Tangtang | Dali Winter Cherry Blossom Trip

I happened to meet Tangtang at Zayaa the day before yesterday. She was just about to go to Huoshan to watch the sunset and met up with Aruna. The day before, Tangtang and Wangwang had gone on the winter cherry blossom hike. Her writing is calm, plain, and beautiful.

Wangwang | Foreword

Tangtang was a guest on the last day of 2023. Because it was the last day, it felt like many things could start anew tomorrow, as if we could settle our minds more. We sat under a tree and chatted for quite a while; I forgot what specifically we talked about.

In this job, talking with strangers is the hardest part. Usually, I pick up a pinecone or a branch to hold in my hand, but that day I didn't pick up anything.

The sunlight was wonderful, very warm, no clouds, cherry blossom petals fell at our feet. On the way back, Tangtang said the year had some ups and downs, hoping that day was a beautiful ending, and a new year was about to begin.

Tangtang | Dali Winter Cherry Blossom Trip

I've been to Xizhou many times. Perhaps because it allows one to find a sense of peace. Cangshan, Erhai, 'Wind, Flower, Snow, Moon' might just be her titles; calming a restless heart is her true spirit.

But having come so many times, I've never gone into the mountains. Maybe subconsciously I always thought this place is better for leisurely stays. This time when I came to Xizhou, I had no intention of going into the mountains either.

Since returning from Rock, I've had an ambiguous feeling about hiking these years: not dislike, not like, just a reluctance. Only this year (23) did I occasionally take short walks.

Before coming, I chatted with a friend about wanting to walk nearby. My friend recommended Cangshan Hiking Home. Before booking, I browsed the route introductions; they weren't over-packaged, and the words felt warm and intimate. Words are a direct reflection of one's heart. I thought this must be a warm team. Planning to take a simple walk, I chose a strolling route: Winter Cherry Blossom Viewing.

The meeting point for viewing winter cherries was in a village at the foot of Cangshan, some distance from me. When I arrived, the guide Wangwang was already waiting in front of a Bai ethnic house. Seeing no one else around, we both nodded, as if confirming the secret signal. He looked just like I imagined a guide to be, lean.

In the morning, it was a bit chilly on the mountain, with a thin layer of white frost on the ground. But after walking a short way, the scenery in front made one forget the winter cold. This is also why I like Dali's winter: it doesn't feel too desolate. The colors remain full and somewhat vibrant. The winter mountains are more layered in beauty than the old town. The deep green on the mountains had shed the fresh crispness of young green, becoming heavier. The yellow also stood out remarkably, like sunlight falling on leaves, adding a touch of vitality to winter.

What makes Dali's winter more alive and passionate are the winter cherries blooming wantonly. You can see them from afar; their color is deeper than peach blossoms. 'Blazing cherry blossoms' is a bit of a tongue-twister, but it's most vivid—borrowing those two words works fine. The crowns are lush, some blooming in round shapes, some in fan shapes, each different in posture, but every tree has a beauty that is oblivious to others. Approaching one, standing under it, the sky full of petals is like stars in the highland night sky, dense, yet not as unreachable; they are right before your eyes. Sunlight leaked through the gaps, falling on my face, and in my heart surged an indescribable feeling of happiness.

Walking up the mountain, every so often we would find a winter cherry tree. Just when you thought the current one was extremely beautiful, the deeper you went, the more you discovered a different kind of beauty. Every time Wangwang saw a tree, he would repeat: 'Look, this one is beautiful, very different.' Then, like racing against time, he'd keep pressing the camera shutter, adding some mysterious footwork.

At first, I didn't think deeply about what he meant by his exclamations. But later, as we chatted more, I found a phrase that suited him: 'those temperaments like frozen lakes—cold on the surface, but beneath, deep, surging, and vivid.' On the way down the mountain, Wangwang said the cherry blossoms on the mountain weren't in continuous patches but stood one by one, very independent. Suddenly, I understood what he meant. Yes, growing one by one, each into its own shape, is more beautiful.

A continuous cherry blossom forest seems spectacular at first glance, but because there is no free space, they all grow into the same shape. But these winter cherries grow on the mountain, and for hundreds of years, each has stood independently here, growing freely, varying in form, beautifully unique, beautifully alive.

Perhaps the winter cherries of Cangshan brought me more than just visual beauty.

Photos