The Fiery Legend of Flaming Mountain

Friday, October 18, 2024. The air in Urumqi carried a hint of chill as dawn broke. I left the hotel early and headed to Urumqi Station. My destination was the legendary Flaming Mountain, immortalized in "Journey to the West," and the city of Turpan, which I had longed to see with my own eyes. The bullet train departed on time, and the view outside the window unfolded into the vast Gobi Desert at the foot of the Tianshan Mountains. Autumn in Xinjiang lacks the bustling red leaves or gentle drizzle; instead, it offers a sense of vastness and tranquility—a silence so profound that speaking would disrupt the atmosphere. Upon arriving at Turpan North Station, the tour guide and bus were already waiting. I joined a day tour group filled with travelers from all over the country. The sun grew increasingly intense, and Turpan's temperature was noticeably higher than Urumqi's, as if I had stepped into another season. Our first stop was the Flaming Mountain Scenic Area. The bus drove along dry, winding roads flanked by exposed Danxia landforms—mountain ridges that appeared scorched by tongues of fire, their redness almost overwhelming. Standing at the foot of Flaming Mountain, the heat seemed to emanate from deep within the earth, lingering in the rock walls as if a fiery dragon might burst forth at any moment. The guide explained that the surface temperature here can reach over 70 degrees Celsius, making it the "hottest" place in China. The mythical Iron Fan Princess and her Banana Leaf Fan from "Journey to the West" have added a layer of legend to this already fiery mountain. Most visitors take photos in front of the "Wukong Pressing the Flaming Mountain" sculpture, and I was no exception. I even pretended to swing a golden staff, only to have the wind nearly blow my hat away. Lunch was at a halal restaurant outside the scenic area, featuring roasted buns, pilaf, and a bowl of rich yogurt to cool off. Simple, direct, and full of energy—much like Turpan itself. In the afternoon, I visited the day's other highlight: the Kumtag Desert. This is the world's only desert that borders a city, requiring just a half-hour drive from the urban area to enter a world of golden sands. Stepping out of the car, the sunlight illuminated the fine golden dunes, resembling scattered fragments of gold. Walking barefoot, the sand felt soft and hot, like a natural foot massage. I tried sand sliding, camel riding, and took numerous creative "sand scattering poses" photos—hands open, sand flying, sunlight streaming through my fingers, freezing time in a single moment. I ventured farther, climbing a tall dune. The surroundings were so quiet that only the whispers of the wind and the faint sound of rolling sand could be heard. Sitting there, it felt as though the world had retreated, leaving just me and nature in a silent gaze. By evening, we returned to Turpan North Station and took the bullet train back to Urumqi. As night fell, the city lights sparkled. Leaning against the train window, I reflected on the day's sights: mountains painted in fiery hues, sand shimmering with golden textures, and a heart softened by the wind like a grain of dust. Some places may only be visited once in a lifetime, but the intensity of that day will remain etched in memory, like Turpan's sunlight, leaving an indelible mark in the deepest corners of the mind.