Fool in the Mountains Canadian International School, Ng, Emily - 15 He was late. Chen Jun Lang, top freelance travel journalist dubbed the next Bob Woodward, was late. How was he supposed to know he had to reply to a dozen more messages from his boss? Downing the cold coffee with one hand and struggling on his windbreaker over his neon yellow T-shirt with the other, his feet found their way into his hiking boots. He proceeded to strap his fanny pack and slung his trusty backpack over his shoulders, locking his hotel room door behind him. He blew down the staircase to the first floor and made a beeline for the exit and threw open the door, pasting on a half apologetic, half sheepish grin— Wind gusted past him, stirring fallen leaves across the plain concrete ground. The entrance was empty. Junlang furrowed his eyebrows. His private tour guide for today’s trip to Huangshan, or Yellow Mountain, was nowhere to be seen. Whipping his phone from his fanny pack, he dialed Mr Fan. The guide picked up after seven rings. “Hello sir?” “Hi Mr Fan! Where are you right now? I can’t see you at the hotel entrance and it’s nine fifteen already. You know, if you’re not coming, I will have to ask for a refund. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?” “Mr Chen —” “I prefer Woodward.” “Yes, sir. Mr Woodward, I am sincerely sorry. I cannot be your guide to Huangshan. I have a family emergency to attend to.” Junlang’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “In that case, I understand. However, I do wish you had told me sooner.” “Mr Woodward, I had sent an email yesterday notifying you. Perhaps you have not read it yet?” Junlang scowled into the phone. Fine, he hadn’t read it because he was preoccupied. But that was no reason for him to point that out. “No, I haven’t. I’ll let this slide today, but I would have really appreciated it if you gave me more time to respond.” “Yes, Mr Woodward. My sincere apologies, sir.” Junlang hung up, slightly mollified by Mr Fan’s contriteness. He drifted back to the hotel lobby, at a loss of what to do next. He had depended on Mr Fan showing him the best routes and scenery up to the Guang Ming Ding. He could go solo — he wanted to go solo — but his boss wanted a small commentary on the local people too, and a local guide was the best way to obtain that information. A loud bout of giggles interrupted his thoughts. Junlang turned to look. “Oh Liu Shao, you’re too modest!” a woman chirped. “I think you’re the best tour guide in the whole wide world, not just in Huangshan.” Her little clique burst into more squeals reminiscent of a pigs’. The man sitting in the middle grinned, running a hand through his hair while the other still held the signature red flag of tourist guides. “Thanks for the praise, ladies. You flatter me too much.” Seizing his chance, Junlang gave himself a quick check at the glass window and strode over, flashing them his signature million-watt smile. “Hello! I hear that you’re travelling to Huangshan. Do you think you have space for one more person?” The woman who previously spoke — she was probably the leader of this group, Junlang guessed — stood. “Sure, we have more than enough space for just one person.” The tour guide looked apprehensive. “I don’t know guys, leading so many people at a time is a stretch even for me. I can’t be sure if I can handle one person, especially not an inexperienced, self-absorbed guy who can’t take care of himself on the hike.” Junlang refused to rise to the bait. “I’ve been a freelance travel journalist covering hiking treks across the world for over 5 years. I should be just fine,” he shot back, his smile a little tighter than before. With a clear amount of reluctance, the tour guide held out his hand. “I’m Mr Zhang, your group tour guide for your hike to Huangshan. Our hike starts at eleven o’ clock and we’re staying up the mountains for one night. We will spend the last day back in this hotel. Guiding you for the whole trip will cost $ 400RMB, not including accommodation, insurance, nor sustenance. It’s a pleasure to be leading you around,” he recited, sounding anything but. He took his hand tightly and shook it. “The pleasure is mine. Mr Woodward, at your service.” When Mr Zhang continued holding his hand out, Junlang counted out the fee from his fanny pack and gave it to him. Mr Zhang pocketed the money and handed him an annotated map of Huangshan. “Here’s our itinerary. We’ll be travelling up from the Yungu Temple Entrance and hike up to White Goose Ridge, then make our way to Initial Belief Peak. Make sure to eat something before the hike and bring a light lunch. We’ll head to Lion peak then make our way back to the Paiyun Hotel, where we’ll be staying for the night. We can enjoy the sunset at Cloud Dispelling Pavilion then wake up before dawn to witness the spectacular sunrise at Purple Cloud Peak. For the next day, we will be travelling back the short way to Yuping Hotel for lunch and come back to this hotel for dinner.” Junlang nodded. He had to admit it was a solid plan. He wanted to go to Initial Belief Peak, Lion Peak, and Guang Ming Ding too, so it wouldn’t be a huge deviation from his plan although it was certainly slower-paced. As long as he got good coverage of Huangshan, it would be fine. He was looking forward to taking photos of the distinctive fauna and flora, especially the Huangshan azaleas with their unusual blood-red petals — this was the perfect time of the year to photograph them. Hours later whilst taking a break at White Goose Ridge, Junlang was sorely regretting his decision. This trip was a huge deviation from his original plan to get some peace and quiet. His eardrums ached from the constant, high- pitched abuse they were getting, and his mood wasn’t faring much better from the unwarranted hostility he was receiving from Mr Zhang. Sure, he put a good act on for the ladies and helped them take photos, but his companions ruined any chance he had of properly appreciating the scenery around him. And with the speed they were going, it was unlikely they were going to make it to see the sunset. Junlang was right. They barely managed to see the vestiges of the sunset at Cloud Dispelling Pavilion, and when they got there, most of the crowd was already dispersing. He wasn’t the only one to be disappointed, but he was certainly the only person in the group that wasn’t responsible for them falling behind schedule. After all, he wasn’t to blame for the women taking a break every chance they got, nor the amount of time they spent on snapping pictures. He understood their need to rest and immortalize the scenery into pixels — after all, that was part of what he loves to do for a living — but he wished they didn’t take so long. Spearing his chopsticks into his bowl of rice vengefully, he shoveled the steaming pearly grains into his mouth. “How did you like today?” inquired the group leader over the chatter of other guests and porcelain clanking against porcelain. Junlang couldn’t remember her name — it was something along the lines of Linda or Lindsay or Lindsie. At least she was pretty enough for him to remember part of her name, a thing he can’t say for the other women. “It was alright, but it was a bit louder than I had expected.” She nodded and they descended to silence, occupied with their food. After one more bowl of rice, Junlang set his chopsticks down. “Alright, I think I’ll retire for the night,” he announced to the table. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” “Don’t forget, morning call is at half past four in the morning! Wake up if you want to see the sunrise!” The group leader called out. Mr Zhang glanced up from his bowl, then down again. Junlang made his way outside the dining room and towards the exit, taking a short detour to his room to get his backpack. He wanted to fully capture this sunrise and the serenity in Guang Ming Ding, away from the annoying hubbub that followed the women everywhere they went. A local hand from the restaurant blocked his exit. “Sir, you shouldn’t go there,” he cautioned nervously. “Why?” “You see, Huangshan is much safer during the day than at night,” he muttered, wringing his hands nervously. “Some of the paths can be hard to navigate at night, even for locals. And...and…” “Well?” Junlang pushed on impatiently. “And...there’s a grandmother’s tale of maidens being kidnapped and spirited away into Huangshan by demons. It might not be safe, that’s all I’m saying,” he confessed. Junlang laughed in the boy’s face. “Well, you can’t put any stock in dear old grandmother’s tales. Besides, I am no maiden, nor do I believe in demons.” The boy’s cheeks flamed. Pushing him aside, Junlang strode out to the night, with his backpack on his back and his torch in his hand, mentally envisioning the route he needed to take to get to Guang Ming Ding.