Accompanying Songyue: Embarking on a Journey Through a Millennium of Morning Bells and Evening Drums with You​

At 5 a.m. at Zhengzhou East Station, the platform wrapped in a thin mist, he held two high-speed rail tickets, the warmth from his fingertips passing through the paper. "Look, we’ll soon see Mount Song." He pointed to the words on the ticket, "Zhengzhou East — Songshan Shaolin." I leaned in to look, accidentally brushing my nose against the back of his hand, and we both laughed. The train started moving, the wheat fields outside glowing in the morning light, the outline of the low mountains gradually appearing. Suddenly, he took my hand: "Doesn’t this remind you of the ink wash painting exhibition we saw last time?" I nodded, looking into his eyes where the mountain shadows reflected, more captivating than the scenery outside the window. At the Taishi Mountain Scenic Area, he helped me take photos in front of the stone lions and even mimicked the lions’ grinning faces, making me laugh until tears came. The ticket checker lady handed us a hand-drawn map, and he immediately leaned in to listen to her recommendations, then turned and spread the map in my palm: "Listen to her, take the waterfall route. I’ll hold your hand, no worries about slipping." The bluestone path was covered with moss and morning dew; he walked on the outer side, turning back every few steps to make sure I was keeping up. The new leaves of the maple trees were tender red; he picked one and slipped it into my pocket: "Keep it as a souvenir, so when you see leaves later, you’ll remember today." In front of Luyai Waterfall, the mist hit our faces, and he suddenly took off his jacket to wrap around me. The water crashed against the rocks, splashing rainbows. He pulled me to stand in the center of the viewing platform: "Look, the rainbow is right above us." The mountain breeze blew, droplets landing on his hair tips; I reached out to brush them away, and he took my hand in return. The strength from his fingertips eased all the fatigue from climbing. At noon, we arrived at Zhongyue Temple. The red walls were scorching hot; he found a shady spot for me to rest and went off to buy water himself. In front of the ancient cypress, he spread his arms around the trunk: "Look, even the three of us holding hands can’t wrap around it." As I touched the bark, he whispered beside me: "This tree is over two thousand years old, witnessing countless comings and goings, and now it’s watching us." In the vegetarian restaurant, when the "Songshan Three Treasures Noodles" were served, he picked the monkey head mushrooms from his bowl and gave them to me: "You love these, eat more." I bit into the noodles, listening to him say the broth carried the fragrance of the wild mountains. When I looked up, our eyes met, his gaze gentle and warm. In the afternoon, we climbed the "Eighteen Bends." The stone steps were steep and narrow; he walked ahead, occasionally turning back to pull me up. "Tired?" He wiped the sweat from my forehead and took out an orange from his backpack. When we met the mountain porters, he quietly said to me: "Our tiredness is nothing compared to theirs." Encouraging words from the porters came through, and he squeezed my hand: "Keep going, the view at the top will be worth it." At 3 p.m., we reached the summit of Junji Peak, the wind carrying the scent of grass and trees. He pointed to the distant red walls of Shaolin Temple: "Look, we’ve come so far today." In front of the inscription "A View to Dwarf All Other Mountains," he hugged me from behind: "I want to climb more mountains with you in the future." I leaned into his embrace, watching the drifting clouds and mist, feeling that this moment was more precious than any scenery. On the way down, we detoured through Shaolin Temple. The sunset bathed the ginkgo trees, golden leaves falling at our feet. He picked up a leaf and placed it in my palm: "Doesn’t it look like a little fan?" Inside the Mahavira Hall, the sound of Buddhist chants mingled with birdsong. He held my hand quietly; I turned to look at him, seeing peace in his eyes. In front of the Pagoda Forest, as dusk deepened, he wrapped my jacket tighter: "It’s getting chilly, we should head back." On the bus, I rested my head on his shoulder, watching Mount Song fade into the distance. "Today was really happy," I said. He ruffled my hair: "There will be many more happy days ahead." I closed my eyes, my mind filled with fragments of today — his smile, the warmth of his hand, the scenery we shared. This journey from morning bell to evening drum, accompanied by him, made the beauty of Mount Song even more romantic, and these moments with him will forever be the warmest light in our memories.