A Love Letter from the Earth to the Sky

At dawn, the Wanfenglin Forest is still wrapped in a delicate veil of mist. Twenty thousand verdant peaks awaken one by one in the morning glow, like soldiers awaiting inspection. The Nahui River meanders through, turning the rice waves of the Bagua Terraced Fields into scattered gold, startling a few egrets whose wings ripple circles of light as they take flight. From the stilted houses of the Bouyei people, wisps of cooking smoke rise, intertwining with the morning fog in the mountains. A young woman in indigo attire walks along the field ridge with a bamboo basket on her back, her skirt brushing against the rice ears and shaking off strings of dewdrops. At noon, sunlight pierces through the clouds, casting dappled shadows among the peaks, and the outline of General Peak grows ever clearer, standing like a guardian deity gazing upon the scattered villages below. The rain arrives suddenly. Mountain mist cascades down the peaks like waterfalls or sheer curtains, transforming the landscape into an ink-wash painting. As the skies clear after the rain, a rainbow arches across the valley, while an elderly Bouyei sits beneath a banyan tree, chanting ancestral songs in an ancient melody. When dusk falls, the silhouettes of the peaks gradually blur in the sunset. Fireflies light up the country paths, and in the distance, the melody of the "Bayin Zuochang" folk music blends with the chorus of frogs and insects into a summer night symphony. This 200-kilometer stretch of karst poetry, sculpted over 200 million years, composes an eternal love letter—each peak a stroke of the earth's brush, each wisp of cloud an echo of the sky.