Flying to San Francisco

Flying to San Francisco

We boarded a China Southern Airlines international flight departing from Beijing at noon on April 16th. After a long 15-hour journey, we approached the skies above San Francisco around noon local time. As the aircraft began its descent, the vast, azure expanse of the Pacific Ocean suddenly came into view; San Francisco appeared like a crystalline jewel embedded in the blue sea. Looking out the window, I felt a profound sense of the vastness and grandeur of the world, a feeling of longing to leave home and set foot in a foreign land. The plane landed, and tourists of all skin colors greeted one another with smiles, each gathering their belongings and stepping out through the aircraft doors. They passed through the boarding gates, completed several immigration procedures and security checks, and finally entered the departure hall. There, a group of people were waiting for us, holding up welcome signs—among them Professor Zhi-Eng L, Director of the American Academy of Traditional Chinese Medicine, and Professor Zhu Jie, Deputy Director of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine in San Francisco, who had arrived earlier. We shook hands warmly, exchanged greetings, and posed for photos under a large red welcome banner, where guests and hosts alike captured memories together. A short while later, we boarded a comfortable, spacious special vehicle provided by the airline and left the airport for downtown San Francisco.

San Francisco, after the brief rain, looked particularly clean and picturesque. The streets were wide, the buildings tall, and the lawns, palm trees, and colorful villas built along the slopes—each gave the city a fresh, elegant, and prosperous feel. Traffic flowed freely on the streets, with all vehicles traveling on single-lane highways. For some reason, pedestrians were unusually few on the streets; according to our guide, people in San Francisco mostly traveled by car, and only in shopping malls and amusement parks did we often see large crowds.

Our accommodation was the Dunfey Hotel, located in the southern part of the city. In the United States, a hotel is called a “hotel,” and every hotel should be well-equipped, offering amenities such as outdoor and indoor swimming pools, golf courses, and tennis courts. The hotel’s rooms were similar to those found in domestic four-star hotels, though they did not come equipped with slippers or provide hot water. Upon closer inspection of the “Room Notice,” we learned that Americans, aside from drinking beverages, generally relied on tap water for most of their daily needs—tap water had been rigorously disinfected by water treatment plants and was absolutely safe for consumption. Why weren’t slippers provided? We never quite understood the reason, but fortunately we hadn’t spent much time in the U.S.; although we were not accustomed to it, we simply adapted to the local customs.

After a shower and a rest, someone came to visit us. The visitor was my old friend, Professor Wu Shihua, a classmate from Xi’an Medical University forty years ago, and his wife. Shihua had gone to the U.S. for advanced studies ten years ago, earning excellent grades and staying to work in the U.S. He taught at the University of Chicago and the University of Washington, and five years ago he obtained his medical license in Washington. He founded a clinic and currently serves as Executive Committee Chair of the American Acupuncture Society and as a member of the American Acupuncture Physician Examination Committee. When he learned that Jianxiong and I were traveling to the U.S., he flew from Washington to San Francisco, both to meet old friends and to take part in this conference. Thanks to Shihua and his wife’s arrival, Jianxiong and I were overjoyed—not only did we enjoy the joy of reuniting after many years, but we also greatly reduced the difficulties caused by language barriers thanks to their help.

That evening, we were invited to attend a welcome banquet hosted by the American Academy of Traditional Chinese Medicine. During the banquet, guests and hosts exchanged congratulatory messages. More than fifty guests in attendance were mostly from mainland China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, and India—indicating that this traditional medicine awards conference was undoubtedly centered around promoting Chinese medicine. The dinner unfolded in a warm and lively atmosphere, with scholars taking turns to speak. Jianxiong and I also took to the stage to share our thoughts, representing the medical professionals of Northwest China and expressing our aspirations.

The next day brought continuous drizzle, and we drove through the city’s scenery accompanied by our guide. The Golden Gate Bridge stood between the two arms of San Francisco Bay, renowned worldwide for its perfect design and enormous span. The mighty waves of the Pacific roared beneath the bridge, while ocean-going vessels weighing tens of thousands of tons calmly navigated through the waters. Legend had it that this place served as the gateway to protecting San Francisco; for nearly a century, the Sixth Army—the elite combined naval, land, and air force of the United States—had been stationed here, repeatedly fighting off foreign invaders, safeguarding local security, and ensuring the prosperity and development of the region. We also visited the barracks of the Sixth Army soldiers; it was said that with the end of foreign aggression, the Sixth Army had long since been relocated elsewhere, leaving behind empty buildings, though the lawns, flowering trees, and sports fields remained as they had been. The local government established dedicated management agencies to keep all facilities clean and well-maintained, allowing visitors to tour the site and reminisce, creating a unique scenic experience.

San Francisco’s Forest Park was also world-renowned, nestled in the suburban hillsides surrounded by mountains and water. Here, ancient trees stood tall, flowers filled the air with fragrance, and beautifully designed roads wound through the hills, with statues of various shapes lining the roadside. Our guide told us that these statues were the creations of the forest’s founder—a man who, though he had passed away nearly a century ago, left a tremendous legacy for the people of San Francisco, a legacy that would forever benefit future generations. A hundred years ago, Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of the Republic of China, launched anti-Qing movements here, raising revolutionary funds among overseas Chinese. It was said that Sun Yat-sen’s former residence was nearby, now designated as a historic site by the local government for preservation. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, we were unable to visit his former home—this was indeed one of the great regrets of our trip.

During our two days in San Francisco, Jianxiong and I, guided by Shihua and his wife, also explored the city’s famous “Chinatown.” The shops and buildings here were all styled in Chinese traditions, with Chinese characters everywhere on signs, neon lights in dazzling array of Chinese characters, and stores stocked with goods from mainland China and Taiwan. On the storefronts, portraits of Guan Sheng Di Jun (the God of Wealth) were prominently displayed. When we entered a shop, the owner greeted us warmly in fluent Chinese, making us feel incredibly at ease—like meeting old friends from afar. According to Shihua, Chinese-Americans make up 20% of San Francisco’s population. It is said that thirty years ago, San Francisco was a desolate, uninhabited land; however, after gold deposits were discovered in the sand and stones of the area, large numbers of immigrants from around the world flocked to San Francisco, forming a growing number of gold prospectors. They developed San Francisco, shaped San Francisco, and San Francisco thus earned the nickname “City of Gold.” At that time, China was in the middle of the Qing Dynasty; impoverished farmers from Guangdong and Fujian, desperate for change, crossed the sea to join the gold rush, leaving a significant Chinese population in this famous California city. Of course, over the years, whether from Taiwan or mainland China, more and more people continued to obtain “green cards” and settle down here, and this 20% of the population was gradually increasing.

On our way to this city, I transcribed two short poems:

Poem One

Crossing the ocean overnight, I wandered through the azure seas of San Francisco. Surely, the city’s scenery is beautiful—half of its visitors understand Chinese.

Poem Two

Cars flowed like a river, silent and still; villas lined the streets of the port city. Only the skyscrapers rose high into the sky—every corner of the city was adorned with green lawns.

The Las Vegas Conference

Taking off from San Francisco, we arrived in about two hours at Las Vegas, the famed tourist destination known as the “City of Gambling.” It was here that the Third World Traditional Medicine Awards Conference was held. Jianxiong, Shihua, and I checked into the PLAZA Hotel in the city, a 29-story hotel whose rooms were located on the 16th floor. Looking out from the windows, we saw the city’s towering skyscrapers and orderly streets, with the vast, expansive desert of Nevada visible in the distance. It was said that this place had once been a barren, desolate desert, untouched by human footprints. Fifty years ago, a group of mafia bosses were wanted by the federal government and fled here, settling down in this remote location with massive amounts of gold and silver. Here, gambling was openly encouraged, and various transportation and entertainment facilities were built. Later, the federal government took over the area and gradually transformed it into a world-famous tourist city. Today, the city has a permanent population of 700,000, and with the influx of migrants, the total urban population exceeds one million. As tourism infrastructure continued to expand, the city’s resident population grew at a rate of 50,000 people per year in recent years.

As soon as we settled into the PLAZA Hotel, Jianxiong’s younger brother, Professor Su Yan’an, arrived. He flew from Maryland, thousands of miles away, to Las Vegas specifically to visit Jianxiong. Jianxiong had already introduced him to me, so we quickly became close friends. Yan’an is 37 years old; he went to the U.S. ten years ago, earning a master’s degree, then a doctorate, and later a professorship. With his talent, intelligence, and hard work, he had already begun to stand out among his peers in the U.S. education community. His fluent, standard English, combined with his handsome, elegant appearance, inspired a deep sense of respect for this young man who had brought honor to the Chinese people—and within minutes, I wrote a poem for him. I transcribed it here:

A graceful young man, admired by students across the globe, Ten years of dedication led to success—may your son resemble Su Yan’an.

That evening, with nothing planned, Yan’an, Shihua, Jianxiong, and I decided to explore Las Vegas’ night scene. Yan’an drove, acting as our guide. The night view of Las Vegas was truly remarkable: towering buildings were wrapped in neon lights from root to tip, while streets and the night sky were adorned with various neon patterns that shifted and shimmered, illuminating the streets like daylight. It was a city that seemed to be bathed in light, reminding us that the United States boasts abundant electricity, with a total power generation capacity reaching hundreds of billions of kilowatts—more than any other country in the world. The sheer scale of this sprawling, ever-bright metropolis required immense energy, and the city’s reliance on electricity was truly astonishing. At Yan’an’s suggestion, we also visited a casino. Yan’an said, “To truly experience this city, you must experience the thrill of gambling.” So we headed to the casino—almost every floor of the city’s major hotels was devoted to casinos, where various electronic gambling machines were arranged in different levels, offering countless games. Gambling involved humans playing against machines, without any direct interaction with others. Yan’an handed each of us a $10 coin, encouraging us to play and enjoy ourselves. Jianxiong’s luck was good—he inserted a coin, and it rang loudly, dropping 80 coins, totaling $20. My luck wasn’t so good; less than half an hour later, I had lost all $10. Being born into a family steeped in learning, I tend to be conservative and deeply dislike gambling—but Yan’an and Shihua both said that wealthy upper-class individuals traveled here by private jet from all over the world to gamble, where wins and losses were common, driving capital flows and bringing substantial revenue to the federal government. It was said that that very night, a Canadian billionaire lost 400 million U.S. dollars. Meanwhile, retirees from all over the U.S. played small bets, using gambling as a way to relieve loneliness and find comfort in life. Listening to their stories, I finally understood the true meaning behind the U.S. government’s massive investment in developing this gambling city.

On April 19th, at 8:00 a.m., the Third World Traditional Medicine Awards Conference officially opened in the auditorium of the PLAZA Hotel in the city. More than 100 scholars, experts, and professors from five continents attended the conference. On the podium sat officials from the World Health Organization, representatives of the Governor of California, leaders from various disciplines within the American medical community, as well as Zhu Jie, Deputy Director of the State Administration of Traditional Chinese Medicine in China, and Fu Shi-wan, Director of the Chinese Academy of Traditional Chinese Medicine. When Professor Briane Ion, Chairman of the Conference and President of the World Traditional Medicine Conference, announced the opening of the conference, the audience responded with enthusiastic applause. The opening ceremony announced the list of recipients of the awards, which had been determined through three stages—initial screening, re-evaluation, and final review—after being selected from over 15,000 submissions submitted by experts and scholars from around the world. Ultimately, 100 research achievements and publications were chosen and named the “Third World Traditional Medicine Conference Outstanding Contribution International Gold Award,” with each recipient receiving a golden cup, a certificate, a diploma, and a banner bearing the title “100 Medical Stars.” Jianxiong and I were both listed among the winners, and we both delivered academic presentations at the conference, earning praise from the experts and professors in attendance. The conference lasted for three days, and on the afternoon of April 21st, it successfully concluded in a joyful and lively atmosphere. That evening, all delegates were invited to the famous Las Vegas Amusement Park to enjoy two spectacular art performances. One performance was titled “War at Sea,” meaning “war at sea,” while the other was called “show,” meaning “performance.” The first performance was a thrilling water battle staged in a large lake surrounded by mountains, where the story followed a fierce duel between the military fleet of the United States and pirate ships that had taken place 100 years ago during the American Revolutionary War. The ship designs and character portrayals were both historically accurate and lifelike, with cannons roaring, blood splashing, and ships speeding across the water. First, the U.S. military emerged victorious, while the pirates’ ships were engulfed in flames and bodies were scattered across the battlefield. Then, reinforcements from the pirates arrived in large numbers, turning the tide of the battle and causing the U.S. ships to retreat… This was a large-scale live-action performance, breathtaking and stirring the soul. Such performances require enormous financial resources—without strong financial backing, they are simply unimaginable. The second performance, called “show,” was a ballet-like dance drama, where lighting, sound, and stage design combined modern scientific and technological advancements. Sometimes heavy rain poured down, sometimes rivers surged forth; the dancers were partially nude, yet their graceful movements, tight plots, and seamless integration of sound, light, transformation, and electricity transported audiences into a beautiful natural realm. When the curtain fell, people lingered long after the performers had left, with the actors performing encore after encore. An elderly traditional Chinese medicine expert said, “It seems our previous thinking was flawed—we’ve been missing something important in our appreciation of art. This performance was truly the greatest artistic enjoyment.” Indeed, Chinese intellectuals—including myself—have long been influenced by Confucian principles like “naked chest and bare abdomen, a lack of propriety,” dismissing any art that revealed the body’s lines as “yellow”—yet we often overlook the fact that true art can resonate with people of all viewpoints. By the time we finished watching both performances, it was already 12:00 a.m. We hurried back to the hotel, packed our bags, and prepared to leave Las Vegas early the next morning for Los Angeles. Yan’an had an important academic conference to attend and needed to part ways with us; he had already purchased his ticket and flew to Maryland in the early hours of the next day.

The Famous City of Los Angeles

The car traveled through the endless desert of Nevada. The highway was a straight, smooth, and wide stretch of road; the sandy trees lining both sides of the road had grown lush, with sprinklers running constantly, giving the desert a vibrant, thriving look. After about four hours of driving, the car entered the territory of Southern California. Here, lush greenery covered the streets, coconut trees dotted the landscape, and flat, moist lawns stretched along both sides of the road—each lawn neatly planted with tall palm trees, creating a subtropical scene that was truly captivating.

Around noon, we arrived in Los Angeles, the capital of California and the second-largest city in the United States. Los Angeles now has a population of 7 million and serves as the financial center of the western United States. Deep gray skyscrapers, intricate, spiderweb-like interchanges… each of these structures left a profound impression of a modern metropolis. Due to time constraints, we quickly had lunch at a Chinese restaurant and then drove straight to Hollywood Studios.

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The Hollywood Film City is world-renowned; only those who have witnessed the magnificent scenery of Hollywood can truly say that their trip was well-spent. Starting at 1:00 PM, we spent six hours exploring the wonders of the human world and enjoying the joy of life. Beyond all that, simply traveling around various scenic spots by car is enough to leave one utterly captivated and amazed—truly breathtaking. The car drove into the underground "primeval forest," where towering trees stood as if two people could embrace them—pine, cypress, cedar, birch, each species of ancient tree lush and verdant. Winding paths led deep into the forest, where gentle streams flowed beneath our feet. Looking up, we saw moonlight filtering through the canopy, while a few stars slowly emerged from the clouds, and a strong scent of primeval forest humus filled our nostrils. In an instant, dark clouds rolled in, and a light rain began to fall. As the car turned a corner, sunlight suddenly shone through the gaps in the trees, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze, revealing a serene, cloudless day in the forest. The car exited the "primeval forest," and ahead lay a calm stretch of water, its trees casting long shadows as boats sailed across the lake—a perfect place for couples to indulge in love. The car slowly drove along the lakeside when, suddenly, a loud roar echoed as a massive waterfall cascaded down a high cliff, sending waves crashing against the lake’s surface with tremendous force—its spectacle even more grand than that of Huangguoshu Waterfall in Guizhou. After the car passed by, we looked back to find the waterfall had vanished; the high cliff remained hidden among the flowers and trees. It turned out that this entire scene was controlled remotely via computer networks, used for visitors to tour the site while filming movies. The car entered Hollywood China Village, where Chinese-style streets, courtyard houses, and rural Chinese landscapes were on display. We decided to linger briefly in "China Village," but then a sudden storm swept in. White poplar leaves fell from the trees, the mountain stream surged, and the water roared as it flowed. In the distance, a waterwheel spun steadily, its rhythmic clatter echoing through the air… Hollywood Studios boasts the facilities needed to film scenes from films both ancient and modern, from snowy mountains to pastoral pastures, from famous mountains to vast rivers—everything you could possibly imagine. This place exemplifies the fusion of massive capital and cutting-edge technology, something that poor or small countries would never be able to achieve.

Around 7:00 PM, our visit came to an end, and we headed to the Pek Hotel in East Los Angeles. After settling into our accommodations, I quickly called Professor Cangclen C., Director of the Department of Oriental Medicine at UCLA. Even before my trip to the U.S., I had spoken with him over the phone in Lanzhou and received his invitation letter. The call was successful, and we agreed to visit the university the following morning. Exhausted from a full day of travel, I slept soundly that night—and when I woke up, it was already 7:30 AM. Jianxiong and Shihua hurried to the airport, where we made a brief tour and engaged in academic exchanges with several experts and professors in the Department of Oriental Medicine. Around 1:00 PM, Shihua and his wife took us to Los Angeles Airport, where we said our goodbyes. After more than ten days of shared experiences, it was truly difficult to part ways—but as I recalled the lines from Tang Dynasty poet Li Shangyin's poem, "It's hard to meet, yet hard to part; the east wind is weak, and the five hundred flowers are withered," I found myself thinking of the same sentiment. After bidding farewell to Shihua and his wife, Jianxiong and I hurried to the departure hall, where we completed our boarding procedures in a rush. At 2:00 PM, the plane took off, bound for San Francisco, from where we would continue by flight straight to Beijing.

(Extracted from "Zhengyou," June 1996)

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A Journey to Tianshui

Counting the years, it had been three years since I last visited Tianshui. I heard that the city’s urban development and cultural landscape had undergone earth-shattering changes in recent years, and I had always wanted to see these transformations. This time, a delegation of Party, government, and military officials from Inner Mongolia, led by Deputy Secretary Yang Limin, traveled through Lanzhou to visit Tianshui. At the invitation of Secretary Yang Limin, we joined the delegation and together explored the region, fulfilling our long-held wish.

Secretary Yang Limin has been a close friend of mine for many years. When he served as Head of the Organization Department of the Gansu Provincial Committee, we first began to communicate. His broad knowledge, modest nature, integrity, and willingness to value others made us friends—not just medical colleagues, but also close friends. Although I am ten years older than him, I often feel that I can only hope to match his achievements in social sciences and humanities, and I’ve benefited greatly from his wisdom. After he was transferred to Inner Mongolia, we continued to correspond by mail, and our friendship grew deeper with each passing day.

Traveling in the same car as Secretary Yang Limin, we chatted about poetry, literature, history, and current affairs, finding our hearts open and our minds enlightened. The small car sped along the highway for more than three hours. Around 5:00 PM, we arrived in the territory of Tianshui, where Mayor Zhang Guangzhi and his team were already waiting by the roadside. After exchanging greetings, we boarded the car and continued our journey. As we passed through the Sanyangchuan Tunnel, the view suddenly opened up before us. Towering skyscrapers, wide, bustling streets, and the Jie River winding through the city amid rows of smoke-tinged trees… the entire vibrant cityscape of Tianshui came into view. Seven years ago, Secretary Yang Limin was transferred from Gansu Province, and seeing such tremendous changes in front of him, he couldn’t help but exclaim in admiration! Mayor Zhang Guangzhi, who had just gotten into the car, said that the municipal government would invest 130 million yuan to build a rubber flood control dam downstream of the Jie River. Once the water level rose, the entire city would be shaped into a circular layout centered around the reservoir lake. Visitors could enjoy boating and fishing in the lake, while artificial hills and long embankments with pavilions would be built in the heart of the lake, adding lush greenery to the area. In time, Tianshui would become a true “water city,” with willows swaying gently in the breeze, flowers blooming in the shade, and shimmering waters reflecting the sunlight. Just like Jinan, which earned its name from its famous springs, or Hangzhou, which became known as a “lake city” thanks to its famous lakes, Tianshui would showcase its stunning lake views and mountainous landscapes to the world—leaving everyone in awe of its beauty! Truly returning Tianshui to its original form. As we spoke, the car had already entered the grounds of the Tianshui Hotel.

The Inner Mongolian Party, Government, and Military Delegation’s mission was to pay tribute to the personnel involved in China’s space program, who had traveled from Hohhot, detoured through Ejin Banner, passed through Jiuquan, Wuwei, and Tianshui, and finally returned to Inner Mongolia via Xi’an. Accompanying the delegation was a large ethnic music and dance troupe; in addition to paying respects at relevant bases and units, they also performed a grand cultural show in the cities they passed through.

That evening, the Party and government leaders of Tianshui held a grand welcome party for the delegation. After exchanging words of gratitude with each other, the Tianshui art group and the Inner Mongolian performing troupe presented a diverse array of performances, with thrilling moments and passionate, lively scenes that filled the atmosphere with warmth and enthusiasm.

During the three days that I spent in Tianshui with Secretary Yang Limin, he led the delegation on scheduled visits and discussions. My role was simply to share in the joy of meeting old friends and to fully immerse myself in Tianshui’s streets, landmarks, and scenic spots.

After three years away from my hometown of Tianshui, the profound changes there left me both excited and deeply moved.

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The Transformation of Maiji Mountain

As the car left Tianshui and passed Ma Pao Quan, it turned southward. Ma Pao Quan, also known as Dong Quan, was once famous for its famous spring. Legend has it that during the Western Han Dynasty, General Huo Qubing pursued the Xiongnu here, and when his troops ran out of water, the general, in a moment of urgency, leapt from his horse—and a spring gushed forth from under its hooves, a clear stream rising like a pillar, instantly quenching the army’s urgent need. The car sped past, and the towering buildings and street shadows darting by outside the window made me realize that this once dilapidated and desolate town of Dong Quan had transformed into something truly remarkable. Three years earlier, the road south was still a bumpy county road, but now it had been widened and renovated, making it straight and smooth. Suddenly, a stone sculpture came into view in the distance. I remembered someone once saying that recently, a giant statue of Du Fu had been erected in Ganquan Town, along the way to Maiji Mountain. As I turned my head to look back, Ganquan Town had already passed us by. Speaking of Ganquan Town, it too was once famous for its spring. In April of 559 AD, the great patriotic poet Du Fu traveled from Shaanxi to Qin after the An Lushan Rebellion, residing in Qin Prefecture, where he wrote the famous five-character verse “Tianping Si Quan Yan”: “Like silk, it may rise to the sky; as vast as clouds and rain; providing water for monks from all directions, its fragrance surpasses cow’s milk.” Tianping Si was renamed Ganquan Si during the Song Dynasty, and the town became renowned far and wide for its sweet, milky springs. The town’s name was derived from the ancient temple, and today, local residents still commonly refer to Ganquan Town as Ganquan Si. The ancient temple had weathered countless storms, undergoing several renovations and restorations. It is said that the temple, which had been destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, had been completely repaired and restored to its original name. Two towering magnolia trees stood in front of the main temple, their branches lush and leafy. These rare trees are uncommon on the Northwest Plateau, and their towering, dense growth was truly exceptional—now listed as nationally protected trees. Fifty years ago, the famous Chinese artist Qi Baishi inscribed the plaque “Shuang Yu Lan Tang” for Ganquan Si, but during the Cultural Revolution, some people secretly preserved it as a bedboard, saving it from destruction. Today, this plaque hangs proudly at the entrance of Tianping Si, adding splendor to the temple.

Tianshui is my hometown. Though I hadn’t visited in three years, through constant communication with friends, I had long been aware of how rapidly my hometown had changed. As I talked with Secretary Yang, time flew by, and the car had already passed Ganquan Town, speeding along the Yongchuan River toward Xiamen. The valley grew narrower, the mountains grew steeper—but the newly built roads were remarkably smooth, offering a comfortable and steady ride. Along the roadside, new vegetation had grown in the mountains, forming dense forests. Secretary Yang Limin looked out the window and said that the Party and government leaders of Tianshui seemed to have put a great deal of effort into improving the region over the past few years. As we spoke, the car entered the Maiji Mountain Scenic Area, and looking out the window, I saw a mountain rising abruptly from the vast forest, resembling a stack of wheat ears in a farmer’s field—this was Maiji Mountain. Du Fu’s “Qinzhou Zaji” recorded: “Few monks remain in the wild temple, but the mountain garden has steep paths.” This was a true depiction of Maiji Mountain at the time. Look at the peak, which is perfectly round; the cliffs leading to the Maiji Mountain Caves were already constructed during the Tang Dynasty, as the poetic sage described them as “steep paths.” In a single sentence, he captured the essence of the place. Before we knew it, the car had reached the mountain gate, where it stopped. Mayor Zhang Guangzhi told Secretary Yang Limin that the Maiji Mountain Caves had faced unprecedented challenges during the Cultural Revolution—some of the trails were damaged and neglected, Buddhist statues were vandalized, and cultural relics suffered heavy losses. Since the beginning of the Reform and Opening-up, the Party and government had invested heavily in restoring the caves, organizing multiple expert evaluations and bringing together talent from all fields. All 194 caves were meticulously repaired, each Buddha statue was cleaned and preserved, and each cave was equipped with temperature and humidity control systems. The trails were reinforced, and aluminum alloy guardrails were added. As we spoke, we looked toward the mountain peak, and we saw that the entire Maiji Mountain cliff was bathed in solemn, fresh radiance. Layered pathways wound up the cliff face, and the newly installed guardrails gleamed in the sunlight, giving us the feeling of being immersed in a sacred Buddhist realm.

The Maiji Mountain Caves were founded during the Later Qin Dynasty, and over the centuries—from the Northern Wei, Sui, Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, to the Qing—each dynasty expanded and renovated the caves, bringing together the pinnacle of ancient Chinese sculpture. Fan Wenran’s “A Brief History of China” described Maiji Mountain as “the Museum of Eastern Sculpture,” while Li Fang’s “Taiping Guangji” noted that Maiji Mountain “carved Buddhas from stone, with thousands of niches and thousand of chambers—though human hands might question whether divine power was at work.” Climbing the steps, we followed the path along the cliffside, visiting each of the thousand Buddha statues and hundreds of caves—the fourth of China’s four great cave complexes. We once again appreciated the rich cultural heritage of our nation.

Over the course of 2,300 years, the Maiji Mountain Caves endured numerous damages, but today, more than 7,000 clay sculptures and stone Buddha statues, along with over 1,000 square meters of murals—including seven giant Buddha statues carved into the cliff face, each reaching heights of 15 meters—are still intact. The Buddha statues were either dignified, joyful, or sorrowful, each vividly lifelike, with expressions so realistic that they captured the artistic characteristics of ancient Chinese painting and sculpture from different periods.

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The Revival of Nanguo Temple

I hadn’t visited Nanguo Temple in seven years, but I’d heard that it had undergone significant changes. This time, I was eager to visit the temple, drawn by its reputation.

The car left the city and headed west along the newly developed Nanguo Avenue. Just a few minutes later, we arrived at Shimaoping, where we got out of the car in the newly built parking lot. The red gates of Nanguo Temple immediately caught our eyes. New stone steps led directly down to the base of the mountain, creating an extraordinary sight. Flowers and trees had been planted along both sides of the steps, forming a lush forest. The scenery made me feel that Nanguo Temple today was unlike anything I had ever seen. Climbing the steps, we saw the plaque “Nanguo Temple,” written by Zhao Puchu, which caught our attention. Its elegant, ancient script gave the millennia-old temple a sense of splendor.

Nanguo Temple had been established over 2,300 years ago. In the second year of the Qianyuan era under Emperor Suzong of the Tang Dynasty, Du Fu left behind a famous verse: “On the hilltop, Nanguo Temple; the river flows northward. Old trees stand in empty courtyards, and clear streams flow through the town.” As I recited this famous poem, I found myself entering the front courtyard of Nanguo Temple. First, I saw the “old tree” mentioned in Du Fu’s poem—though it had weathered over 2,000 years of storms, it was still thriving, with new leaves sprouting abundantly. The trunk of the old tree split in half, with one side stretching southward and the other extending northward. A small branch grew from the split, and the trunk itself was nearly two feet in diameter. The old tree and the branch were closely intertwined, having lived through hundreds of seasons. There were many legends surrounding the splitting of the old tree, but the most widely accepted story was that during the Sui and Tang Dynasties, General Qin Shubao had tied his horse to this tree. When the horse panicked and bolted away, the tree split in two. The government cared for the old tree with great care, installing reinforced concrete supports and regularly spraying pesticides—truly a case of “spring coming to an old tree.” Near the old tree stood another astonishing tree, the Wai Mao. What makes it special? Wai Mao originally grew as a small shrub in the waterside regions of Jiangnan. According to legend, in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, a monk brought seeds here and planted them. The following year, seedlings sprouted, and decades later, the tree had grown into a towering oak. It was truly a miracle, leaving botanists in awe. Secretary Yang said, “Tianshui is a land of great people and great resources—even plants seem to possess spiritual power.” Mayor Zhang Guangzhi added, “Tianshui has a wealth of ancient trees, rare throughout the country. Over the past few years, we’ve worked tirelessly to protect these treasures, turning this historical legacy into cultural and tourism assets, so that they can play a vital role in economic development.”

The tour guide, Mr. Zhou Fatan, was nearing eighty years old, yet his mind was sharp and his voice was full of energy. His eloquent explanations were truly captivating. The “North-flowing Spring” mentioned in Du Fu’s poem was locally known as the Bagua Well. A beautiful eight-sided pavilion with red pillars and a flying eave, adorned with dragon motifs, had been built above the well. Mr. Zhou Fatan said that a few years ago, when the vegetation was damaged and the Wei River dried up, and the Jie River had run dry, drinking water became a major problem for the people of Tianshui. Yet strangely, only this “North-flowing Spring” had abundant water, constantly gushing forth. People carried water in carts and buckets, flowing endlessly, solving the immediate needs of many.

In the backyard of Nanguo Temple, we admired the newly built statue of Du Fu. The poet sat on a couch, his expression serious, his gaze fixed on the horizon. During the An Lushan Rebellion, the poet fled Chang’an, wandering through the chaos of war. During his three months in Qin Prefecture, the poet left behind more than 100 poems—some describing landscapes, some expressing emotions, some reminiscing about the past. Most of these poems were reflections of the poet’s deep concern for his country and his people, his anger at the world, and his compassion for the suffering of others. The famous sculptor He E captured this very spirit of the poet, boldly imagining a masterpiece that would follow the Mother of the Yellow River in Lanzhou—another great work dedicated to the people of Qin Prefecture and Gansu Province. Secretary Yang Limin specially invited me to take a photo with the statue of the poetic sage. Mayor Zhang Guangzhi and Secretary Du Songqi encouraged their Inner Mongolian colleagues to pose for photos beside the statue, honoring this great poet.

Beside Du Fu’s statue stood the newly completed “Er Miao Xuan” corridor. The corridor curved in an arc, stretching 35.5 meters from northeast to southwest, 4.56 meters high, with natural stone walls covered in polished surfaces and embedded serpent-like rock. The walls were carved with the running scripts of Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi, and over 100 of Du Fu’s “Qinzhou Poems” were inscribed on the walls. The combination of the Sage of Calligraphy and the Sage of Poetry was truly remarkable—“Er Miao Xuan” was the perfect name for this place. Speaking of the origin of “Er Miao Xuan,” we must first remember Song Wan, who served as a regional official in Longyou Prefecture 350 years ago. He had served his duties well, benefiting the people of his region and leaving behind an immortal legacy. He organized the best calligraphers and engravers of Longyou at the time, carefully collecting the running scripts of Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi from the Jin Dynasty, elevating Du Fu’s “Qinzhou Poems” and passing them down to future generations. The original stone carvings had long been lost, and the rubbings passed down through the ages had disappeared during the Cultural Revolution. In 1985, someone discovered a single copy of the “Er Miao Xuan” rubbings in Zhang County. With the high attention of the Tianshui Municipal People’s Government, the rubbings were acquired and preserved. Two years ago, the government invested heavily to build this poetry corridor.

Nanguo Temple had changed—within just a few short years, it had truly been revitalized. I remember that during the Cultural Revolution, a friend from the Literature Department of Peking University came to Tianshui. I accompanied him to Nanguo Temple, where the temple was in ruins, the forest had been devastated, and the Bagua Well in the wilderness was hidden beneath withered grass and fallen leaves. We wandered around the well, silently reciting Du Fu’s poem—“Nanguo Temple.”

The Soaring Spirit of Fuxi Temple

Fuxi Temple in Tianshui is the most complete and largest Fuxi Temple in China, designated as a national key cultural relic. I had visited Fuxi Temple many times before, but none of those visits had left as deep an impression on me as this one.

As the birthplace of China’s founding father—Fuxi—the Party and government leaders of Tianshui have taken the “Fuxi” project seriously, raising this landmark high above all others. It has become a cultural sanctuary revered by Chinese people both at home and abroad, and a destination for tourists from all corners of the world who seek to experience its rich cultural heritage. First, we arrived at Fuxi Plaza, a newly built, expansive site dedicated to Fuxi’s worship. It stretches 100 meters north–south and 96 meters east–west, covering a total area of 9,600 square meters. In the center of the plaza stands a monument inscribed with the words “Hometown of Fuxi,” penned by Comrade Jiang Zemin. In front of the monument lies the solemn, ancient altar of Fuxi, which requires climbing five steps to reach the top—a typical design feature of Fuxi Worship Plaza. In the center of the altar sits the sacrificial altar, adorned with engravings of the sixty-four hexagrams, both yin and yang. On the eastern side of the altar is a poetry and prose memorial corridor, while the western side features a story-based memorial corridor, using poetry and paintings to tell the story of Fuxi’s history and celebrate his great contributions. Both the altar and the sacrificial platform, as well as the corridors, were constructed using natural stone, polished to perfection. Ninety-five evergreen pines and cypresses were planted around the altar, symbolizing the nine-fifths principle. The altar and the main gate of Fuxi Temple form a north–south axis, and along this axis runs the sacred path that leads from the temple to the altar. On either side of the path stand eight totemic hexagram columns, each bearing pictographic inscriptions representing heaven, earth, water, fire, mountain, lake, wind, and thunder. The entire plaza is grand in scale, with a harmonious and balanced layout that creates a sense of solemnity and reverence. After admiring the plaza, we walked north along the sacred path, where the main gate of Fuxi Temple stood tall and proud. The city towers in front of the gate, along with the massive steles on either side, were newly constructed. Looking out, we saw ancient cypress trees towering in the temple, their fragrant smoke swirling in the air. The temple and the plaza seemed to echo each other, blending seamlessly into one cohesive whole—truly spectacular. As descendants of Fuxi, standing in this place, a deep sense of reverence and longing welled up within me. Entering the temple, we saw that the stage, the memorial pavilion, the bell tower, the drum tower, the main hall, and the corridors had all been renovated and repainted—completely different from the Fuxi Temple of the past. After viewing the statue of Fuxi and appreciating the colorful murals inside the main hall, Secretary Yang Limin praised Mayor Zhang Guangzhi and Secretary Du Songqi for the great efforts made by the Party and government leaders of Tianshui in the “Fuxi” project. Mayor Zhang Guangzhi and Secretary Du Songqi modestly remarked that their work was far from complete and that they should learn from their Inner Mongolian counterparts.

The three-day visit to Tianshui came to an end. I bid farewell to Secretary Yang Limin and his Inner Mongolian friends, saying goodbye to each of the Tianshui friends individually before heading back to Lanzhou alone. Along the way, my thoughts were filled with excitement and wonder—what I would never forget was Tianshui’s dramatic transformation. In just a few short years, this ancient cultural city, which had experienced the trials of the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, where vegetation had been destroyed and city walls had fallen into disrepair, had finally welcomed its own golden age. The winds of reform and opening-up had blown across the land of China, and they had also swept through the towns and villages, the mountains and rivers of Tianshui.

(Extracted from “Shidai Feng,” February 2006)

Section Four: Literary Criticism and Research