In the evening, the sloping road paved with countless large bluestones at the foot of Fragrant Hills has more charm than it does during the day. The tourists have all dispersed; village children play in the middle of the road. The shops on both sides still have their doors open, but the shopkeepers are not doing business—they are visiting each other's shops and chatting.
The bustle of daytime is gone; at night this place returns to the look a village ought to have. Without tourists, only an acquaintance society remains here, full of the warmth of human life, everything so familiar. Villagers like to grow various plants in flower pots at their doorsteps—ornamental flowers and plants, as well as potted vegetables like chili peppers and tomatoes, which look especially pleasing in the night.
I like the daytime here, but I like the night even more, so I often ride my bicycle here at night to wander. To this village, I am just an outsider, but the village has grown accustomed to outsiders' presence. Tourists come year-round; for villagers, the nighttime peace is only relative, and outsiders like me occasionally wander Fragrant Hills at night.
About ten years ago I wrote an article titled "Climbing Fragrant Hills Seven or Eight Times a Month, Happily Becoming a Beijinger." In that article, there was a passage like this:
Bring your own bottle of water, buy a large loaf of bread from the supermarket, buy a ten-yuan ticket at the Fragrant Hills gate, or get a 200-yuan unlimited annual pass, and you can, at the lowest cost, listen to the mountain winds on Fragrant Hills for a day, feel nature for a day, and completely relax your nerves.Bring a book up the mountain, randomly find a bench, lie down, pillow on your backpack, and cross your legs. The pleasure of the poor lies in such complete spiritual freedom.There is a blind uncle playing erhu at the foot of Fragrant Hills; I have lost count of how many times I've run into him. Many times I put five yuan into the iron tin in front of him and sit by the tree root opposite him, listening to him play the erhu.The sound of the uncle's erhu always carries a tinge of sadness, very soothing to the heart. Whose life is not full of sorrow? A sad tune is just right for releasing the sorrow deep within one's own heart.Here there is no car exhaust, no bustling vendors, no tall buildings—only old Beijing courtyard houses, hutongs, the bluestone-paved hillside road, and coming and going hikers.This was the scene before the pandemic; such scenes are no longer easy to see. On my recent visits to Fragrant Hills, I have not run into the blind erhu player again, nor seen other street performers at the foot of the hill—probably restricted by pandemic prevention policies.But some things remain unchanged, like this bluestone road, and the little shops along it. These little shops seem to have changed little over the years; what they looked like ten years ago, they still look like now.The little shops do a steady, modest business; the owners should have no trouble making a living. Along the street are mostly small eateries, grocery stores, bookshops, and various souvenir and craft shops, as well as some religion-related stores; the Biyun Temple and Xiangshan Temple on the hill also attract some pilgrims. Beyond that, there are no street vendors hawking their wares; order is well maintained. Such scenes can be seen in many places, including in front of the mountain temples in my hometown. So walking down this street is like crossing through time, returning to the past.Quite distinctive is a barbershop here; from my first visit to Fragrant Hills until now, it has always been here. Its couplet is interesting: the horizontal scroll reads "Top Priority" (a pun on "head"), and the couplet reads: "Though it is a minor craft, it is truly a skill atop the head." This couplet is very amusing, and every time I pass I cannot help glancing at it again.In my over twenty years in Beijing, most places I have visited and lived have changed greatly; only this street at the foot of Fragrant Hills has barely changed. The bluestone slabs on the road have been polished smooth by visitors' feet; the old trees and courtyard houses along the road remain as they always were. In this fast-paced era, such a corner where time seems to have stood still is rare.Exiting through the Fragrant Hills gate, walking down this bluestone road to the main road, then cycling downhill toward the botanical garden, in a few minutes you reach Xiangquan Roundabout. From Xiangquan Roundabout turn onto Yuquan Mountain Road, and after about ten more minutes of cycling you reach Beiwu Park, Yuquan Country Park, Zhongwu Park, and Yinghulou Park. These parks are connected, with stretches of rice paddies—probably several hundred to over a thousand mu of rice—and Zhongwu Park also has neatly terraced fields.At this season, the rice has just headed; the woods are full of green rice paddies and tender yellow rice ears, very pleasing to the eye. Countless willows and scholar trees stand in the middle of the paddies, and golden scholar tree flowers bloom atop the trees. Besides the rice paddies, there are also large reed marshes and lotus ponds here. The fresh fragrance of lotus leaves, the scent of rice, and the fragrance of flowers blend together, refreshing the heart.The winding little river, the ponds seen everywhere, the tree reflections in the water, and the Buddhist pagoda on Yuquan Mountain in the distance all set each other off beautifully. Whether in the rosy dawn or the evening glow, all of this is magnificent. The beauty of nature needs no embellishment; standing atop some slope and gazing out at the endless green and rolling mountains, one is utterly enchanted.In the sweltering season, the temperature in this woods is several degrees lower than outside. This cool world not only washes away the restlessness in the heart but also lets our bodies truly feel the cool. Walking hand-in-hand with a beloved one on these hillsides or tree-lined paths, you feel that nothing in the world could be better. To have someone willing to share this kind of desire-free, nature-returning life—what more could one ask for?When I was young, I always thought that if I took one step forward, my life might be better; in my youth, I was still immature and reckless in my actions, occasionally regretting things, always thinking that if I took one step back, my life might be better. Now I am full forty-three, turning forty-four—already a middle-aged man past forty, heading toward "knowing the will of Heaven." I no longer have the thought that one step forward would be better, nor the thought that one step back would be better. Because imperceptibly, in my swaying, I seem to have adjusted myself to the optimal state, able to be at peace wherever I am.
Today is my forty-third birthday; after this birthday, I will be forty-four. No lively celebration is needed; I only want to use these words to record my feelings at this age. Perhaps ten, twenty, or more years from now, I will occasionally reread what I have written here. May the me of that time still, like now, have a quiet joy in tranquility.