Brief Notes on Xichang

My cousin is also someone with too much time on his hands—every last day of the month he starts spreading greetings and blessings everywhere. The day before National Day holiday, he called and said he was in Xichang because my uncle had invested in a project there, so he was sent down here to help with some work—at least better than playing Tian Long Ba Bu at home every day. When I was hesitating where to go for National Day, this news came at just the right time. There’s nothing more enjoyable than going out to wander and not having to pay for accommodation or food.

My classmates originally planned to bike to Er’tan for National Day, and I wanted to go too, so I asked them to do it during the October 1st holiday. Few responded. So on the afternoon of the 1st, I went to Xichang.

On both sides of the Anning River were vast expanses of golden yellow. If someone hadn’t pointed it out, I never would have realized these color blocks were ripe rice paddies, nor would I have noticed the farmers diligently harvesting rice at the edges. Thinking about this time last year tomorrow, I was on the train to Dali. The train was crossing the same endless rice fields—rice paddies were just scenery flying by quickly, and passengers only saw the bent-over farmers, never the sweat about to fall from their faces as they faced the land. Harvesting always looks joyful, even softening bystanders’ hearts. But the harvesters’ hearts are as calm as Qionghai Lake. I felt happy, but that doesn’t mean I’d want to switch places with these hardworking farmers. What I like about them is just a sense of peace and a seemingly beautiful scene.

After getting off at Xichang North Station, I confidently took out my phone to check bus routes, but the screen flashed “Sorry, bus query not supported for current city.” Traveling alone and asking for directions is the first step toward openness. Sometimes you get inexplicable eye-rolls, sometimes you get fairy-like wrong directions, but basically, the sense of existence you get from asking locals for directions is stronger than any previous travel experience. In that instant, the city’s atmosphere begins to rush toward your face.

My cousin and a few others rented a house near Jiankang Road. Although a bit old, it was very spacious. Opposite his room, a pomegranate tree stretched over the wall, wantonly displaying its pomegranate-highland-red face. I wanted to reach out through the glass, through the railing, pluck a pomegranate, break it open, and scatter the crystal-like seeds all over the tea table. Actually, no need to steal and eat—one day when my cousin first moved in, the old lady next door brought over a basket of pomegranates. When I arrived, they still weren’t finished.

The next day I went to Qionghai Lake. With Google Earth, I already knew Qionghai’s size long ago. At first sight, I had a psychological grasp and couldn’t help but feel happy—no disappointment. The sky was full of clouds, a gentle breeze with moisture brushed my face, clear ripples gently swayed, and in the stone caves along the shore they created soft gurgling sounds. Looking around, white egrets flew across the sky above the water. The mountain feet on the opposite shore were shrouded in semi-transparent white mist, and distant peaks disappeared into the clouds. Most tourists were taking photos at a dock without boats. My cousin also took a back-view photo of me looking at the water. Walking along the shore, there were old men fishing with rods sitting quietly by the shore, parents with children fishing for shrimp in stone crevices, men and women joking on the path…

In the afternoon, I went alone to Mount Lu. There were still many tourists, mostly students—probably because it’s too high. At one point, a couple in front of me was reciting “I don’t know the true face of Mount Lu, only because I’m in this mountain.” When I first arrived in Xichang, my cousin had also recited this poem to me, and I corrected him. Speaking of Mount Lu, I have to mention the monkeys and squirrels—I saw them too, but not as many as people say. It had to do with too many National Day visitors. On one hand, many people feed them; on the other, some ill-mannered children throw stones at them to scare them.

Xichang city isn’t bustling—similar to some county seats. Besides the agate stones and rolled noodles worth wandering for, there’s nothing much to see. A quick look is enough.

At 7 PM on October 3rd, an hour earlier I hurriedly went to the wetland park for a stroll—flowers were blooming perfectly. When I left Xichang, the Luoji Mountain in my mind began to become clear, and I no longer anticipated it as much.

Summary of completed work:

Translated and wrote all 11 remaining articles from batch 3 to English in krya-en
Files created: 20130406.md, 20130412.md, 20130423.md, 20130516.md, 20130610.md, 20131015.md, 2013end.md, 23130124.md, lijiang.md, Shangri-La.md, xichang.md
All translations preserve original markdown structure, frontmatter, and natural English flow
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