MyeyeswereblurredfromsleepasIwatchedthetreesandhousespassbyatanincreasinglyslowerpaceintothedarkgreyofthesummermorning。TheannouncementcamethatthetrainwaspullingintothestationnearestMountTai。ButfromthewindowIcouldhardlyseethemountaintopsonlyafewmilesaway。Theymustbesomewherebehindthelayersofmist。 Manyofmyfellowpassengerswerepilgrimstotheholylandofgods,saints,andancestors。Icouldtellbythepackagesofincensetheybrought。ButIhadotherthingsinmindthanburningincenseinatemple。Iwastoldhowsmalltheworldwas,andhowgloriousthesunrise,seenfromthepeakofMountTai。Ihadseenpicturesofitsbeautifultemples,pavilions,terraces,andofthemountainitselfhalfhiddenincloudsandmiststhatweresaidtogatheranddispersewithinminutes。NowIwantedtoseeeverything,andseetherealthing。Withayearofschoolworkjustbehindme,theprospectoffreewanderingandsightseeingloomedlargerandlargerahead。AsIsteppedoutofthetrain,eventheenshrinedidols,likeartpiecesinamuseum,begantolineupinmymindassomethingthatpromisedrefreshment。 Theskywaswakingupfromitsgreyslumber。BythetimeIswalk,ithadassumedauniformpalewhite。Nobodywasontheuphillpathbehindme。Someofthepeoplewhowereonthesametrainwithmehaddecidedtowaitforthedawnatthestation。Othersmustbeslowontheirwayup。Ifoundmyselfaloneinfrontoftheclosedgate,anticipatingthethrillofhavingthewholetempleformyown。Ipushedthegateopenandwalkedin。 Itwasquietinside。Inthemiddleofthetempleyardwasasmallpoolsurroundedbyruggedrocks。Alittlefountainrosefromthepillarlikestonethatstoodatthecenterofthepool。Thewater,emittedinstringsoftinybeads,wentstraightupwardsuntilitturnedgraduallyintoahazymistdisappearingintheair。Thereweretreeshereandthereinthespaciousyard。Amongthemwerethreehugeoldcypresses。Mostoftheboughsstretchingoutfromthetrunksweredry,dark,haggardandbare,likearms。Therewassomethingpeculiarinoneofthetrees。Imovedcloser,walkedaroundit,andnoticedacracksolargethatthewholetrunkwasabouttosplit,butsomesparselyscatteredleavesabovetoldmeitwasnotdead。 Ibackedawayandlookedattombstonesalongthewallsandonbothsidesofthetemple。Theywereeithergreyorblack。Mostofthemhadelegantinscriptionsonbothfrontandback。Iapproachedablacktabletforitsbeautifullycarvedcalligraphy。Myeyesbegantoroamdownfromthetopofthestone,tracinglinesofcharacterswithouttryingtounderstandwhattheymeantuntil,quiteunexpectedly,theinscribedlinesdisappearedintoapatchofdubiouscolorswherethehard,dullblackgraduallymergedwiththesoft,dampgreen。Apieceofmosscreptfrombelowand,asiftoclaimlivingspacefromthedead,snamemusthavebeen。Disappointed,Iturnedtoanothertablet。Thedateonitwasstilllegible,fromwhichIlearnedthatthepersonburiedunderneathdiedhundredsofyearsbefore。Suddenly,IknewwhereIwas:thefirstmajorattractionenroutetoMountTaiwasmarkedonthetouristmapastheHanCypressYard。Thatwastosay,thecypressesweretheresincetheHanDtheywerealiveformorethantwothousandyears。 Iopenedmybackpackandtookoutmytouristguide,hopingtofindoutmoreaboutthishistoricalplace。Yet,justasIwasabouttospreadoutthemapontheflattopofatombstone,agustofwindcamefrombehind,swirledaroundme,andsnatchedthemapfrommyhand。Iturnedbacksuspiciously,onlytofindsomethingevenstranger:thewaterfountainwascirclingaroundoverthestone,vaporized。Ahuge,blackcloudwasdescendingslowlyfromthesky,abouttoenvelopthetempleandmountainsnearby。Itwasgettingdarkeranddarkerintheyard。Iturnedaroundagainandsawthewindowsofthetemple。Theywereblackeyesstaringatme。Ilookedupthroughtheboughs。Itwasblack,too,upthere。Skeletonfingers,hands,armswavedagainstthesky。Theycracked,flashed,asifsendinglightningdowntotheearth。Ihadtogetoutofhere,Isaidtomyself。Ihadnothingtodowithaplacelikethis。Imustgo。Butmylegswouldnotcarryme。Iwashelpless。Iclosedmyeyesandrefusedtotakeinanything。Still,Isawtombstones,patchesofmoss,cypresstrees,aged,lean,bare。。。 Timeseemedsuspended。Forhowlong,Ididnotknow。NorwasIsure,evenwhenIopenedmyeyesagain,ifIstillstoodatthesamespotintheyardasbefore。Iwasonlygladthatalltheblackshadowsweregone。Thetempleappearedfriendlyintherestoredlightofthemorning。Thedoorinthemiddlewasajar, probablycausedbythedisturbanceofthewind。Iwalkedslowlyupthefrontstepsandlookedin。Tomysurprise,thehallwasemptywithoutanidolandwithoutashrine。Oneofthewindowswashalfopen。Thepaintonthepillars,beams,andwallshadfaded。Therewasnothinginsideexceptsomedrytwigsandleavesscatteredonthefloor。Istoodinthemiddleofthehall,unabletomoveatthequietapproachofastrangeyetdeepsenseoflife,fullandfresh,thatmademepartofthehumbleandsereneemptiness。Afteralongwhile,Iturnedtothehalfopenwindow,closeditgently,andbackedaway,makingsurethedoorwasalsoproperlyshutbehindmeasIsteppedout。 WhenIcrossedthethresholdoftheyard,agroupofpeoplewereontheirwayupthefrontsteps,somewithsmallbunchesofincenseinhand。Theymusthavebeenonthesametrainwithme。IsuddenlyfeltthatIhadbeenalone。Butmyfellowpassengersdidnotseemtotakenoticeofme。Ascendingwithincreasinglysolemnsteps,theylookeduptothemagnificentgateofthetempleinadmirationandawe。Ontheirbacktotheright,thesunemergedfrombehindthethickfoliageoftrees,liftingtheveilofthemorning,embracingtheearthandtheskywithitsradiantlight。