing Western Mountain, our sight was obscured by overcast rain. On the third day Dingmao, we visited the Iron Pillar Temple, where an iron pillar stands in a pond—about two or three chi tall, resembling a miniature mountain. A Daoist priest explained...

This passage records the author's travels around Nanchang, Jiangxi, primarily describing the geographical features and cultural relics near Xishan (also known as Yan Yuan Mountain).

Each year, when the pond waters swelled, the river would rise, and when they dried up, the river would recede. But this year was unusual. On the day of Xinwei, the abbot Liaoxian of Shanglan Temple visited with vegetarian offerings. On the day of Renshen, the author attended an official gathering at the Tengwang Pavilion hosted by the local government. The weather was clear, allowing for a splendid view of Xishan. According to the Zhifang Cheng and Shidao Sifan Zhi, Xishan is also called Yan Yuan Mountain.

On the day of Jiaxu, the author set out from the North Gate, passed by Daning Temple, and climbed the Liexiu Pavilion with the abbot, where they beheld the full panorama of Xishan. They then visited Dafan Temple and ascended the Qiuping Pavilion. The Zhifang Cheng states that the origins of this pavilion are unknown but cites Zeng Gong’s remark that only from this pavilion can one fully appreciate the scenery of Xishan. Next, they went to Jianfu Temple to admire the Shallow Sand Spring and Horse-Trampled Spring. The temple housed a bell cast in 900 (the third year of the Guanghua era) by the military governor Zhong Chuan.

On the day of Yihai, the author attended a gathering hosted by Magistrate Wang at the Liexiu Pavilion, where they sampled the waters of the Shallow Sand and Horse-Trampled Springs. Cheng Gongbi once built the Twin Springs Hall here, and Pan Xingsi composed a record of it. Nearby stood the Qingyuan Zhenren Shrine (also known as the Guankou Erlang Temple). Originally located within the city walls, these structures were moved outside when Li Gang, serving as military commander in the early Shaoxing era, reduced the city’s defensive perimeter for strategic reasons.

On the day of Bingzi, the author joined a gathering at the Ruzi Pavilion (built by Chen Fuqing and surrounded by lotus flowers) hosted by Commander Shen. On the day of Dingchou, they crossed the river by boat to explore Xishan. First, they reached Shajingkou, which, according to local records, lies atop a rock on the western bank of the Zhang River. Xu Xun (Xu Jingyang) once prophesied that 1,240 years after his ascension, a sandbar would emerge in the middle of the Yuzhang River. When it covered Shajingkou, eight hundred people would attain immortality. At present, the sandbar was still several dozen feet away from the mouth of the well.

Traveling twenty-five li by land, they arrived at Zhengyuan Monastery, where they climbed a pavilion to view copies of the Chan Moon Arhat paintings. Another five li brought them to the Wu Jingzhou Bosian Tomb Shrine at Shanglan Village. Five li farther was Luangang, the burial site of the "Three Xu Brothers" (Xu Yanxiu, Xu Xuan, and Xu Kai). In 1093 (the eighth year of the Yuanyou era), Zhang Shangying built a shrine here, and their portraits were still preserved. Beyond this lay Cuiya, a grand and imposing structure. During the Baoda era (943–957) of the Southern Tang, the Chan master Wuyin, also known as Chengyuan, resided here and was highly revered by Emperor Li Yu. When the master passed away in 960 (the first year of the Jianlong era of the Northern Song), his epitaph was composed by Han Xizai. Later, the monk Dead Heart (Si Xin) also lived here.

At Yunfengyue in Jiangxi, a place renowned as a scenic wonder since ancient times for its association with enlightenment, I strolled after dinner with Elder Master Liaoxian to visit Hongya Well. The well was fathomlessly deep, once spanned by a bridge that now lies in ruins. The temple draws water from the cliff for daily use, channeling the flow to turn a great wheel that powers a mill.

A few dozen paces from the cliff stands Fengsheng Palace (now called Ziqing Palace), which Xu Xuan once commemorated in writing. The palace enshrines a portrait of Emperor Suzong of Tang, though now only a few Daoist priests remain. That evening, we lodged in the abbot’s quarters of Cuiya Temple, where we examined imperial edicts bestowed upon Chan Master Wuyin by the Southern Tang ruler Li. These were written on the finest Chengxintang paper, each bearing a seal with inscriptions as fine as hair. I inscribed a note: "Though the Li dynasty revered Buddhism, showering temples across Jiangnan with documents, few like Cuiya Temple have preserved them so intact."

At dawn on the Wuyin day, we boarded a small boat to follow the stream, skirting the mountains for a couple of li until we glimpsed the legendary Medicine Mortar—a great stone disk-like boulder amid the rushing mountain torrents. Crossing Niulan Ridge, Tea Garden Ridge, and finally Tangjia Ridge, we looked back to see Shengmi Islet before arriving at Xiangcheng Temple. Its gate bore a plaque inscribed "Xiantong Xiangcheng Monastery" by Yan Jing, Tang-era military governor of Zhennan. During the Long'an era of the Eastern Jin, Chan Master Tanxian first cultivated here, famously debating with the eminent Daoist Lu Jingxiu—a story recorded in the Northern Qi’s Biographies of Eminent Monks.

The current abbot, Ruhui, is a disciple of Master Miaoxi. Beside the abbot’s quarters grew two sala trees with drooping leaves, and a peculiar "arhat vegetable" that sprouts in the first lunar month. After the meal, we hiked uphill with canes, passing through a grove of torreya trees. Among them stood a colossal specimen requiring five men to embrace, dubbed the "General Tree" for its nearly thousand-year age. Cheng Gongbi’s poem reads: "Golden staffs seem to chime in the clouds" (temple records speak of forty-nine golden arhats appearing with staffs aloft), "A wild monk ascends with me; / The ancient torreya sways like a general / Commanding ten thousand troops."

We then reached the temple’s original site, where a massive inkstone-shaped rock—fourteen chi long and six or seven wide—lay. Cheng Gongbi wrote of it: "This stone, a well of cold springs, / Holds timeless calm in its unmarked waters. / Were ten thousand pines burned to ink, / Vast verses could fill the western hills." Next, we visited the meditation stone of Venerable Lingguan before ascending to Wutang, a six-chi-high, seven-chi-wide platform marking Xiangcheng Mountain’s summit. Lingguan, a novice monk who returned to lay life during the Sui’s Kaihuang era, built this altar to seek precepts here before meeting his end settling an old vendetta. The five-li hike from the temple, through lingering snowdrifts, rewarded us with sweeping views of the Zhang River.

This passage recounts the author's travels through the Hongya area of Jiangxi. Departing from behind the prefectural city's mountains, the journey followed the borders of Jianchang County, during which the author returned to a temple to study the Shunchan Stele, poetic inscriptions by Su Shi and his brother, Pan Xingsi's commemorative writings, and the record of the Cishun Pagoda. At dusk, they returned to Cuiwei Temple and ascended the "Yuhao Pavilion" with Abbot Jian—this pavilion derives its name from the line in Hanshan's poem: "Gentle winds stir the secluded pines; listening quietly, the sound grows more sublime."

The temple is encircled by mountains, with Luangang Ridge directly facing the water gap where the Three Xu Ancestral Hall stands. To the right of the abbot's quarters lies the Half-Moon Pavilion, where Jiang Yingshu once inscribed a poem. Further right are the Listening-to-Pines Hall and the Chengyuan Pagoda, surrounded by dense bamboo groves with stalks as thick as five or six feet. Nearby stands the Temple of Prince Qi, dedicated to Li Jingda, younger brother of the Southern Tang ruler Li Yu and former governor of Fuzhou, who donated farmland to the temple and is thus venerated here. The floral-patterned bricks on the left steps of the Dharma Hall date from the Southern Tang period; their relief carvings have been worn smooth by footsteps, a testament to the temple's former flourishing incense offerings.

At dusk, the author accompanied Abbot Jian and a monk from the West Hall to revisit Hongya. Peering down into the deep pool, they saw only dense vegetation and sheer cliffs, hearing only the rush of turbulent waters. After walking a dozen paces along the stream and parting the undergrowth, they beheld a wondrous sight: between towering gorge rocks dozens of zhang high, torrents formed cascading waterfalls spraying leftward, while several more waterfalls hung from cliffs three zhang apart—a spectacle rivaling the Three Gorges of Qixian Temple. To the right lay numerous flat boulders ideal for resting. Having visited three times before without discovering this hidden marvel, they nearly missed such extraordinary scenery.

The old poem inscribed by Monk Shanquan in the Xun position describes the landscape thus: The water originates from Xiangcheng, meandering through mountain streams before surging between two cliffs to form the Twin-Stone Gorge. Angry waves churn like the Milky Way pouring down; icy currents resemble primordial snowmelt. The torrent plunges into the "Cinnabar Well" (referring to the deep pool), its roar gradually subsiding into a gentle stream that washes away worldly heat. Standing on the flying bridge overlooking the numinous pool, even individual hairs are visible. Continuous peaks block the sunlight; ancient trees stand solemn as ceremonial guards. The Hongya rocks were once where immortals refined the elixir (neidan); after their ascension, only the stone mortar's crescent remains. The poet confesses that though he has left the "Daoist mountains" (referring to spiritual retreats), he still cherishes this secluded spot, longing to revisit like an immortal astride a white deer to drink the sweet springs again. This travelogue, dated early morning of the Jimao year, records the journey from Cuiwei Temple to the Hongya Zichan Monastery.

The Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven documents the travels of three literati through renowned Daoist mountains.

The first section describes the dwelling of Daoist Zhi Xin of White Stone. Following the rushing mountain stream and crossing Dismount Ridge leads to his abode. His temple is modest in scale, with the Dharma Hall in ruins, yet from his chamber window one can admire the screen-like beauty of Plum Ridge. Emperor Zhenzong of Song once gifted Zhi Xin a poem containing the lines: "With a pearl as his precept, never stained; / Cooking white stones for food, never hungry"—referring to the legend of Zhi Xin sustaining himself by boiling stones during his ascetic practice. The author later dined at Emerald Rock with companions including Elder Xian, cleared overgrown paths at Hongya Cliff, and sat upon boulders to brew tea with spring water while admiring cascading waterfalls.

The second part records Lu Jiuyuan's visit to Dragon-Tiger Mountain (one of Daoism's sacred origins). After rain cleared, a west wind brought refreshment across flourishing fields. Having viewed waterfalls at mid-mountain, they moored boats to stay overnight. The next day at Immortal Research Cliff, they observed snow-white stone shoals and deep blue pools, egrets and wild ducks in flight, verdant pines and bamboos, moss-covered rocks, and golden lampflowers (a Daoist celestial herb) blooming on cliffs—the entire mountain resembling embroidered silk. Boats moved like schools of fish or migrating geese, some visitors exploring hidden wonders while others anchored to admire views. Their company of seventy-eight included elders and youths, each with distinctive demeanor.

The third section, by Wu Yufu, recounts climbing MaGu Mountain (where the Daoist immortaless Ma Gu cultivated the Dao). Located within the celestial domain of the Dipper and Ox constellations, their summer ascent brought them to Mid-Mountain Pavilion overlooking abysses where clouds rolled like an ocean, flanked by cliffs embraced by ancient pines and emerald bamboos.

The passage depicts the landscape and cultural relics of a sacred Daoist site. The mountain path winds like a crouching beast; after several li, one reaches the Divine Power Spring, where water drips from stone crevices—first as a gentle murmur like immortals astride dragons, then thundering with such force its mist can veil the sun and moon. A Daoist priest mentions the spring water is now used to brew wine.

Next lies Xiandu Temple, its gate inscribed "Minor Grotto-Heaven" (one of Daoism’s Thirty-Six Grotto-Heavens). The temple halls enshrine immortals and retain Tang-dynasty architectural features. This was once administered by Wen Tianxiang (a loyalist of the Southern Song), and the extant stele was originally inscribed by Tang calligrapher Yan Zhenqing—stolen and later returned. Nearby is the ascension site of Deng Ziyang (a renowned Tang-dynasty Daoist), protected by stone walls and gravel, where Emperor Xuanzong of Tang erected a stele labeled "Tomb of Perfected Ziyang."

From the Hall of Concentrated Truth, the author gazes at sunset illuminating the empty mountains, painting the sky in evening hues. Crossing a small stone bridge back to the Divine Power Spring, a priest mentions a third valley named Mayuan. Through the woods, a colossal cliff towers into the clouds, its cascading springs scattering like pearls. Beyond a broken bridge lies Yunmen Temple, flanked by three streams—Shangpan, Hanping, and the Great and Small Sources—which converge into an unfathomable brook, possibly fed by Lake Pengli (modern Poyang Lake).

The cliffs bear natural patterns resembling archaic insect-and-bird script, some sheer vertical, others horizontal. Another dozen li leads to Changgang, where legend says Xie Lingyun (a Southern Dynasties poet) sought the recluse Hua Ziqi. The poetic imagery of "cassias piercing cold mountains" lingers, though the emerald ravines and ruby springs of the Jin dynasty have faded. From the heights, the stones—great and small—unfold infinite vistas.

The Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven documents two renowned Daoist sacred mountains. The first describes the scenery of Hongya Cliff: Following the river for thirty li, one reaches Hongya, where golden stone cliffs tower several dozen zhang high on both banks, their white veins resembling layered chrysanthemums. The mountain rises precipitously for five or six li, with a waterfall plunging straight down, its spray scattering like wind-driven rain. A massive boulder blocks the waterfall's path, causing the waters to converge before surging upward and splitting left and right in a spectacular display. On either side stand bell-and-chime shaped boulders (regarded in Daoism as traces of immortals) that produce resonant tones when struck by the cascading waters. Tradition holds that the immortal Hongya once dwelled here, hence the name. Inscriptions on the cliffs have been obscured by moss over time. Below the mountain, the winding stream makes ninety-seven turns before merging with the great river.

The second account depicts Jinjing Mountain: Located fifteen li west of Ningdu's outskirts, its crimson cliffs and emerald walls appear wreathed in clouds from afar. Starting from the North Gate and crossing Gongchen Bridge westward into the verdant mountains, one encounters fantastically shaped stone peaks—the Lion Peak crouches like a beast with a rounded neck-stone resembling a hanging bell. Entering Qingniu Gorge, a clear stream emerges between stone walls, flanked by extraordinary rock formations: some resemble soaring dragons or galloping steeds, others stand like jade-carved screens, while certain cliffs evoke a roc spreading its wings or appear as if split by sword and axe—all displaying the myriad wonders of Danxia landforms (considered by Daoist practitioners as ideal for cultivation due to their extraordinary qi configurations).

This passage vividly depicts a spectacular mountain landscape, using striking metaphors to describe the forms of twelve distinct peaks.

The text first portrays the mountain's overall wondrous appearance: its mass resembles an iron fortress encircling the area, with rock caves as densely clustered as beehives or swallows' nests. Some crystalline stones gleam like solidified fat, shimmering in the sunlight, while towering summits wreathed in mist resemble rising smoke from cooking fires—a breathtaking display of myriad marvels.

It meticulously records the unique contours of twelve renowned peaks:

1. Lion Peak: Slightly rounded yet elongated, with a flat base resembling a lotus bud about to bloom

2. Lotus Peak: Its central bulge evokes a lotus seedpod emerging from broad leaves

3. Palms-Joined Peak: Twin summits face each other, their central fissure extending to the base like a monk's praying hands

4. Immortal Peach Peak: Twin boulders cradle a solitary tree whose lush foliage resembles a platter bearing peaches

5. Flowing-Hair Peak: White cliffs streaked with dark veins resemble cascading tresses

6. Crouching Tiger Peak: The mountain crouches like a tiger guarding the path, gazing downward

7. Jade-Green Peak: Covered in vibrant emerald forests that glow with crystalline clarity

8. Immortal-Gazing Peak: Faces directly toward the Sacred Spring and celestial shrines

9. Triple-Jade Peak: A cluster of exquisite stones carved like layered jade treasures

10. Auspicious-Jade Peak: Among countless bamboo groves grow roots of extraordinary forms

11. Sky-Soaring Peak: A towering hollow peak forming a natural grotto-heaven

12. Stone-Drum Peak: Broad above and narrow below, cinnabar-hued like a waist drum

Particular attention is given to Bixu Grotto's wonders: a spiraling mountainside split by a crevice accessible only by vine-climbing woodcutters and shepherds. Inside lies cavernous space like a grand hall, where legend speaks of golden beds and jade tables left by immortals.

The perilous Huangzhu Peak appears serrated from afar, yet up close stands columnar with golden veins. Its base requires crawling through stone clefts, while the surprisingly flat summit—large enough for a thousand households—holds two perennial springs, serving as a wartime refuge.

Finally, the unique structure of Yangling Temple (a Daoist monastery) is described: nestled optimally among boulders, entered through the Immortal Peach Pavilion's stone-jar doorway. Winding plank paths lead beneath a natural vaulted ceiling resembling compass-drawn sky. The temple's layered halls use no tiles, while a wooden crane suspended from the rock rotates seasonally. Perpetual springwater cascades like eternal rain down winding cliffs, the path narrowing downward into solemn stillness where the Sacred Spring emerges from stone fissures.

The Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven describes a sacred mountain brimming with numinous energy (lingqi). Here, spring water meanders through stone crevices, its sweet taste perfect for brewing tea. Legend holds that any visitor carrying meat or alcohol would suddenly encounter violent storms—such was the mountain's awe-inspiring spiritual presence, so potent it could raise gooseblesh on one's skin. With its resident immortals known to answer prayers, people naturally refrained from any profane acts.

According to the Seven Bamboo Tablets of the Cloudy Satchel (a Daoist scripture), this mountain ranks among the Thirty-Five Blessed Lands of Daoism. During the early Western Han dynasty, a female immortal named Zhang Liying (courtesy name Jinhua) achieved ascension here. Born an ordinary village girl at the mountain's foot, she displayed extraordinary qualities from birth. At fifteen, she discovered two celestial peaches in the mountains—one given to her mother turned to stone upon consumption, while the other granted her eternal freedom from hunger and thirst. Its pit likewise petrified, forming today's Immortal Peach Peak. Through cultivation and accumulating virtue (de), she later attained immortality.

When Prince Wu Rui of Changsha passed through during his campaign to pacify Minyue, he demanded her hand upon hearing of her beauty. As her parents prepared to consent, Zhang Liying sent a messenger declaring: "I belong to the celestial realm, though temporarily dwelling in the mortal world—do not disgrace me." When Wu Rui sent troops to search the mountain, she appeared amid clouds, announcing: "I am the essence of Venus (Jinxing zhi jing) sent to govern this land. You should instead erect altars to bless the people." The chastened prince apologized, but she had already soared skyward. Later appearing repeatedly to bring rain, she was posthumously honored as "Perfected Person of Universal Response from Numinous Springs" during Emperor Huizong's Chongning era.

Her ascension left behind eighteen poems, of which five survive. The first laments worldly hardships while affirming steadfast resolve; the second uses stone drums to symbolize compassion for the people's suffering; the third compares herself to a phoenix refusing earthly taint; the fourth expresses transcendent detachment; the fifth consoles her grieving parents in farewell. These verses, lofty in tone and suffused with otherworldliness, still cherish familial bonds—a poignant fusion of celestial principle (tianli) and human sentiment (renqing). Regrettably, the local Old Records of Zhanggong dismissed them as "vulgar," a lamentable blindness to their true worth.

Another account, Records of Hongyang Cave, notes: Surrounded by mountains, Yichun City lies fifteen li west of Qixing Peak—a towering range of emerald ridges, the region's most majestic summit.

Among the records of famous mountains under heaven, the Hongyang Cave lies at the foot of three peaks, forming a scenic wonder of natural stone caverns. The cave derives its name from two Jin dynasty immortals, Ge Hong and Lou Yang, who once practiced cultivation here (what Daoism calls "dwelling in perfection" [qizhen]), hence combining both names in its title.

Hongyang Cave boasts seventy-two entrances with an intricately arranged interior structure. The main entrance faces east, several zhang above ground level. The first chamber is level and bright, illuminated by natural light; the second turns westward, gradually dimming; the third extends southward, becoming profoundly dark—requiring torchlight and bamboo rafts to traverse. At the fifth chamber, the path splits: the eastern route climbs steeply through ten caverns to the highest point, while the western path winds deeply through twelve chambers of varying heights, reaching the cave's profoundest depths. A narrow passage nearby suddenly opens into vastness, like a gateway to the grotto-heavens.

Further inward, numerous chambers interconnect across a motionless emerald waterway resembling the legendary Weak Waters (the mystical river in Daoist lore that cannot be crossed). Traveling southward through these waters for several li, one hears bamboo poles tapping at Changshan Ferry—the cave's terminus. Within, fantastical stone formations of infinite variety stand unsullied by dust, wrapped in perfect silence, each vista inspiring awe as a true wonder of creation.

The cave manifests all four seasons: cool in spring and summer, warm in autumn and winter. Stone swallows (stalactite formations resembling swallows) can be seen dancing on clear days, while crickets chirp in shaded corners. This cavern even commands clouds and rain, nourishing all things and blessing local inhabitants with peace and prosperity. The region's abundance of talented individuals is attributed to the cave's divine guardianship. Visitors wearing straw sandals and carrying knotweed torches (ancient lighting tools) sing while touring, forgetting worldly cares until reluctant to depart. Stone tablets with vermilion inscriptions line the walls, though now moss-covered.

Formed during heaven and earth's primordial division through the interplay of water and stone, the cave has drawn continuous visitors since Ge Hong and Lou Yang's ascension, though most merely skim its surface. Only when the sun and moon converged at the Dragon-Tail constellation (an ancient astronomical term) did Magistrate Liu arrive with local officials during a rare break in prolonged rains—mountains freshly washed, the scenery exceptionally clear.

In the year Yi-Hai of the Hongwu reign (1395), while residing in Wuchang, I became acquainted with the local recluse Master Jiang Yinxi. Originally from Luling in Jiangxi, this octogenarian remained deeply devoted to Daoist scriptures. His son Jiang Ligong, well-versed in Confucian learning and skilled in poetry, shared his father's erudition yet unassuming demeanor. Though they seldom socialized, both took kindly to me. On the first day of the third lunar month, the three of us set out with four or five attendants carrying wine and provisions.

Before dawn, old Master Jiang rode in a small sedan chair while Ligong and I walked eastward. Passing Hongshan Temple by about two li, we turned north onto a path that stretched nearly ten li. Our journey took us through pine forests and across mountain streams—their waters so clear one could see the bottom, deep enough to float small boats. By a stream stood a massive flat rock that could seat over ten people. Lush pines, cypresses, and bamboo surrounded us under clear skies, with wildflowers perfuming the air and birdsong echoing everywhere. After sweeping the rock clean to sit, we suddenly heard chickens and dogs—prompting us to walk east several dozen paces. Crossing a small mound revealed a sudden vista: a dozen thatched cottages scattered across level fields.

A white-haired elder with ruddy, wine-flushed cheeks sat reading in a courtyard. The book in his hands was none other than Tan Qiao's Southern Tang-era Hua Shu (Book of Transformations). He warmly invited us in as an old woman brought tea. Books piled beneath the windows—Ligong picked up the Liezi, while I found Baihu Tong (Comprehensive Discussions in the White Tiger Hall). Though longing to borrow them, we hesitated until the old man said, "These tomes serve me no more." We left with the treasured volumes.

Returning to the streamside rock, we had attendants use taro leaves as plates for meat and a gourd ladle to serve wine in rounds. After three rounds, Ligong spontaneously composed poetry while boys chanted accompaniments. Mid-revelry, our old friend Li Qianhu (an officer of Wuchang's Left Guard) rode past in startled laughter but didn't stop. Soon he returned with lavish dishes and a Yuezhou Daoist named Liu, who displayed his prized Chart of Taiyi Zhenren (Perfected Lord of the Great Unity). The company drank and conversed until thoroughly satisfied.

(Note: The "Qiqiu's Hua Shu" refers to the Daoist classic Book of Transformations, traditionally attributed to Five Dynasties period master Tan Qiao; Taiyi Zhenren is an important Daoist deity whose image is often used for meditation in cultivation practices.)

The Records of Famous Mountains documents several renowned landscapes and historical sites, blending ancient lore with firsthand observations.

Regarding Dongting Mountain, the text cites the Classic of Mountains and Seas, noting it was the dwelling place of Emperor Yao’s two daughters, Ehuang and Nüying (legend holds they drowned themselves in the Xiang River mourning Emperor Shun’s death, later revered as the river goddesses Xiangjun and Xiangfuren). Twelve peaks encircle the mountain like coiled clouds, while distant views of Mount Cangwu stretch the gaze to the horizon.

On Yunmeng Marsh, it clarifies that this ancient lake, also called Baqiu Lake, was a famed wetland in Jingzhou, actually located southeast of Huarong County, connected to Dongting Lake’s waterways. The Yunmeng in Anlu merely borrowed the name.

The section on Xiao-Xiang explains that these were originally two separate rivers—the Xiao and the Xiang—but like the Zhang and Gong tributaries of the Gan River, they have since merged, both emptying into Dongting Lake’s mouth. Some mistakenly believe the Xiao flows through Yongzhou and the Xiang through Hengyang, but this is inaccurate.

The ruins of Zhanghua Terrace, built by King Ling of Chu, are described—once famed as the "Palace of Slender Waists" (the origin of the saying "The King of Chu favors slender waists"), now reduced to crumbling walls, its music-filled towers long vanished like smoke.

The text also includes a vivid travel scene: Amid revelry, a Daoist priest, overwhelmed by wine, kneels and begs for mercy. Some play the pipa, others bamboo flutes, while the priest dances spontaneously, two children clapping in delight. Later, the group strolls along a stream to watch fish—when food is tossed, they gather; when stones are thrown, they scatter—prompting reflections on the parable of "seagulls forgetting cunning" (symbolizing harmony with nature only when free of scheming minds). As the sun sets, they share tea cakes and part reluctantly. This passage vividly captures the leisurely joy of literati immersed in nature’s beauty.

This passage documents several renowned landscapes and historical sites, brimming with literary allusions and scholarly sentiments.

Zhugong Palace (the Chu State's detached palace) originally served as the temporary residence of King Qingxiang of Chu and was also the former home of the poet Song Yu. Emperor Yuan of Liang ascended the throne here. Legend has it that southwest of the city lie remnants of Gao Conghui's ponds and pavilions from the Five Dynasties period, where summer lotuses and water caltrops still adorn the water's surface, faintly evoking the lingering grace of the Southern Dynasties.

Zhongxuan Tower (a memorial to Wang Can) stands majestically atop the southeast city gate of Gong'an, its upturned eaves piercing the clouds while its carved beams and painted rafters shimmer in sunlight. Before the tower, clear waters lap against the shore as willow trees drape over the embankment—truly an ideal retreat to dispel melancholy.

Yu Tower (also called Moonlight Tower), located two li southeast of the city, boasts exquisite architecture but is often mistaken for a structure in Wuchang. The author laments how present-day Wuchang no longer produces figures as refined as Grand Marshal Yu, and even the towers of that era have vanished without trace.

The stone cliffs near Daoshi Fu (a Taoist hermitage) present the most extraordinary scenery—their jade-green reflections in the river resemble meticulously carved screens. Travelers claim these views rival those of the Three Gorges.

While scholarly debates persist about the location of the Red Cliffs (ancient Three Kingdoms battlefield), the Jiangxia theory aligns best with historical records. Huangzhou's so-called "Red Cliffs" are actually Chibi Mountain, made famous by Su Shi's "Ode to the Red Cliffs." Towering by the riverside, it indeed commands Huanggang's finest vistas.

North of Huangpi lies Mulan Mountain, traditionally regarded as the homeland of General Mulan who took her father's place in the army. Her burial mound and memorial temple remain preserved to this day.

Wuchang Tower stands imposingly magnificent, though the willow trees by its west gate appear desolate—only the trees on Hanyang's opposite shore remain distinctly visible. Hanchuan Gate faces Wuchang Gate across the river, where the seven-li-three-fen-wide waters offer distant views of Dabie and Xiaobie Mountains' breathtaking scenery.

Though Parrot Isle spans the Han River, its tail connects to Yellow Crane Tower, making it cartographically part of Wuchang Prefecture. The scene Li Bai described in his verse—"Parrot Isle stretching across Hanyang Ferry"—can still be witnessed during autumn floods.

This passage poetically depicts several famous scenic and historic sites in Hubei province, capturing their natural beauty and legendary associations.

Yellow Crane Bluff (Huangheji) stands west of Wuchang city walls, offering panoramic views of the "Three Xiang and Seven Marshlands" (referring to the interconnected waterways of Hunan and Hubei). Legend claims this was where Fei Yi (a Shu Han minister during the Three Kingdoms period) achieved immortality, though some attribute it to the immortal Wang Zi'an. Cui Hao's poetic reference to "riding white clouds" originates here. Popular tales mistakenly associate the site with Lü Dongbin—such claims are as credible as explaining dreams to fools.

Mount Dabie presents scenery like an ink-wash painting. At dusk, visitors can see the forests of King E's ancient city faintly visible through mist on the opposite bank. The moon suspended above palace eaves reflects on shimmering river currents, creating mesmerizing views that linger in memory.

Mount Xiaobie, south of Hanchuan county, is locally called Zeng Mountain for its resemblance to a rice steamer. The Spring and Autumn Annals record that during the Wu-Chu wars, Wu troops crossed the Han River and deployed from Xiaobie to Dabie—precisely this location.

Nülang Mountain west of Hanyang city hosts a Goddess Temple. While Liu Yuxi's poems describe its misty rains and legends of goddesses transforming into mandarin ducks, the exact references remain obscure. Folktales about cloud deities prove less accurate than allusions to the classic "offering jade pendants" legend.

Langguan Lake, originally named South Lake, gained fame when Li Bai moonlit-boated with court official Zhang Wei, commemorating the occasion in verse. Vestiges of this poetic encounter remain within the city walls.

The Mist-Wave Inlet (Yanbowan) at Hanyang crossing reveals crystal-clear waters—mountains veiled in mist on sunny days, waves dancing in wind. Mooring his boat at dawn, the author gazed across at smoke-wreathed trees, feeling transported into a painting by Du Mu's verses.

Finally, the text mentions Yueyang Tower—Chu region's crowning glory, where the vast Dongting Lake meets the emerald Xiangjun Mountains, creating peerless scenery that dwarfs Yellow Crane Tower's more modest scale.

The text depicts the magnificent scenery of several renowned pavilions along the Yangtze River and the author's reflections.

Perched on steep cliffs, several pavilions stand towering above the river. Compressed by the mountains on both banks, the river roars day and night, its momentum awe-inspiring. Qingchuan Pavilion and Yellow Crane Pavilion face each other across the river, gathering the scenic beauty of the entire city. The vermilion gates and splendid paths complement each other like a masterpiece arranged by heaven itself. In contrast, Zhongxuan Pavilion appears lonely, surrounded by desolate emptiness.

In his youth, the author enjoyed composing poetry, yet he found no inspiration in Zhongxuan Pavilion, as its landscape lacked harmony. The extraordinary beauty of these three famous pavilions is truly beyond words, so the author hesitated to casually write poetry about them. He observed that many poets could effortlessly compose fine verses about ordinary scenery, yet when faced with majestic mountains and rivers, they became hesitant—such grandeur overwhelms the human spirit.

The author likens himself to a musician who can hum simple tunes at ease but grows nervous and speechless when performing before a grand banquet hall filled with guests. Lei Yuanliang, a renowned poet of the time, carried his manuscripts wherever he went, composing verses for all four famous pavilions. His refined talent complemented the beauty of the scenery, making the author feel inadequate in comparison.

In the end, the author reflects: Though Zhongxuan Pavilion is ordinary, it is fortunate to be mentioned alongside the other three famous pavilions. Just as ancient poets like Yu Xin and Yuan Zhen, had they lived in different eras, could not be compared, one wonders how Lei Yuanliang would view such a comparison.

The second section, Record of Shigu Mountain, describes the geographical grandeur of Shigu Academy in Hengzhou. Originally a prefectural school, before official academies were established nationwide, there were only four renowned academies in the land: Culai, Jinshan, Yuelu, and Shigu. Shigu Mountain stands at the northern edge of the prefectural city, where the mountain range abruptly ends, only for a solitary peak to rise on its right like a massive rocky outcrop jutting into the river. The Zhengshui flows from Shaoyang, winding around its left, while the Xiaoshui arrives from Lingling, encircling its right—the two rivers converge before Hejiang Pavilion and flow eastward together. Shigu Mountain commands this strategic position like a hegemon of the Spring and Autumn period summoning feudal lords, while the Zheng and Xiang rivers resemble fraternal states coming to pay homage.

The "Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven" documents the scenic spots and historical sites around Hengyang and includes travelogues by Liu Zongyuan. The text mentions that the Hejiang Pavilion was named "Lüjing Pavilion" (Pure Green Pavilion) after a line from Han Yu's (Duke of Literature) poem - "the pure green should not be defiled by spitting." When Han Yu was exiled to Chaoyang, he traveled south from Hengyang into Guangdong, hence no poetic works of his remain in regions south of Hengyang.

On the mountain path outside the western corridor of the academy, there are stone steps called the Western Stream, bearing inscriptions from Tang Dynasty officials Li Jifu and Qi Ying. A new temple dedicated to Zhuge Liang (Marquis Wu) was built in front of the academy by the author's elder brother when he served as the Changping Commissioner. Fifteen days later, the journey continued overland to Huiyan Peak—a small hill south of Hengyang's city walls. Legend claims migratory birds cannot fly beyond Mount Heng and turn back here, though some report still hearing wild geese calls as far as Guilin. Although listed among the seventy-two peaks of the Southern Sacred Mountain (Nanyue), this peak is actually quite distant from the main range.

In his "First Excursion to the Western Mountain," Liu Zongyuan wrote: Since my banishment to this prefecture, I've often felt restless. During leisure hours, I would wander aimlessly, daily leading companions up high peaks through dense forests, following winding streams to seek hidden springs and strange rocks—covering nearly every remarkable spot. At each place, we'd clear grass to sit, drink heartily until drunkenly pillowing our heads together. Wherever the mind wandered, dreams would follow; upon waking, we'd return home. I thought I'd seen all the extraordinary mountain scenery this prefecture offered—until discovering the Western Mountain's uniqueness.

On the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month, while sitting in the West Pavilion of Fahua Temple gazing at the Western Mountain, I recognized its extraordinary character. Commanding servants to cross the Xiang River and follow Ran Stream, we chopped through thickets until reaching the summit. Sitting cross-legged, I beheld the entire territory of several prefectures—the undulating terrain resembling anthills or hollows, compressing a thousand miles of scenery before my eyes. Azure peaks and curling white clouds merged distantly with the sky's edge, creating seamless unity in all directions. Only then did I understand this mountain's supremacy—not keeping company with mere hillocks, but blending boundlessly with the cosmos' primal energy (haogi), wandering with the Creator unknowing of any limit. Filling my cup in tipsy delight, I scarcely noticed the sunset's crimson hues deepening into dusk's obscurity.

(Note: "Banished man" refers to exiled officials; "anthills" denotes small mounds; "primal energy" signifies the vital force between heaven and earth.)

This passage recounts Su Shi's (courtesy name Zizhan) experience during his exile in Qi'an (present-day Huanggang, Hubei), when he frequented the Western Hills of Wuchang and built a pavilion. Though Qi'an itself lacked notable mountains, the southern bank of the Yangtze River near Wuchang featured undulating hills and secluded valleys, with two Buddhist monasteries (referred to as "floating pagodas and refined abodes") at Western Hills and Cold Stream—tranquil places rarely visited.

Whenever the winds and waves calmed, Su Shi would take wine and cross the river by fishing boat to the southern mountains. A few hospitable recluses there, hearing of his arrival, would greet him with smiles and accompany him deep into the hills until exhaustion forced them to rest. They would sweep away fallen leaves, sit on the grass, drink, and converse, often losing track of time and staying overnight. Thus, Su Shi spent three years in Qi'an without feeling the passage of time.

On the path to Western Hills, there was a winding, narrow trail where travelers invariably paused to rest. A dilapidated pavilion once stood there, but the space was cramped, surrounded by towering ancient trees. Later, a storm toppled one of the great trees, serendipitously clearing space. Su Shi and his friends laughed, saying, "Heaven itself wills this pavilion's restoration!" They rebuilt it, perfecting the scenery of Western Hills—a source of particular joy for Su Shi.

The author recalls accompanying Su Shi in his youth: whenever they encountered beautiful landscapes, Su Shi would be the first to hike up his robes and explore. If unable to go, he would brood for days. When wandering alone, his carefree manner—gathering wild fruits, drinking from mountain springs—made onlookers mistake him for an immortal. Truly, the world offers endless delights, yet only those that resonate with one's heart bring the deepest joy. In such moments of immersion, nothing else compares; yet when the mood passes, one can only laugh at oneself.

Wang Jian wrote in his Poem of the Carefree Pavilion Stream:

The Duke of Carefree once lingered here, and later the emperor renamed the stream "Rising Stone Terrace." Every spring, high officials would arrive in carriages to enjoy the scenery, while their descendants only returned occasionally when assigned official posts. Now, wild trees stand sparse, felled by axes, and banana blossoms scatter in the rain. What worth do these ownerless green hills hold? They can only be sold to pay taxes—no better than a handful of ashes.

Liu Yuxi recorded in the Preface to His Lament for Fool’s Stream:

Three years after Liu Zongyuan’s death, a monk visited and lamented that Fool’s Stream was no longer what it once had been. Overcome with grief, Liu Yuxi composed a seven-character poem to express his sorrow:

The ink traces of the "Sage of Cursive Script" (Zhang Xu) still linger on broken walls,

A thousand citrus trees now belong to neighbors.

All that remains is the plaque "Virtuous Passage" hanging on the gate,

And at sunset, a lone, battered firewood cart creaks away.

Reading these two poems stirs deep reflection. In the Duke of Carefree’s heyday, high officials brought wine, musicians played, and imperial carriages came and went, enhancing the stream’s prestige. Yet within just a few generations after Duke Wei’s (Wei Silí) passing, the once-celebrated retreat had fallen into such disrepair that its land was sold for taxes. Similarly, during Liu Zongyuan’s lifetime, Fool’s Stream was a gathering place for scholars, yet soon after his death, only a broken cart remained beneath the setting sun. How could decline come so swiftly?

These accounts are profoundly disheartening. The legacies left by predecessors often prove difficult for descendants to maintain—no matter how carefully planned. Li Deyu, in Admonitions to My Descendants on Pingquan Mountain Estate, warned:

"If Pingquan’s estate is sold, it will not be by my descendants; if its trees and rocks are given away, it will not be by worthy men."

Yet despite his earnest warnings, the rare stones and treasures of Pingquan were still seized by Luoyang’s powerful families. Alas, could mere admonitions prevent this?

Lu You wrote in Record of Ascending the South Tower:

The South Tower stands south of Stone City’s (modern Nanjing) ceremonial gate, also called Yellow Crane Mountain. Its architecture is grand, and the panoramic view from its heights is unmatched. Though Ezhou has many towers, this alone commands the finest rivers-and-mountains vista. Huang Tingjian once praised it as "a painted scroll unrolling from Jiangdong to Hubei." The South Tower of Ezhou is truly peerless under heaven—leaning on its railings, one sees lotus leaves stretching to the horizon, dotted with citrus trees.

This passage recounts the author's travels through the scenic landscapes of Wuchang in Hubei province, focusing particularly on the historic site of Yellow Crane Tower.

On the morning of the 28th, a light rain gave way to clear skies by evening, and I ascended Stone Mirror Pavilion with scholar Zhang Guanzhi to explore the ruins of Yellow Crane Tower. The pavilion stands at the edge of Stone Wall Mountain, facing the Yangtze River to the west, where the city of Hanyang lies just across the water. The river here is narrow enough that the figures, trees, and grasses on the opposite shore can be clearly discerned. This area was once the seat of Mianzhou during the Tang Dynasty, where the poet Li Bai, exiled to Yelang, once gathered with friends—an event he recorded in the preface to his poem Boating on Langguan Lake South of Mianzhou City.

The text highlights the legend of Yellow Crane Tower: it is said that during the Three Kingdoms period, Fei Yi (a minister of Shu Han) ascended to immortality here on a yellow crane, giving the tower its name. Renowned as one of the most spectacular sights in the world, the tower was immortalized in Cui Hao’s famous poem, while Li Bai also composed many celebrated verses here. Sadly, by the time of the author's visit, the tower had long fallen into ruin, its exact location lost to time. An elderly local official suggested it once stood somewhere between Stone Mirror Pavilion and South Tower, directly facing Parrot Islet.

Nearby, the author also observed a stone inscription in seal script by Li Yangbing (a Tang Dynasty calligrapher and former Director of the Palace Construction Bureau, known as "Li the Supervisor"). The carving preserved Li Bai’s famous farewell lines to Meng Haoran: "The lone sail’s distant shadow vanishes into blue mountains, / Leaving only the Yangtze flowing to the sky’s edge." The river scene depicted here, the author notes, is something only those who have spent long days traveling the river could truly appreciate.

Later, they visited the so-called "Immortal’s Cave" near Hanyang Gate—really just a sheer rock face a few feet high, split vertically with no actual cavern. Legend tells of an immortal who once dwelled here, gifting gold to an old soldier before it turned to stone. Su Shi wrote a poem about this encounter, though he did not name the immortal in question. Li Bai’s verse—"I’ve heard many immortals gathered here, / Practicing the art of flight"—further attests to the area’s rich Daoist lore.

The Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven documents observations from two scenic sites:

Regarding Lü Gong Cave (legendary grotto where Lü Dongbin cultivated), locals in Hubei refer to it as such, though this is actually a folk attribution. A Daoist from Chanzhou built a thatched hut beside the cave enshrining an image of Patriarch Lü. Not far south of the cave lies the base of Shijing Mountain, where only coarse yellow stones with mottled surfaces can be found—utterly incapable of reflecting one's image, rendering the site's name quite undeserved.

In Record of Wandering at Chaoyang Cliff, Yuan Jie wrote: During the Yongtai era, while traveling from Chunling to the capital for official duties, I passed through Lingling and was captivated by the extraordinary mountains and rivers beyond the city walls. Mooring my boat to explore, I discovered Chaoyang Cliff and its caverns—the most unique natural scenery in the region. Though long neglected and nameless through the ages, I named it "Morning Sun" for its eastern exposure. Former prefect Dugu Mian cleared its overgrowth for me, and successor prefect Dou Bi later added thatched pavilions, finally bringing proper recognition to the cliff's aqueous and lithic landscapes. Subsequently, I carved an inscription at the cliff's base to ensure posterity would know this beauty. The inscription marvels at Chaoyang Cliff's indescribable wonders: emerald half-mountains seemingly floating on water, ancient grottoes channeling crystalline springs. Though remote places warrant visitation, how much more this suburban treasure lying neglected at the city's edge? My engraving exists to proclaim Lingling's landscape splendors.

Shi Yu's supplementary Record of Wandering at Chaoyang Cliff notes: Chaoyang Cliff lies south of the city, accessible by two li boat ride from the west gate. Ashore, the summit is under a hundred paces away. Predecessors built a guest hall on the level area, where turning south then east reveals stone steps descending along the precipice to the eastward-jutting cliff face. The formation has two tiers: The upper tier features towering rocks forming several natural stone chambers, with recessed edges resembling upturned lotus petals. Pendant boulders hover two or three feet above ground in wondrous variations—some like drifting clouds, others congealed mist, beehive clusters, or dragon-head and phoenix-wing formations. To the right, the smooth, hard stone between two cliffs bears frequent visitor inscriptions. Nearby stands the "Wave-Viewing Pavilion" overlooking river currents. Descending several dozen steps leads to the lower grotto, a space of modest dimensions.

The passage contrasts two mountain rock formations and examines the location of Zhongxuan Tower mentioned in historical texts.

First, it describes the mountain scenery: an empty, luminous cave containing nothing but a babbling stream flowing through it, with a great river surging before it. This setting could serve for banquets, leisurely strolls, or panoramic viewing. The author observes that neither rock formation possesses particularly extraordinary features. The upper cliff appears cramped and lacking openness, though its imposing height and sheer precipice command awe. The lower cliff, while topographically sunken without towering grandeur, compensates with cavernous spaciousness, internal springs, and river encirclement—qualities the upper cliff lacks. This perhaps illustrates the Daoist principle that "where there is substance there is solidity, where there is absence there is void."

The author reflects: These cliffs have existed since antiquity, yet only gained names after being discovered by Yuan Jie (courtesy name Cishan) during the Tang dynasty. Though their scenic beauty persisted through the Song dynasty, few recognized their distinctive charm—demonstrating how mountains and rivers reveal or conceal their wonders according to predestined affinities.

The second part investigates the location of Zhongxuan Tower referenced in Wang Can's (courtesy name Zhongxuan) "Rhapsody on Ascending the Tower" from the Three Kingdoms period. While serving under Liu Biao, Governor of Jing Province, Wang composed this work, leading later generations to erect commemorative towers in both Jiangling and Xiangyang. The author's friend Zhou Shaoji argued for Xiangyang's claim, noting Liu Biao operated primarily there for fifteen years, with Jiangling merely as a subordinate commandery—making it unlikely Wang Can would bypass nearby Xiangyang for distant Jiangling. However, Liu Liang's commentary on Selections of Refined Literature identifies Jiangling, while Sheng Hongzhi's Jingzhou Records claims Dangyang, mentioning nearby tombs of Tao Zhugong (Fan Li) and King Zhao of Chu. The author further cites Zhang Hua's Records of Diverse Matters documenting Fan Li's burial in Huarong County, Nanyang Commandery—hinting at contradictions among these historical accounts.

This passage examines several historical sites and allusions to the literatus Wang Can (courtesy name Zhongxuan). It mentions that the tomb of Tao Zhugong (Fan Li) might be located on Mount Taogong east of Pingyin in Jizhou, though this attribution is uncertain. When King Zhao of Chu fled north from the capital Ying to Ruo (modern-day Leixiang near Xiangyang) to escape Wu State's invasion, his supposed burial site near Xiangyang may also be inaccurate.

Citing geographical records, the author notes the Ju River originates from Dongshan in Fangling, flows west of Maicheng and east of King Zhao of Chu's tomb, eventually merging with the Yangtze at Yingdu (Jiangling). However, based on Wang Can's "Rhapsody on Ascending the Tower," the location he describes differs from all three speculated sites, with Xiangyang's topography best matching the rhapsody's descriptions.

The text particularly analyzes Wang Can's circumstances: during widespread turmoil, he could only take refuge in Jingzhou, his heart filled with melancholy, comparing himself to the homesick Zhuang Xi and Zhong Yi pining for native soil. Later, he persuaded Liu Cong to surrender to Cao Cao, willingly serving him—apparently forgetting his ancestors' loyalty to the Han dynasty. The author suggests Wang Can yearned not for his fallen kingdom or former lord, but for his homeland itself.

Finally, the passage observes that under current unified rule, all lands pledge allegiance, with even remote regions as peaceful as one's courtyard. The Prince of Xiangyang, a virtuous imperial clansman governing this territory, presents a stark contrast to Liu Biao (courtesy name Jingsheng), whose poor governance once disgraced the imperial house. Thus, the author was invited to compose an inscription for the tower's restoration, carving it in stone to remind visitors: they should both uphold national righteousness and cherish local roots.

(Note: Historical figures mentioned include: Tao Zhugong, i.e. Fan Li, strategist of Yue during the Spring and Autumn period; King Zhao of Chu, ruler of Chu; Wang Can, one of the "Seven Scholars of the Jian'an era"; Liu Biao, Governor of Jingzhou in late Eastern Han; Zhuang Xi and Zhong Yi, famous historical figures symbolizing homesickness.)

A friend once gifted me a white porcelain jar—round in shape, translucent in texture, standing over a foot tall with a diameter of one and a half feet, capable of holding fifty liters of water. It resembled the "jade-crystal plates" described in Han Dynasty texts, vessels as pure as jade and clear as ice. Upon examination, I confirmed it was an artifact from the Zhengde era of the Ming Dynasty. Later, a visitor brought a white stone for sale, less than a foot in length but twice as tall. Unaware of its name, I identified it as "Jade Splendor Stone" (a prized stone from Jiangledong in Fujian). Though slightly worked by craftsmen, its natural, peculiar form remained intact—its surface rugged yet polished like a mirror, its back steep as if chiseled, with two hollows at the top and bottom that seemed to exhale and inhale clouds and mist. Even the eloquent prose of "Ode to the Miniature Mountain" would struggle to capture its marvel. I traded ten bolts of cloth for the stone, and the visitor left overjoyed.

Later, during the height of summer, I fell ill, stifled by the heat. Unable to retreat to snow-capped mountains or icy wells, I placed the Jade Splendor Stone to my left, dubbing it "Snowy Mountain," and filled the white porcelain jar with clear spring water to my right, calling it "Icy Well." Between them, I rested on a bamboo couch. Gradually, the summer heat dissipated, replaced by a cooling breeze. Occasionally, I’d rise to caress them, half-dreaming that the mountain would snow and the well would freeze. Then I’d laugh at myself—how could ice and snow exist in the south in June? Between heaven and earth, even the things we forcibly name are but approximations. Yet here I was, projecting my thoughts onto the unnameable, another kind of approximation. Isn’t this true of more than just a small stone and a jar of water? Look up: the sky is but gathered Qi (vital energy); look down: the earth is but heaped clods of soil—both arbitrarily named. If even heaven and earth are like this, what isn’t an approximation? My "Snowy Mountain" to the left and "Icy Well" to the right merely borrowed their forms to capture their essence. The Book of Han speaks of cool chambers where frost forms in midsummer—if a room can hold frost, why can’t a mountain bear snow or a well freeze over? A visitor, hearing this, sighed: "By your logic, we can no longer distinguish reality from approximation." This guest, at least, understood me.

(Note: "Jiangledong" is a famous stone-producing site in Fujian; "Jade Splendor Stone" is a local specialty. "Zhengde" refers to the reign era of Emperor Wuzong of the Ming Dynasty. The "Ode to the Miniature Mountain" is a renowned Han Dynasty rhapsody describing landscapes.)

About two li east of the county town, at the foot of Spirit Mountain, lies an ancient boulder spanning several zhang in width, its upper half towering like a sheer cliff. Each spring when mountain springs swell with rainwater, the rushing currents pound against this massive rock, yet the stone resists as if alive—years of relentless erosion have failed to wear it smooth.

Eventually, the rock seemed to grow fearful and yielded a path for the water, the gap widening over time. From afar, the bisected boulder spans the stream like an axe-cleaved monolith. Ancient people called it "Heavenly Beam" or "Floating Ferry Stone" for this uncanny form. Though the saying goes that "water pierces stone not by force but by persistence," this rock appears to have torrents surging through its chest while startled egrets scatter like a cascading Milky Way. Standing above the spring, one feels as if whipping rainbows or rafting through clouds—a spectacle so magnificent it might stir envy among water spirits. Once during a thunderstorm, part of the stone suddenly fractured, yet the remainder remains for visitors to admire.

That spring, I happened to meet a monk from Shu who excelled in poetry and qin music. We agreed to explore the site together. Children waited below the mountain with his qin and tea service as the monk led us forward at a leisurely pace. Within moments, we stepped onto the stone itself, where three elegantly carved characters read "Moon-Basking Terrace," inscribed by former magistrate Liu Juan. A scholar-official, Liu often composed verses among these landscapes while governing the county. Had a stern administrator like the Governor of Yulin been in charge, this wonder might no longer belong to common folk.

As we spoke, mist sprayed our faces with thunderous echoes while mountain winds howled as if to push us—yet the boulder stood immovable. Its surface was furrowed with chasms and hidden whirlpools, conjuring the vastness of rivers and seas within arm's reach. Watching ripples form in our tea cups, I yearned to become a grain of rice adrift in this marvel. The monk sat cross-legged to play his qin, its notes merging with the water and stone until listeners felt transported.

We continued east along the stream, passing grotesque rocks at every turn. Standing upon them, one felt the stones pressing back; bending to hear springs, then gazing up at pines; sitting or reclining to converse with the rocks, feet entwined in reluctance to leave. Locals say some resemble bamboo shoots, others boats. A hundred paces ahead, a sheer cliff hosted an ancient pine bursting from its fissure—its trunk thick enough to nest cranes. Trees ought to root in soil, yet this one thrived in stone!

Carved characters adorned the cliff top. I climbed like a monkey to inspect them but couldn't decipher the markings—likely just travelers' graffiti, not an official stele.

West of the Chu region, north of Dongting Lake, lies the Peach Blossom Spring of Wuling—the very place where people once fled the tyranny of the Qin dynasty. Beyond the Peach Blossom Spring, following the waterways for three postal stations' distance toward the northwest of Chenyang Commandery, then crossing the Luki River estuary for about four she (an ancient unit of length), one arrives at Mount Dayou. This is the "Dayou Huamiao Grotto-Heaven," recorded in Daoist scriptures as the 26th of the 36 Grotto-Heavens, and also the legendary site where King Mu of Zhou stored his treasured texts between Mount Dayou and Mount Xiaoyou.

The mountain is dotted with numerous stone caverns, their interiors winding and unfathomable, utterly unlike the human world. The cliffs near the river hang precipitously, with stalactites descending from above. Among them, two are particularly wondrous: striking one produces a bell-like tone, while the other resonates like a drum—hence the ancients named this cavern the "Bell and Drum Grotto." Further within the mountain lies the "Huamiao Grotto," its entrance so narrow and dim that one must carry torches to enter at dusk. After traversing over a li, the space suddenly opens into a broad expanse of flat, sandy ground, perfect for rest and leisure. Deeper still is a stone chamber, said to be the Qin-era secret library—the very place where King Mu stored his texts. Local elders recount that once, a woodcutter entered the cavern and retrieved a book from the chamber, only for it to crumble to dust upon contact with the wind. Now, nothing remains visible.

The mountain's summit is called Jiufeng Ridge. During the Song dynasty, when emperors conducted the fengshan sacrifices to honor sacred peaks across the land, this mountain was included for its breathtaking beauty. Vestiges of those rituals can still be seen today, though some say "Jiufeng Ridge" may be a misrecorded name. Midway up the mountain stands the Bridge of Immortal Meetings and a pool where Zhang Guolao (one of the Eight Immortals) supposedly refined his elixirs. While these legends may be unreliable, local farmers often unearth jars filled with lingsha (alchemical cinnabar) while tilling the land—likely remnants of ancient recluses who practiced cultivation here.

The Zhuangzi's "Abdicating Kings" chapter records that Emperor Shun once offered the empire to Shan Juan, who replied: "At sunrise I labor, at sunset I rest, wandering freely between heaven and earth—what need have I for the empire?" Thus refusing, he fled to Mount Wang to live in seclusion. The Song dynasty honored him as "Master of Reclusive Virtue," and traces of his presence remain. Qu Yuan’s line in the Nine Declarations—"At dawn I set out from Wang’s shores"—refers precisely to this region.

The Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven documents observations from two renowned Daoist sacred sites. The first section describes Mount Wang in Chenyang (modern-day Chenxi, Hunan). A scholar named Shilong once studied here, attracting many local literati to follow his teachings. Consequently, the mountain was transformed into an academy named the "Dayou Huamiao Grotto Academy." Within it stood two halls: the "Hall of Abdicating Kings," inspired by Zhuangzi's allegory of Yao and Shun's virtuous abdication, and the "Hall of Carefree Wandering," embodying Zhuangzi's philosophy of spiritual freedom. A "Shrine to the Reclusive Sage" was also erected during the Song dynasty to honor the hermit Shan Juan.

The academy housed a "Cinnabar Chamber," as Chenzhou's most famed product was cinnabar—a crucial material in Daoist alchemy (Waidan). Legend claims Shennong, while tasting hundreds of herbs, particularly valued the cinnabar from this region. The author notes he designed these structures himself, hoping to leave a legacy. The mountain also featured natural wonders like the Bell-and-Drum Grotto, the Qin Dynasty Book Repository, the Immortal-Meeting Bridge, the Alchemical Pool of Zhang Guo (one of the Eight Immortals), and the Nine-Sealed Ridge—all with ancient origins.

The second part recounts Gao Feng's travels to Dongting Lake in Yueyang. He reminisces about a youthful dream of sailing through stormy waves before mooring at Willow Harbor, where he glimpsed a riverside city and crimson cliffs. Years later, in 1544 (Jiajing reign), he was appointed prefect of Nanyang, demoted to Zhengzhou in 1546, and transferred to Baling County in 1548. Sailing downstream through Jingnan, he beheld Dongting Lake and the Yangtze's grandeur—the Yueyang Tower and Junshan Island unfolding before him exactly as in his dream—prompting reflections on life's predestined course.

The text highlights Dongting as Baling's crowning jewel. The Classic of Documents' reference to "the nine rivers converging majestically" describes this very site, where the Yuan, Jian, Yuan, Chen, Xu, You, Li, Zi, and Xiang Rivers merge into an 800-li expanse of tumultuous waves and awe-inspiring vistas.

The vast expanse of Dongting Lake shimmers under the moonlight, its azure waves rippling in the gentle breeze. This majestic waterbody rivals the fame of other renowned lakes—Poyang (Pengli) in Jiangxi, Taihu (Zhenze) in Suzhou, Chaohu, and West Lake in Hangzhou—each inspiring profound wonder.

Yueyang Tower stands proudly on Baqiu Hill by Dongting Lake, overlooking the waterscape. Oriented west-to-east (extending Geng and embracing Xin in traditional Chinese geomancy), its towering presence pierces the clouds with imposing grandeur. From its heights, nearby Junshan Island appears within arm's reach, floating upon the lake's surface. To the south rises Zhurong Peak of Mount Heng, while Neifang Mountain guards the north, Huanghu Mountain the east, and Great Dragon Mountain the west—all framing a panoramic vista of celebrated peaks. This breathtaking scenery shares equal magnificence with other Jiangnan landmarks: Tengwang Pavilion, Xie Tiao's Tower, Yellow Crane Tower, and the Bamboo Tower.

The tower's history traces back to the Tang Dynasty. During the Kaiyuan era, the exiled official Zhang Yue frequently composed poetry here, leaving verses like "Who remembers this aging man, three thousand miles adrift on river waters?" His son Zhang Jun, along with literary giants Li Bai, Du Fu, Han Yu, Meng Haoran, Bai Juyi, and Jia Dao later added their inscriptions, cementing Yueyang Tower's cultural prominence.

In the Song Dynasty's Qingli period, another exiled official Teng Zijing restored the tower and invited his friend Fan Zhongyan to write the famed Record of Yueyang Tower. Its immortal lines—"Be the first to worry about the world's worries, the last to enjoy its pleasures"—epitomized scholar-officials' patriotic devotion. Contemporary scholars hailed Teng's restoration, Fan's prose, Su Shi's calligraphy, and Shao Yong's seal engravings as the "Four Masterpieces."

Since antiquity, exiled officials have poured their sentiments here. Like Liu Zongyuan who documented landscape beauty through poetry during his banishment to Liuzhou. Though often tinged with melancholy, these works transformed distant waterscapes into emotional outlets—where travel-worn hearts channeled pent-up feelings into lyrical expression.

Each ascent of Yueyang Tower stirs reflections across time. The view's autumnal hues naturally evoke the sorrows of exile and political persecution. As The Classic of Mountains and Seas records, Dongting Mountain was named for its status as the dwelling place of Xiangjun, goddess of the Xiang River.

Those who wish to ascend Junshan Mountain often find their plans thwarted by storms if they hesitate too long. That Mid-Autumn, seizing a break from official duties, I journeyed there alone by boat. The sky stretched cloudless, the river smooth as polished jade. Upon landing, I gazed back at Yueyang Tower—it seemed as distant as the mythical Penglai Isles across the legendary Weak Waters. The lake cradled the mountain, yet once within its embrace, the mountain's form vanished—a wondrous paradox. Steep ridges alternated with gentle slopes, fertile fields spanned a hundred li, while square bamboos grew amidst dense groves, and vines draped ancient temples. Clear chimes resonated through the valleys, and an elusive fragrance drifted on the air.

Daoist scriptures designate Junshan as the Eleventh Blessed Land (a sacred site for cultivation). Its silhouette resembles both a ship's prow and twelve spiral hair buns. Li Bai's verse "Gently brushing the bright lake to reveal a jade mirror, where cinnabar paints Junshan's form," and Liu Yuxi's "Gazing afar at Dongting's emerald hills—a lone green spiral shell on a silver plate" perfectly capture its essence. Han Zhu, a Tang Dynasty remonstrance official exiled to Yueyang for forthright counsel, once roamed these slopes; Du Fu's dedicatory poem to him, "Washing feet in Dongting while surveying the eight wildernesses," radiates majestic vigor. When reading the ballads of Hunan's elders, Su Dongpo rightly deemed them works of either banished immortals or recluses.

Atop the mountain stands Xuanyuan Terrace, where legend claims the Yellow Emperor cast his sacred tripod before ascending to heaven astride a dragon. When Qin Shi Huang's fleet was stalled by storms during his southern tour, his scholars identified the obstructing deity as Xiangjun (Lord of Dongting), daughter of Emperor Yao and consort of Emperor Shun—prompting the furious emperor to order the mountain burned. Such tales border on the fantastical. Even more outlandish are the "Tale of Liu Yi" episodes: the Dragon Princess of Jingyang sending letters, or the Dragon Lord feasting in the Azure Cloud Palace—stories too whimsical for credence. Yet Yue Fei's felling of Junshan's trees to build rafts blocking the harbor during his campaign against lake rebel Yang Yao remains a worthy historical footnote.

Having traversed Junshan's vistas, I lingered until crows returned at dusk—an apt moment for verses of homecoming. Under moonbright skies, my boat glided back across the lake as I sang unrestrained, finally mooring again beneath Yueyang Tower.

Dongting Lake is the great marsh of the Yangtze basin, and Junshan its most solitary jewel. Though the Sanmiao tribes once fortified it as their stronghold, Emperor Shun here manifested civilization; though flood dragons made it their lair, Yu the Great subdued their fury. Common folk still reap their blessings. Qin Shi Huang barely crossed its waters, while Yang Yao met his doom. And of this mountain...

West of Dongting Lake lies Chisha Lake (Red Sand Lake), which merges with Dongting during summer floods, revealing its crimson sandbars only in dry seasons. Ancient local records describe Dongting connecting with Qingcao Lake (Green Grass Lake) to the south and Chisha Lake to the west—these three lakes stretching seven hundred li collectively called "Sanhu" (Three Lakes).

Yunmeng Marsh lies west of Yuezhou City, interlinked with Dongting and Qingcao Lakes. Dongting sits north, Qingcao south, and Yunmeng west—three water bodies forming one continuous system. The Tang poet Meng Haoran's line "Mists engulf Yunmeng Marsh, waves shake Yueyang's walls" immortalized this landscape.

Jinshazhou (Golden Sand Bar), facing Lujiao Town at Dongting's center, spans several li and is also called Longdui (Dragon Mound). Du Fu's verse "Dragon Mound heaped with white sand" refers here, later echoed in poems by Song dynasty writers Zhang Xiaoxiang and Ge Changgeng.

Junshan (also called Dongting Mountain or Xiangshan) rises fifteen li west of Yueyang, its twelve spiral peaks resembling hair buns. According to the Classic of Mountains and Seas, this was home to Emperor Yao's two daughters. When Qin Shi Huang encountered storms here during his southern tour, learning the mountain housed the spirits of Xiangjun (Yao's daughters and Shun's consorts), he ordered its trees felled in rage. Remnants include Chuxing Temple, Xuanyuan Terrace, and Liu Yi's Well—Daoists designated it the Eleventh Blessed Land.

The Xiang River originally flowed north to meet the Yangtze at Yueyang. Summer floods would reverse its current, expanding Dongting Lake hundreds of li with Junshan floating at its heart. When autumn waters receded, Junshan became an island again in the Xiang. Han legends tell of immortal wine on Junshan—Emperor Wu sent Luan Ba to fetch it, but Dongfang Shuo drank it first. To this day, spring breezes carry wine fragrances from the mountain, though none have found its fabled spring.

This passage records two legendary tales associated with Junshan Island in Dongting Lake, along with an anecdote about Li Bai naming Langguan Lake.

Regarding Junshan, two notable sites are mentioned: first, Xiangshan (also called Mingshan), a mountain that produces metallic echoes when stepped upon; second, Liu Yi's Well, which commemorates the Tang dynasty scholar Liu Yi's extraordinary encounter. While returning home after failing the imperial examinations, Liu Yi met the youngest daughter of the Dragon Lord of Dongting at Jingyang. Mistreated by her husband's family, she entrusted Liu Yi with a letter to her father. Following her instructions, Liu Yi located an orange tree by Dongting Lake, struck it three times, and was guided into the underwater dragon palace. Later rescued, the dragon maiden transformed into Lady Lu and married Liu Yi.

Another site mentioned is Xuanyuan Terrace (also called Casting Tripod Terrace), traditionally believed to be where the Yellow Emperor cast his sacred tripod before ascending to immortality—its foundations remain visible today.

The second part recounts an elegant gathering where Li Bai and his friend Zhang Wei feasted by night on South Lake in Mianzhou. Under the bright moonlight, Zhang Wei requested Li Bai to name the lake. Raising a libation to the waters, Li Bai christened it "Langguan Lake" (Officer's Lake), drawing comparison to the famous Pushe Pond of Zheng State. The assembled company approved this refined name, composing poems and engraving them on stone as mementos. In his verse, Li Bai praised the autumnal pleasure of boating by moonlight, declaring the scene rivaled the beauty of Wuchang, and prophesied that "Langguan Lake" would endure in fame as eternally as the Great Divide Mountain.

This travelogue records Yin Shen's observations while touring the seventy-two peaks of Wudang Mountain (Cen Mountain). The author mentions that the best way to appreciate Wudang is the "sugar cane method" (savoring it gradually from bottom to top like chewing sugarcane), yet he chooses to first ascend the summit before carefully exploring various scenic spots.

Traveling alone with a hired guide, the author begins his ascent from Fuzhen Temple heading northwest. Ancient trees tower along the path, their canopies blotting out the sky, while mountain streams gurgle through stone crevices. Passing landmarks like Yuanhe Bridge, he arrives at Yuxu Cliff—a spacious cavern with a Daoist temple at its entrance offering expansive views ideal for distant contemplation.

As the journey continues, the sound of flowing water gradually fades while the mountain path grows treacherous. Upon reaching Candle Gorge, three Daoist temples collectively called "Qiong Terrace" come into view, with the central temple being the largest. Here one finds exquisite architecture alongside simple thatched huts, and most remarkably, structures miraculously carved into sheer cliffs. A dozen elderly Daoist priests sit in silent meditation—some conversing quietly, others maintaining perfect stillness.

After spending a night at Qiongtai Temple, the author climbs another five kilometers upward past Taihe Palace, finally scaling the last kilometer to reach Tianzhu Peak (Wudang's highest summit). Vividly documenting the climbing route,沿途landscapes, and distinctive Daoist architecture, the account magnificently captures Wudang's iconic panorama where "seventy-two peaks bow toward the great summit."

[Note: The translation maintains specialized Daoist terminology (e.g., "temple" for 观/guan while distinguishing it from 宫/palace) while conveying the original's vivid observational style. The "sugar cane method" metaphor is preserved with explanatory interpolation, and the concluding poetic description retains its lyrical quality. Paragraph structure mirrors the original's progression from approach to ascent to summit.]

The mountain weather was clear this day, offering expansive views into the distance. Yet I had no mind for faraway sights, for the peaks before me already commanded my full attention. To the east rose the imposing Eastern Peak, its soaring form seemingly piercing the heavens. Circling my gaze south and north, I beheld ranks of peaks arrayed like battle formations, each with distinctive postures. Below in the valleys, lower summits appeared faintly visible yet indistinct.

Most peaks here clustered closely together, save for the Western Peak which stood apart like a solitary screen, differing markedly from its neighbors. All encircled the Celestial Pillar Peak (Wudang Mountain's principal summit), which appeared particularly majestic amidst this gathering of peaks. I couldn't discern whether the valley mists originated from the Eastern Peak or emerged from the Celestial Pillar's own spiritual Qi. Each summit grew extraordinary pines—grotesquely shaped trees that rivaled the peaks in striking splendor. To my eyes, the mountains seemed not seventy-two in number, but countless thousands.

Descending stone steps southeastward for over ten li brought me to Langmei Shrine. From here, Southern Cliff Palace lay just over two li south, with Purple Empyrean Palace another three li beyond. Though I'd detoured to Purple Empyrean fearing to miss its scenery, I later realized this unnecessary. Yet the vantage did reveal the distinctive leaning postures of Celestial Pillar and Southern Peaks—making the diversion worthwhile after all.

Southern Cliff sits southwest of Purple Empyrean, obliquely facing the mountain's absolute summit. Here one vaguely discerns the hierarchical arrangement of primary and secondary peaks. As I gazed, sudden emotion stirred my heart, irresistibly drawing my attention to those bizarre summits and grotesque pines. In the valleys stood countless straight pines and firs, their dark forms blanketing the ridges. Three remarkable fir varieties grew here: one with cracked bark bearing spherical fruit; another combining fir trunks with cypress foliage, its drooping branches like woven silk threads—all rare specimens. I regretted not bringing botanical references like the "Piya" for identification.

That night at Southern Cliff Palace I composed "Southern Cliff Poem." Journeying northward past two more inhabitable caves brought me after twenty li to Five Dragons Palace. Within its grounds lay four pools and five wells—the waters not exceptionally clear, yet when tens of thousands of carp competed for food, their crimson reflections could dye the entire surface red, creating another mountain marvel. Before the palace stood the Sword-Granting Terrace; behind rose Banner-Unfurling Peak, offering slightly different perspectives on the summits than Purple Empyrean. Beyond this peak lay Five Dragons Summit, its pools and wells now dried. That evening at Five Dragons Palace I wrote "Celestial Pillar Peak Poem."

The next day I continued thirty li northward...

Excerpts from "Records of Famous Mountains Under Heaven" – Modern Interpretation:

About ten li from the Immortal-Meeting Pavilion retreat (a Daoist cultivation site), there stands a temple resembling Qiong Terrace but smaller in scale. Another ten-plus li brings one to the Jade Void Palace, where the path diverges from other peaks. Closing my eyes to recall the mountainscape: Qiong Terrace Mountain forms a complete topographical system, with its southern cliffs arrayed in orderly formations—compact yet containing all essential elements. The Twin Peaks of Five Dragons and Purple Eminence show sharp ridgelines, while the dense forests along the Returning-to-Truth path appear faintly visible. Suddenly I realized: how can distant views be deemed less abundant than nearby scenes? This journey began on the Dragon Boat Festival and concluded on the eleventh day, totaling six nights' lodging and yielding five poems, recorded in the Guiyou year of the Chongzhen era.

"Records of the Vajra Terrace Nunnery Fort" notes: In the twelfth month of the Jiashen year, I joined Councilor Li, Provincial Graduate Jiang, and National Academy Scholar Zhou to enter Macheng. After suppressing bandits and their accomplices, we returned north via Huangbo and Flying Banner mountains. Resting at Scholar Huang's residence, we saw his bamboo grove stretching across dozens of mu, its emerald hues blending with mountain tones. Before a twenty-foot magnolia tree lay a pond where bream and carp swam. Officers Huang Xiangzhi and Liu Congli described the scenic wonders of the Nunnery Fort, mentioning surviving remnants of ancient military encampments.

Gazing northward, we saw peaks chalk-white as if painted, honeycomb-like caves, and perfectly rounded summits. Crossing Martial Ridge and fording streams, we encountered only desolate grasses, sporadic oaks, and scattered dwellings. Ascending higher on foot, after three li we reached a narrow stone gate passable only by stooping. Guided by Hermit Hu, our exhausted party rested at the threshold. Following cliffs northward across a wooden bridge, we heard thunderous waterfalls plunging into unfathomable pools, while axe-cut white stone striations alternated with thatched bamboo fences.

The previously seen chalky, honeycombed peaks had vanished. As the moon rose, we sat outdoors observing nine lotus-piercing-heaven peaks. The central summit was split by thousand-ren stone cliffs, its cavernous gate clearly visible. Legends tell of immortal maidens descending from east, south, and west—their shifting forms when gazed upon resembling drifting divine peaks. The eastern Frankincense Cliff suspends snow-white stalactites large as bushel measures. Once, a curious soul lowered himself by rope to collect them, but upon seeing a giant serpent, fell in awe—locals now venerate this as miraculous. Below the cliff lies another wonder: the Wind Cavern.

The passage recounts the author's observations and reflections during his travels through famous mountains.

The opening describes the terrain of the Eastern Peak: its slopes are lined with narrow, bird-path-like trails, overgrown with dense vegetation that obscures their paths. To the left stands a human-shaped boulder, where predecessors once erected wooden artillery. To the west lies the Fog and Dew Hollow, perpetually shrouded in mist. The mountain’s northern side teems with macaques, which often descend in troops to drink from the streams—a phenomenon locals regard as an omen of rain.

The highest peak to the west is called Chestnut Summit. The next day, the author follows an old westward trail, resting frequently along the ascent until he reaches a Buddhist monastery. Among its residents is a former Confucian scholar who renounced the world with his family, now living as a monk and exchanging teachings with a bhikkhunī (Buddhist nun). Their discussions of doctrine are firm and resolute, reminiscent of reclusive sages. Further up, the climb requires grasping vines while dangling precariously over the void. His companions grow exhausted, but only the author and the monk reach the summit, where they lean against treetops and toss stones into the valley, listening to the clear echoes reverberate below.

From the western vantage, one can see Vajra Terrace encircled by ancient pines. During the late Yuan dynasty, Chancellor Yu Pingzhang once held this stronghold, and in the early Ming, General Chang Yuchun suffered a defeat here before its recapture in the eighth year of the Hongwu reign. Fierce winds sweep the peaks, and nearby stands a garrison once defended by women warriors, where locals still venerate the Flower Maiden deity. The author reflects on how the Ming founder rose from Haoliang to unify the realm, yet now officials act only for personal gain. Though he has fought tirelessly against the decline, his efforts seem futile.

Delayed by rain, the author receives word from Yi Mingfu of Huanggang reporting a militia victory over bandits at Ten Fingers Mountain. He then convenes an alliance at Chengcheng with his companions before returning.

The final section is an addendum by Yang He: In the seventh month of the Guihai year, as he prepared to journey north, Scholar Cai Jingfu urged him to visit Can Mountain along the way and arranged to meet at the Surging Waves Pavilion. Intrigued, Yang confirmed the plan upon reaching Xiangyang. On the eighth day of the eighth month, he departed from Chaidian, rested at Boundary Mountain on the ninth, and continued his travels on the tenth.

My journey through Wudang Mountain (ancient name Censhan): On the eleventh day I stayed at Yuzhen Palace, on the twelfth visited Zixiao Palace, on the thirteenth explored Wulong Palace, on the fourteenth ascended the Golden Summit (a sacred Daoist site), and stayed overnight at Yuxu Palace in the evening. On the night of the fifteenth, I met Jingfu at Canglang Pavilion, where we shared our mountain experiences until dawn. We met again the following day, and only on the seventeenth did we finally set sail to depart.

This was my second visit to Wudang Mountain. Legend has it that this mountain range originates from the Shaanxi-Gansu region, winding eastward for thousands of miles before rising abruptly at the border of Junzhou and Fangzhou. The solitary Tianzhu Peak stands tall, while seventy-two mystical peaks emerge faintly through the mist—said to be the dwelling place of immortals. Purple qi (vital energy) lingers around the mountain, appearing from afar like a nine-fold screen. On clear days, the mountain's contours are sharply defined, revealing its full splendor. More often, however, the peaks are shrouded in clouds, resembling the primordial chaos of heaven and earth's creation. Some travelers never even glimpse its true form—much like a peerless beauty whose glance may enchant, but whose radiant smile remains elusive.

The mountain path winds steeply, its stone steps twisting like coiled intestines, connecting to the heavens above and plunging into the abyss below. Dense forests and strange rocks crouch like tigers, while ancient trees and vines hang like climbing apes—an otherworldly scene. From the base to the summit spans about seventy li (Chinese miles), with occasional glimpses of peaks along the way. Before Yuzhen Palace, one can see Xianglu Peak and Candle Peak perfectly framed within the gap of Jiulong Mountain, like a moon suspended in a window, half-hidden. Viewed from Fenghuang Mountain behind the palace, they resemble the Three Immortal Peaks of Penglai floating on the sea, making one wish to lift their robes and wade toward them.

The next day, crossing Haohan Slope to reach Huilong Temple, the layered ridges appeared emerald-green at mid-slope. From Taizi Slope, the mountain resembled a blue lotus floating on green waves, its petals distinct. Along the winding path, the scenery flickered in and out of view. Upon reaching Zixiao Palace, Tianzhu Peak stood to the south. Zixiao Palace backs against Zhanqi Peak, with Yuji Pond, Greater and Lesser Baozhu Peaks, the Sword-Granting Terrace, and Wansong Pavilion in front, while Taizi Rock and Taizi Pavilion lie behind—all embraced by surrounding peaks, forming a natural grotto-heaven. Unfortunately, the Daoist temples were modest in construction, lacking the red windows and vermilion railings that might have adorned the mountain's colors. Later, we rested briefly at Nanyan Palace before continuing.

Due to the rain, I first visited Wulong Mountain (Five Dragon Mountain). The mountain's imposing grandeur and magnificent palaces still couldn't compare to Nanyan (South Cliff), where the beauty of numerous peaks converges. Standing at Nanyan and gazing at Tianzhu Peak (the main peak of Wudang Mountain), it seemed within arm's reach—yet being too clearly visible diminished its charm, making it less intriguing than Wulong Mountain's scenery.

Looking back, the Sacred Hall and Langmei Terrace stood directly facing the peaks, appearing dignified and elegant. The sheer cliffs rose like knife-cut edges into the clouds, lush with greenery—truly a breathtaking sight. Though it rained, no mist lingered; the clouds lightly brushed the rocks like a thin veil draped over the emerald slopes, the rain only deepening their vibrant hues. The pavilions and halls of the two palaces mirrored each other from afar, their golden and jade brilliance shimmering in the sunlight—no less dazzling than a mirage.

In past years, I had particularly enjoyed the secluded verdancy of Qingyang Stream, but this time, I felt no such inclination. It wasn't yet autumn or winter; perhaps the scenery would be most fitting when the winds turned crisp and the foliage withered. The Immortal Turtle Rock didn't much resemble a turtle, but its jagged contours looked like summer clouds about to tumble down. Twin waterfalls cascaded on either side, crashing directly against the rock's base, lending it a lively energy.

From Xianlü Rock to Dishui Rock, every step offered a fresh view of Tianzhu Peak. The dense pines and firs, the secluded stone paths—it all made one long to settle here as a recluse. The next day, the skies cleared, and by the time I returned to Nanyan (around mid-morning), I caught sight of the golden and silver palaces atop Tianzhu Peak from afar. Excitement quickened my pace. Hurriedly, I set out along Shagu Ridge, passing Langmei Shrine and crossing the Slanted Bridge before descending from my sedan chair.

The towering peaks stood in such profusion that I could no longer distinguish which was Sangong Peak or Wulao Peak. Cliffs soared thousands of feet high, while streams and rocks vied in splendor, making it impossible to tear myself away. Climbing the cliffs and traversing the rope bridges, I suddenly spotted Wenchang Shrine and Huixian Bridge—their platforms no larger than a palm, yet so inviting for quiet rest. Glancing up at the mountain's waist and ravines, I saw a stone gate piercing straight to the heavens like an arrow shaft.

On the path from the First Heavenly Gate to the Second Heavenly Gate, strange peaks jutted abruptly, and distant mountains sprawled in disarray. Travelers nervously picked their way along the perilous trails, often missing the beauty right before them, unaware they were walking through a landscape worthy of Lu Tanwei's (a Southern Dynasties painter) brush. I remarked to my companion: "The Heavenly Gates are indeed treacherous, but if you pause every three steps and rest every five, the climb won't feel so exhausting." Watching the incense-burning devotees—men and women alike—struggling upward in fear of falling behind, convinced of divine protection, only to end up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, was rather amusing.

After rounding several bends, I finally reached the Third Heavenly Gate. Resting and freshening up at the Divine Kitchen, I ascended to offer incense in worship to Zhenwu the Great Emperor. Once the rites were done, I shed my outer robe and gazed into the distance—suddenly feeling as though I had stepped into a realm of immortals.

Upon the thousand-petaled lotus peaks, myriad mountains rise like layered ocean waves—swirling eddies and cresting snow-white breakers. Among them stands the Celestial Horse Cliff, truly resembling a heavenly steed galloping through the void, its head held high across ten thousand miles, mane billowing in wind and rain, vanishing into the azure mists. In a fleeting vision, one might glimpse a Zhenren (Daoist adept who has attained the Dao) riding the winds and clouds, flanked by the martial guardians Wuding and Liujia (Daoist protector deities) bearing weapons in solemn escort.

To the southwest, the mountain ranges stretch endlessly—likely the peaks of Shu. To the north, a sudden glimpse reveals a steep, square-topped summit towering above the rest. Suspecting it to be Mount Hua, I asked a Daoist priest and confirmed it was indeed the sacred peak, though seven hundred miles distant, appearing as clear as if before my eyes. Gazing eastward, the Xiang River winds like a white silk ribbon, while Mount Lumen and Mount Xian seem close enough to touch. The mountains had been shrouded in unbroken rain for a month, yet on this day, the skies cleared abruptly. From noon until dusk, the heavens were flawlessly bright, without a wisp of cloud. As the sun set, the peaks blushed with crimson and violet hues; as twilight deepened, the moon suddenly rose in the east, its crystalline light seemingly capable of washing away worldly dust, lifting the spirit into transcendence.

I recalled my past ascents of Mount Taihua and Mount Jiuhua—how the view from their summits paled compared to beholding them from afar. The countless ravines and valleys made it impossible to grasp their full grandeur, and many barren slopes lacked the lush vitality of verdant forests. Only this mountain (Wudang) maintains an unbroken majesty, stretching eight hundred miles like stars encircling the North Star, its near and distant slopes all robed in deep indigo, making it uniquely magnificent. The next day brought rain again, yet while visiting Candle Peak and Qiongtai Temple, the profound stillness—"mountains silent as primordial times"—was especially palpable. The Jade Void Palace’s orderly fields and cottages exuded an idyllic charm reminiscent of the Peach Blossom Spring, while the Purple Heaven Palace, South Cliff, and Five Dragon Palace each possessed their own distinctive character.

Of the five days spent in these mountains, only one was clear. Yet the post-rain spectacle of a thousand cascades roaring and ten thousand gullies singing with springs—like the Three Gorges’ rushing waters echoing in one’s ears—more than compensated for the days of gloom. Seizing that single day of clarity, I drank in the wonders of the Heavenly Pillar Peak. Earlier, Jingfu had written, saying that to fully appreciate Wudang’s grandeur required at least five days, and asked when I might reach Junyang (the ancient name for Wudang), proposing we meet to discuss it in person. Now, as promised, we clasped hands and reminisced, sharing our admiration for Wudang’s landscapes—yet our hearts remained heavy with worldly concerns.

This passage consists of three distinct sections documenting travelogues from different historical periods:

The first part recounts the reunion of two friends climbing a mountain after a decade apart. Jingfu (personal name) wrote in his poem: "The guest cherishes our ten-year pact, as clear skies bless our ascent"—a perfect reflection of reality. Entering this treasure mountain without returning empty-handed, their shared journey was truly fulfilling. The author initially hesitated to compose a travelogue, yet such a profoundly joyful life experience demanded recording. His companions were his brother-in-law Chen Yuan and the scholar Chen Zhongtao (Chen Yuan being an extraordinary figure who left separate poetic accounts of their travels).

The second section presents Li Daoyuan's (Northern Wei geographer) documentation of the Yuan River system: The Yuan River flows east past Guanshan Mountain, merging with Guan Stream. Continuing east past Lin Yuan County's western border, it forms the Moonlight Pool and White Cliff Bay—a crescent-shaped inlet with mirror-clear waters where wind whistles through cliffs above while springs chime below, compelling travelers to moor and linger. Further east lies Three-Stone Gorge, where sheer rock pillars stand like carved tripods amidst elegant bamboo groves. The river then passes Green Vine Mountain, its cliffs draped with vines ideal for fishing and poetic inspiration, echoes resonating like temple bells. Flowing onward past Pine-Shaded Mountain with its sheltering pines and crystalline springs, even hermits would struggle to leave such beauty. Finally winding through Crooked Cove, it meets the Hundred-Mile Stream near Wandering Souls Mountain, where bamboo forests veil the waters until merging completely with the Yuan.

The third section features Xie Yan's Southern Song-era Account of Visiting Doushuai Cave: During Cao Cheng's rebellion in Anren, as turmoil engulfed the Chen-Gui region, the author relocated to Zixing with his father. During leisure hours, local Huang Shigong described a marvelous "Doushuai Cave" (a Buddhist term denoting Maitreya's celestial abode). Planning an expedition with his three younger brothers, they were delayed by days of rain and temporarily lodged at Yanqing Temple, where they prepared hundreds of pine torches (having heard the cavern remained pitch-dark day and night). When clouds suddenly parted that evening, they departed with servants and musical instruments, ready to fully savor the mountain landscape.

(Note: "Doushuai" holds special significance in both Daoist and Buddhist contexts—here likely referring to a cave resembling the Tusita Heaven. Pine resin torches were commonly used for illumination in ancient times.)

A Plain-Language Reading of Record of the Famous Mountains Under Heaven

Each person carried a nine-jointed staff. They ate porridge as they set out, then hailed a small boat at the end of the market and rowed across the still water, soon leaving the level ground behind. After about fifteen li, they reached Iron Pit. From a distance, they could see a cave in the rock and felt it was close at hand. A hundred paces farther on from the foot of the mountain, they came to the hermitage where the monk Deming lived. Though small, the hermitage seemed to contain everything. Behind it rose dense, layered woodland; in front, a stream murmured, secluded birds sang in winding phrases, and human voices had fallen silent.

They followed the winding mountain path upward, climbing a spiral of stone steps. Amid swirling clouds and the rising and dipping bird paths, it felt as if they were ascending from the level earth into the sky. First they came to a cave large enough for dozens of people, though the passage narrowed farther in. After about half a li, the rocky entrance suddenly opened wide, as if the sky had split open and the earth surged upward. They were astonished. As they pressed into the rock, the air already felt warm and stifling. They agreed to take off their heavy clothes and continue by torchlight. The ground gradually sloped downward. After walking westward for the time it takes to eat a meal, they looked back and saw a statue of a Vajra guardian, seemingly carved with a chisel. Beside the path, clouds of auspicious vapor stood in formation, too delicate to tread upon. On closer inspection, they were all stalactites. Farther west stood a statue of Lord Lao. To the east of the cave, debris was piled high, and a slope blocked with earth reached all the way to the cave roof, its end hidden from view. To the west hung a canopy a hundred feet high, folded into ridges as if ruffled by a violent wind. When one layer was struck, it rang with a clear, resonant sound unlike any drum. Nearby was a jade pool, bright and clear, sweet and cold—unlike ordinary water.

Only after reaching the end of the path did they emerge. They searched again by way of a side passage and found several pillars standing upright, elegant and pleasing to the eye. The ground was broad and the stone smooth, better than paved brick. They said it was like a ritual platform open on all four sides, with no narrow spaces. Turning north, they came upon a jagged profusion of forms: lychees, waxberries, mushrooms, pastries, kasaya robes draped across one another, snow and ice hanging from eaves, and more. There were a thousand such shapes, each casting doubt on what the eye and mind perceived. From the north they turned east. There, towers and terraces stood at uneven heights, while figures of humans and spirits appeared and vanished indistinctly. Bodhisattvas sat behind curtains; Tathagatas appeared among the clouds. Gold and jade gleamed, dragons and snakes wound about, and there were hundreds of millions of necklaces, basins, and bowls. Strange flowers and unusual trees stood thickly everywhere. In all, they passed through five distinct scenes. From the east they wanted to continue farther east, but their companions said the way was steep and dangerous and that they would have to bare their heads and upper bodies to go deeper. Their strength was now spent, so they prepared plenty of candles and crawled out, bent low and supporting one another. By the time they emerged, the sun had passed its noonday height.

In general, from the cave mouth to its depths, the rocks crisscrossed and twisted in every direction. Stalactites dripped and solidified above, below, and on all sides, leaving no gaps.

This passage describes a remarkable cave landscape called "Zixing Cliff." The cavern is filled with intricate, translucent fissures that connect left and right, with the cave entrance reflecting light in such a way that visitors easily lose their bearings inside. The interior presents a fantastical spectacle: some stone formations appear to hang suspended from the air, while others seem to erupt abruptly from the ground. Stalactites take on countless forms—flying birds, roaming beasts, plants, dwellings, misty clouds, and vessels—mirroring nearly every phenomenon found in the human world.

Most of these stalactites display hues of yellow and white, with occasional bluish-green tints, surpassing even the most elaborate man-made carvings in their wondrous beauty. Newly formed stalactites gleam like crystalline candleholders, refracting light, while others emit faint glimmers akin to sparks struck from flint. The cave also features majestic sights resembling beaded curtains and Buddhist relics (śarīra), rivaling the splendor of the Tuṣita Heaven (a Buddhist pure land).

The author reflects that accounts of extraordinary stones throughout history often exaggerate their marvels—those who have seen them exhaust their wealth in admiration, while those who haven't can only imagine them in dreams. Yet this cavern combines every wonder in one place, proving that Mount Jiuhua (a sacred Buddhist mountain) is indeed one of nature's true marvels, far from an unfounded reputation. Skeptics simply haven't witnessed Zixing Cliff for themselves. When the author and his brother returned home, they carried hundreds of exquisite small stones in their sleeves to display on their desks—mere fragments representing but a ten-thousandth of the cave's wonders.