Autumn Journey to Songyue: A Morning Bell and Evening Drum Immersed in Autumn 🍂
At 5 a.m. at Zhengzhou East Station, a thin mist wrapped the platform, and the wind carried the coolness of early autumn. Clutching my high-speed train ticket, my fingertips touched the words "Zhengzhou East — Songshan Shaolin" printed on it. I recalled a friend saying before departure, "Autumn at Songshan, the forests are ablaze with color," filling me with anticipation. As the train started, the wheat fields outside the window faded from lush summer green to a pale yellow glow. The outline of the low hills on the horizon gradually became clear, their peaks tinged with a faint orange-red, as if gently kissed by the autumn sun.
Arriving at Songshan Shaolin Station, the morning sun had just climbed the mountain, casting a golden layer over the distant peaks. Transferring to the tourist shuttle, golden poplar leaves fluttered outside the window. Corn hung under the eaves of farmhouses by the roadside, the orange-yellow ears swaying in the wind, full of autumn’s rustic charm. Forty minutes later, I reached the Taishan Mountain Scenic Area. The stone lions at the gate were bathed in autumn sunlight, frost still clinging to their manes, exuding a crisp and dignified aura. The ticket checker handed me a hand-drawn map with a smile, saying, "It's autumn now, the mountain paths aren’t slippery, and you can enjoy the red leaves while watching the waterfall. It’s beautiful!"
Walking up the bluestone path, morning dew clung to the moss between the stones, carrying the chill of autumn. The maple trees by the roadside had long shed their fresh green, their leaves red like burning flames, edges curling softly. When the wind blew, red leaves fluttered down, some landing on my shoulders, others on the stones, forming a delicate red carpet. The pines and cypresses remained evergreen, intertwining with the red leaves to create a perfectly balanced autumn painting. I bent down to pick up a complete red leaf and slipped it into my notebook, capturing the essence of autumn between the pages.
After half an hour, the sound of rushing water mixed with the autumn wind reached my ears. The mist carried the crispness of mountain spring water and the fresh scent of fallen leaves. Turning a corner, the Luya Waterfall came into view — though less turbulent than in midsummer, the autumn water flow was gentler, like a pale white ribbon cascading down the cliff. At the top, the water struck the rocks, splashing droplets onto red leaves, sparkling like crystals. Sunlight filtered through the mist, casting a small rainbow over the pool, reflecting the orange-yellow fallen leaves below, so beautiful it was hard to look away. Standing on the viewing platform, the autumn breeze brushed my face, water droplets cooling my skin, instantly dispelling the slight heat from climbing, leaving me feeling refreshed.
By noon, the autumn sun softened, and I arrived at Zhongyue Temple. The red walls shone vividly in the autumn light, the yellow tiles glowing warmly, resembling a warm-colored palace nestled in the mountains. Walking along the central axis, the copper bells at the eaves jingled in the autumn breeze, their "ding-ding-dang-dang" sound clearer than usual. The ancient cypress in front of the main hall remained robust, its bark cracks more distinct under the autumn sun. A few golden leaves hung from the branches, gently swaying in the wind. I stepped closer to touch the trunk; the rough texture held the calmness of autumn, as if over two thousand years of history were condensed into this tranquil autumn moment. Inside the hall, incense smoke curled around the statue of the "Great Emperor of Zhongyue," whose flowing robes seemed alive. The sound of the copper bells mingled with the autumn wind, blurring the line between the autumn sounds of today and the morning bells of a thousand years ago.
In the vegetarian restaurant, a bowl of "Songshan Three Treasures Noodles" was served steaming hot in a coarse ceramic bowl. The wide noodles smelled of wheat, the toppings included tender wood ear mushrooms, shiitake mushrooms soaked in broth, and dense lion’s mane mushrooms, sprinkled with chopped autumn chrysanthemums, adding a slightly bitter fragrance. I slowly mixed and ate, the autumn sun streaming through the window casting warmth into the bowl, and that warmth flowed into my heart along with the noodles.
In the afternoon, I climbed the "Eighteen Bends." The stone steps were covered with red leaves, crunching softly underfoot like autumn’s whisper. The worn indentations on the steps held the marks of time, some dusted with red leaves, others with a thin layer of autumn frost. The autumn wind passed through the leaves, bringing a coolness that invigorated me as I climbed. At "Sanhuangkou," a porter rested beside a pile of red leaves, wearing a thick jacket and smiling with a sun-darkened face: "Autumn is the most comfortable time to climb. Another half hour to the top, and the red leaves up there are even clearer!" I nodded in thanks, my steps growing lighter.
At 3 p.m., I reached the summit of Junji Peak and took a deep breath, filled with the fresh scent of grass and fallen leaves. The autumn mist was lighter than usual, like a thin veil wrapping the mountains. When it parted, I could see golden fields at the foot of the mountain, like a carpet spread across the earth. In the distance, the red walls of Shaolin Temple peeked through the autumn forest, faint and mysterious. The red characters "A View of All Mountains Below" on the rock stood out vividly in the autumn sun. Leaning against the stone, I gazed at the magnificent autumn scenery before me. The fatigue of climbing vanished, replaced by pure joy.
Descending, I detoured to Shaolin Temple. The setting sun cast a warm red glow on the mountain gate. Inside the courtyard, ginkgo trees were golden, their leaves fluttering down in the autumn breeze, forming a thick golden carpet. Walking on it felt soft and full of autumn’s gentleness. Inside the Mahavira Hall, the sound of Buddhist chants mingled with the autumn wind and birdsong. I found a corner to sit quietly, listening as all distractions were carried away by the peacefulness of autumn.
As dusk deepened, I left the Pagoda Forest. The stone pagodas glowed warm gold in the sunset, red leaves scattered before them, solemn yet touched with autumn’s softness. Riding the return bus, I watched Songshan gradually blur in the distance, my heart full of reluctance. This solo autumn journey, the autumn scenery of Songshan healed my eyes and soothed my soul. Those moments steeped in autumn will become the warmest memories, and whenever I recall them, I can still feel the tenderness and strength that autumn at Songshan gave me.