48—
Yüan Mei (1716–1798)

Yüan Mei personified the elegant, sophisticated aesthete during the last great period of Chinese imperial power and prosperity. Born in Hang-chou, Che-chiang, he became a Metropolitan Graduate in 1739 and served in several magistracies, including that of Chiang-ning (modern Nanking). At the age of thirty-two he retired to pursue his varied cultural interests. Among these were poetry, literary criticism, education, cuisine, collecting ghost stories, and the theater. His home in Nanking, the Sui Garden, had formerly belonged to the textile commissioner and patron of the arts Ts'ao Yin (1658–1712). Yüan was among those who maintained that it was the basis for the Grand View Garden in the novel A Dream of Red Mansions (Hung-lou-meng , published 1791), written by Ts'ao Yin's descendant, Ts'ao Hsüeh-ch'in (ca. 1715–ca. 1763). After he reconstructed the Sui Garden it became a social center for scholars during the latter half of the eighteenth century, establishing Yüan Mei as a cultural arbiter. As a poet and critic, he espoused expressive theories similar to those of the late Ming individualists, advocating the ideal of "personal sensibility" (hsing-ling ) in literature. Throughout his life he traveled extensively to scenic places, often with actors from his household troupe as companions, and he left a number of travel accounts. These convey his perceptive wit, lively curiosity, and a connoisseur's pursuit of beauty and pleasure.

Yellow Dragon Mountain

(1782)

Yellow Dragon Mountain (Huang-lung-shan) is located about four miles west of the seat of Chin-yün District, Che-chiang. It is described

in local gazetteers as a wall of rock, steep and sheer, with marvelous stone formations. According to legend, in ancient times a yellow dragon dwelled at the foot of the mountain in a pond whose water was famed for its sweet taste. At the end of the T'ang, a local warlord, Lu Yüeh, constructed fortifications on its summit. Its heights were also a base for the soldiers of Keng Tsai-ch'eng (fl. ca. 1359), a supporter of Chu Yüan-chang in the revolt against the Yüan. Ruins of these were still visible in the Ch'ing. Yüan Mei's travel record dwells on neither scenic qualities nor historical sites nor Confucian ideals. Rather, it reveals his independence and sense of humor as he uses the occasion of his visit to speculate about the role of chance in the creation of the natural world.

In the fourth month of the year jen-yin [May-June 1782], after traveling to Terrace of Heaven and Geese Pond mountains, I traveled to Yellow Dragon Mountain in Ch'u Prefecture.^[1] The mountain is formed entirely by huge round boulders piled up—"half-hidden and obstructed"^[2] —each one treading on another rather like Mount I in Eastern Lu^[3] and quite different from Terrace and Pond Mountains.

Someone assumed that the Creator-of-Things^[4] arranged it this way to show off his fantastic skill. But I informed him by saying, "How could he have intended this? If he had had such an intention, he certainly could not have created these forms. And even if he had, he could not have achieved this fantastic quality. The natural transformations of cosmic energy were generated by chance and just happened to form this. I am afraid that not only did the Creator-of-Things not intend this but, on the contrary, he would be incapable of producing it."

Why is this so? When I was young, I was quite playful. I liked to set out a basin of water and pour molten pewter into it. There was a hissing sound. In a while, there were pieces that stood erect, crouched, reclined, and piled up one upon another; huge, expansive ones, fragmented, irregular ones, slanted ovals leaning to one side, and ones that seemed to fight with each other and yet please each other—there was every kind of shape. In appearance, they resembled lions, elephants, dragons, horses, chickens, insects, and various other things. It formed every kind of famous place such as Lotus Mountain, Eminent Mountain,^[5] and the Supreme Mountain. How could I have intended all this? I knew how to pour the pewter into the water, but I did not know that it would form such shapes. If you were to ask the pewter, it could

not have known this. If you were to ask the water, it also could not have known this.

Why should the way of forming mountains be an exception? Before Indigo Heaven and the Yellow Earth divided, primordial energy pervaded everywhere: mountains, water, earth, and sand were blended together into one slab. Rocks were like soft breasts, scattered throughout. Then, one day, Heaven floated upward and the Earth sank, sand flew about and the waters gathered, winds followed each other, agitating and bending all things. The stars spread across Heaven, and rocks spread over the Earth. Some of their strange shapes and extraordinary forms were revealed when the cosmos split open, some awaited discovery by men who later searched them out and climbed them. Over a long period of many years, their inner development was enriched and their shapes became more fantastic. Nowadays, people look at the summits and see boats, boxes, houses, and rotted coffins. How could anyone really have flown up and put them there? They seem thus because of the reason l just gave. Regrettably, man is minuscule, and the years of his life rush by. He is born after the world came into being and dies before it will disappear. He cannot sit and wait in the hope of clearly observing it all. Yet its principle is nothing more than this.

Someone said, "This is a theory of mountains, not an account of a mountain—what does this have to do with Yellow Dragon?" I replied, "By observing one corner, one can comprehend the other three,^[6] and, moreover, one can comprehend a million others. Because I journeyed to Yellow Dragon Mountain, I suddenly gained this insight. Therefore, I have written about what I have seen. Moreover, when I traveled to Terrace and Pond, I wrote poems in both cases; but when I traveled to Yellow Dragon, I wrote no poems. So I have written this down to substitute for poems on visiting Yellow Dragon Mountain."^[7]

Yellow Emperor Mountain

(1783)

After its discovery in the seventeenth century by literary travelers such as Hsü Hung-tsu and Ch'ien Ch'ien-i and by painters of the An-hui school, Yellow Emperor Mountain entered a period of popularity that reached its peak in the Ch'ien-lung era (1736–1795). Even so, it remained remote and inaccessible compared to other scenic mountains. Yüan Mei's journey here at the age of sixty-seven testifies to his

intrepid spirit of curiosity. He selectively recorded sights encountered during three days out of a journey of seven that took him on a climb along a difficult route of almost twenty miles. Yet the itinerary he describes covered almost all the major sites on the mountain, which had became standard subjects for souvenir albums, such as the one by the An-hui painter Mei Ch'ing (1623–1697; see cover and fig. 49). Perhaps the most fantastic of China's scenic mountains, Yellow Emperor Mountain possesses few historical sites; Yüan therefore focuses on his direct perceptions and experiences. His description of the porters—known as "seahorses" (hai-ma ), supposedly because of how they moved through the "Sea of Clouds"—noted a unique custom that later died out in the nineteenth century after travel to Yellow Emperor Mountain declined. Today, the mountain is among the most popular destinations for Chinese tourists and has become a national symbol.

On the second day of the fourth month in the year kuei-mao [May 2, 1783], after I had visited White Mount, I went to bathe in the hot springs of Yellow Emperor Mountain.^[1] The springs are sweet and pure, located below overhanging cliffs. I passed the evening at the Temple of Compassionate Light.^[2]

The next morning, a monk told me, "The paths on this mountain are steep and dangerous—even a sedan chair could not be used. If you, sir, were to walk it, it would prove too strenuous. But fortunately, there are locals who are capable of carrying travelers on their backs—they are called 'seahorses'—and you can hire one." He brought over five or six strong, good-looking lads, all of whom held strips of cloth several tens of feet long. I laughed to myself, "Is a weak old man going to revert to being a bundled-up baby?" At first I forced myself to walk on my own, but when I became terribly fatigued I had myself tied to a lad's back, and this way I alternated equally between walking and being carried. When we reached the Nest-in-the-Clouds,^[3] the road ended and we had to ascend by wooden steps. A myriad peaks stabbed the sky. The Temple of Compassionate Light had already sunk to the bottom of this "caldron." That evening we arrived at Mañjusri's^[*] Temple,^[4] where we spent the night. It rained and was terribly cold. Though nearly the season of the Dragon Boat Festival,^[5] we still had to wear layers of clothes and warm ourselves by a fire! The clouds entered and took over our dwelling. In a minute, everything turned into a

nebulous vagueness. Two people seated could distinguish only each other's voices. After the clouds dispersed we walked to Snow Terrace, where there is an ancient pine. Its roots were growing toward the east, but its body tumbled toward the west, while its head turned southward. It grew through the rock, splitting it open to emerge outside it. The rock seemed to be alive, and its center seemed to be empty, so the pine could secret itself inside it and grow together with it. Moreover, the pine seemed to be in fear of Heaven, so it dared not grow taller. It was some ten spans about, but not more than two feet high. So many other pines are like this that I could not record them all. In the evening, the cloudy atmosphere became clear; all the peaks seemed to be bowing down like children. Sections of Yellow Emperor Mountain have been named "Front" and "Rear Seas";^[6] the two "seas" can be viewed together by looking to the left and to the right.

The next day we turned sharply left of the terrace and descended, down One Hundred Steps Through the Clouds,^[7] after which the road again ended. Suddenly I saw a rock as big as a giant sea tortoise with a gaping mouth. I could not help but walk into this tortoise's mouth, pass through its stomach, and come out onto its back into another world. I ascended Cinnabar Terrace and climbed up to Brilliant Summit, which, together with Lotus and Celestial Capital peaks,^[8] form "three legs of a bronze tripod," standing tall and facing each other. The high winds blast one so that it is impossible to keep standing. Fortunately, pine needles cover the ground more than two feet thick, so soft that one can sit down on them. By evening we had reached the Lion Grove Temple,^[9] where we spent the night. I took advantage of the remaining sunlight to climb to Seeing-Is-Believing Peak.^[10] There are actually three pinnacles. From a distance, two appear close together, but when scrutinized closely yet another is found to be hiding behind them. The pinnacles are tall and precipitous, dropping down to a bottomless gorge. I stood on the summit and stuck my foot out a bit over the edge. The monk was terrified and pulled me back. I laughed and told him, "Even if I were to fall, it wouldn't matter." He asked, "How is that?" I said, "The gorge is bottomless, so anyone falling down into it would never reach the bottom. He would just float about to who knows where! And if it has a bottom, it will take a while to reach it, so there would be time to save oneself. Unfortunately, we did not bring a long rope with iron weight to measure it and find out how deep it is." The monk let out a huge laugh.

The next day I climbed to Great and little Pure and Cold Terraces. Beneath the terraces are peaks like brushes, arrows, bamboo shoots,

Fig. 62.
Viewing the Pines from Seeing-Is-Believing Peak on Yellow Emperor Mountain . From Lin-ch'ing,
Hung-hsüeh yin-yüan t'u-chi , vol. 1 (Peking: Pei-ching ku-chi ch'u-pan-she, 1984; rpt, of 1847 ed.).

bamboo groves, knives and halberds, boat masts, and those which resemble weapons from an armory strewn about the earth by the Celestial Emperor in jest. In the time it would take for a meal, a white satin wrapped itself around the trees. The monk gleefully told me, "This is the Sea of Clouds!" At first, it formed a vast obscurity, like melted silver or like cotton spread out. After a long while it blended into one sheet through which the sharp tips of green mountains exposed themselves. It resembled a large platter of bamboo shoots protruding erect through congealed cooking fat. In an instant it dispersed, and a myriad peaks in bunches recovered their original forms. I sat above the tops of the pines and broiled in the cruel sun. But suddenly, a sheet of clouds arose and formed a protective cover. So I learned that clouds vary in height and are by no means limited to just one type. At twilight, I went to the Gate to the Western Ocean^[11] to watch the sunset. The grass here is taller than a man and the path also ends. I called for several tens of workers to mow it down and then proceeded. To the east, peaks formed a screen; on the west, some angrily erupted from the earth. Between them, scattered in confusion, were tens of peaks like Jade Terrace on Terrace of Heaven Mountain. As the red sun was about to sink, a peak supported it with its head, as if to swallow or hold it. I could not wear a hat—it would have been blown off by the wind. I could not wear socks—they would have become soaked through. I could not use a staff—it would have stuck in the soft sand. Nor could I gaze upward—the rocks might have come tumbling down on me. Gazing to the left, glancing to the right, searching ahead, looking behind, I regretted that I couldn't transform myself into a million bodies and visit every single peak.

The "seahorse" carried me with the agility of a monkey, rushing ahead, speedily treading. The myriad mountains also imitated people running, and they appeared to surge like the tide. When I peered down, the deep ravines and bizarre peaks stood beneath my feet awaiting me. If he had but lost his step, the result would have been unthinkable. But this being the situation, it was useless to fear. Had I restricted him to going slow, I would have felt like a coward. I had no choice but to entrust this "orphan" to him and place my fate in his hands,^[12] letting him decide where to go while I felt as if I had been transformed into a Transcendent. The Huai-nan-tzu speaks of "turning the gall bladder into clouds."^[13] I believe it.

On the ninth day of the month [May 9], I descended behind Celestial Pillar Peak and followed along White Sand Trail to Cloud Valley, where relatives met me with a sedan chair. I had walked for more than seventeen miles, spending, in all, seven days on the mountain.^[14]

The Cascade Pavilion at Gorge River Temple

The Cascade Pavilion (Fei-ch'üan-t'ing) is located behind a temple situated on a mountain along a scenic, half-mile section of the Gorge River (Hsia-chiang), one and a half miles north of the seat of modern Ch'ing-yüan District, Kuang-tung. The temple was established during the reign of Emperor Wu of the Liang (r. 502–549) by two monks, Chen-chün and Jui-ai, and is popularly known as the Temple That Flew Here (Fei-lai-szu). One legend attributes the name to its having been blown to its location in a storm from Shu-ch'eng, An-hui, by a son of the Yellow Emperor. Another legend connects it with a T'ang monk, Li Fei. According to this story, Li Fei, after building the temple, stated that he, Fei (literally, "to fly"), had come to this spot to establish a temple to be named "Fei-lai" (literally, "Fei has come here"; also, "that which has flown here"). A number of literati, Su Shih among them, visited the temple and left poems and accounts.

In recent years, I have viewed many waterfalls. After arriving at the Gorge River Temple, I found it difficult to leave, and this is because of the Cascade Pavilion.

It is human nature to be incapable of lingering for long where the eyes experience pleasure but the body feels discomfort. The waterfall at Terrace of Heaven Mountain is a hundred paces away from the temple, whereas there is no temple at all beside the one at Geese Pond. As for those at Hermitage and Floating Gauze mountains, and at Stone Gate Mountain in Ch'ing-t'ien District,^[1] it isn't that these waterfalls are not fantastic. The traveler must bake in the sun or crouch on top of high cliffs, so that he cannot observe them in comfort as if they were friends met on the road. Though the sight of them might be pleasant, it is easy to depart.

But Gorge Mountain in eastern Kuang-tung is less than half a mile high, with winding stone steps and a cover of ancient pines so that one does not broil in the summer sun. After one crosses a stone bridge, there are three exceptional trees that stand erect like the legs of a bronze tripod. Unexpectedly, when they reach into the midst of the sky, they fuse into one. Trees generally have roots that are joined together and then divide into branches. Only these have separate roots yet their branches unite. How extraordinary!

I climbed midway up the mountain to where the waterfall thundered as it fell through the air. Beside it is a building, which is the Cascade Pavilion. Its length and width are slightly more than ten feet each

way, with eight windows letting in bright light. Close the windows and one can hear the waterfall; open them, and the waterfall itself arrives! One can sit, lie down, sit down with legs outstretched, recline in comfort, set out brush and inkstone, and prepare and serve tea. One can relax by relying on the water's efforts, which brings this "Silvery River from the Nine Heavens"^[2] over to one's seat to enjoy. Was he not a Transcendent who built this pavilion long ago?

The monk Ch'eng-po is a talented player of chess. I ordered Hsiashang^[3] to serve as an opponent. The sounds of water, chess pieces, pines, and birds together combined into an orchestration. After a while, the sound of a staff dragging came through the clouds. It was the old monk, Huai-yüan, who had brought a collection of poems about a foot long and had come to ask me to write a preface. So this led to sounds of chanting poetry and to the writing of more poems. The sounds of "the piping of Heaven" and the "piping of man"^[4] harmonized and transformed each other. I had not expected that the joy of observing a waterfall could reach such heights. This pavilion's merit is great indeed!

After we had sat for some time the sun set, and I had no choice but to descend from the mountain. I spent the night in Jade Belt Hall, which faced South Mountain. The clouds and trees were luxuriant; through their midst flowed the lengthy river.^[5] Boats sailed back and forth, but, marvelously, not a single person wanted to dock and come to this temple. A monk told me, "Gorge River Temple is popularly called 'The Temple That Flew Here.'" I laughed and replied, "How can a temple fly? Though perhaps my spirit might one day fly here in a dream." The monk replied, "Believe nothing without evidence! Since you, sir, love this place, why not write an account of it?" I answered, "Of course." And so I wrote down these lines, one copy for myself and one for the monk.^[6]