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ches are parked everywhere and tourist maps are on sale。 Tourist hats； tourist T…shirts； tourist singlets and tourist handkerchiefs bearing the name of the place are in all the little shops and stalls； and the name of the place is used in the trade names of all the 〃foreign exchange currency only〃 hotels for foreigners； the 〃locals with references only〃 hostels and sanatoriums； and of course the small private hotels peting for customers。 You haven’t e to enjoy yourself in one of those places on the sunny side of a mountain where people congregate just to look at and jostle one another； and to add to the litter of melon rind； fruit peel； soft drink bottles； cans； cartons； sandwich wrappings and cigarette butts。 Sooner or later this place will also boom but you’re here before they put up the gaudy pavilions and terraces； before the reporters e with their cameras； and before the celebrities e to put up plaques with their calligraphy。 You can’t help feeling rather pleased with yourself yet you’re anxious。 There’s no sign of anything here for tourists； have you made a blunder？ You’re only going by the map on the cigarette box in your shirt pocket； what if the expert amateur you met on the train had only heard about the place on his travels？ How do you know he wasn’t just making it all up？ You haven’t ever seen the place mentioned in travel accounts and it’s not listed in the most up to date travel manuals。 Of course； it isn’t hard to find places like Lingtai； Lingqiu； Lingyan and even Lingshan on provincial maps and you know very well that in the histories and classics； Lingshan appears in works dating back to the ancient shamanistic work Classic of the Mountains and Seas； and the old geographical gazetteer Annotated Water Classic。 It was also at Lingshan that Buddha enlightened the Venerable Mahakashyapa。 You’re not stupid； so just use your brains； first find this place Wuyizhen on the cigarette box； for this is how you’ll get to Lingshan。
You return to the bus station and go into the waiting room。 The busiest place in this small town is now deserted。 The ticket window and the parcel window are boarded up from the inside so knocking is useless。 There’s nowhere to ask so you can only go through the lists of stops above the ticket window： Zhang Village； Sandy Flat； Cement Factory； Old Hut； Golden Horse； Good Harvest； Flood Waters； Dragon Bay； Peach Blossom Hollow … the names keep getting better； but the place you want isn’t there。 This is just a small town but there are several routes and quite a few buses go through。 The busiest route； with five or six buses a day； is to Cement Factory but that’s definitely not a tourist route。 The route with the fewest buses； one a day； is sure to go to the furthest destination： it turns out that Wuyizhen is the last stop。 There’s nothing special about the name； it’s just like any other place name and there’s nothing magical about it。 Still； you seem to have found one end of a hopeless tangle； you may not be ecstatic but you’re certainly relieved。 You’ll need to buy a ticket in the morning an hour before departure and you know from experience that with mountain buses like this； which run once a day； just to get on will be a fight。 Unless you’re prepared to do battle； you’ll just have to get into the queue early。
But； right now； you’ve got lots of time； although your backpack’s a nuisance。 As you amble along the road timber trucks go by noisily sounding their horns。 In the town the noise is worse still as trucks； some with trailers； blast on their horns and conductors hang out of windows loudly banging the sides of the buses to get pedestrians off the road。
The old buildings on both sides stand flush with the road and all have wooden shopfronts。 The downstairs is for business and upstairs； washing hung out to dry—nappies； bras； underpants with patched crotches； floral…print bedspreads—like flags of all the nations； flap in the noise and dust of the traffic。 The concrete telegraph poles along the street are pasted at eye level with all sorts of posters。 One for curing body odour catches your attention。 This is not because you’ve got body odour but because of the fancy language and the words in brackets after 〃body odour〃。
Body odour （known also as scent of the immortals） is a disgusting condition with an awful； nauseating smell。 It often affects social relationships and can delay life’s major event： marriage。 It disadvantages young men and women at job interviews or when they try to enlist； therefore inflicting much suffering and anguish。 By using a new total treatment； we can instantly eradicate the odour with a rate of up to 97。53％ success。 For joy in life and future happiness； we wele you to e and rid yourself of it …
After that you e to a stone bridge： no body odour here and there’s a cool； refreshing breeze。 The bridge spanning the broad river has a bitumen surface but the carved monkeys on the worn stone posts testify to its long history。 You lean on the concrete railing and survey the township alongside the bridge。 On both banks； black roof…tops overlapping like fish…scales stretch endlessly into the distance。 The valley opens out between two mountains where the upper areas of gold paddy fields are inlaid with clusters of green bamboos。 The river is blue and clear as it leisurely trickles over the sandy shores but close to the granite pylons dividing the current it bees inky green and deep。 Just past the hump of the bridge the rushing water churns loudly and white foam surfaces from whirlpools。 The ten…metre high stone embankment is stained with water levels： the new greyish…yellow lines were probably left by the recent summer floods。 Can this be the You River？ And does it flow down from Lingshan？
The sun is about to set。 The bright orange disc is infused with light but there’s no glare。 You gaze into the distance at the hazy layers of jagged peaks where the two sides of the valley join。 This ominous black image nibbles at the lower edges of the glowing sun which seems to be revolving。 The sun turns a dark red； gentler； and projects brilliant gold reflections onto the entire bend of the river： the dark blue of the water fusing with the dazzling sunlight throbs and pulsates。 As the red disc seats itself in the valley it bees serene； awesomely beautiful； and there are sounds。 You hear sounds； elusive； distinctly reverberating from deep in your heart and radiating outwards until the sun seems to prop itself up on its toes； stumble； then sink into the black shadows of the mountains； scattering glowing colours throughout the sky。 An evening wind blows noisily by your ears and cars drive past； as usual sounding their deafening horns。 You cross the bridge and see there a new stone with engraved characters painted in red： 〃Yongning Bridge。 Built in the third year of the Kaiyuan reign period of the Song Dynasty and repaired in 1962。 This stone was laid in 1983。〃 It no doubt marks the beginning of the tourist industry here。
Two food stalls stand at the end of the bridge。 In the one on the left you eat a bowl of beancurd； the smooth and tasty kind with all the right ingredients。 Hawkers used to sell it in the streets and lanes； it ple