The plan is to do Lónghǔ Shān and Wǔyí Shān in a single day. The bamboo raft on the Nine-Bend River at Wǔyí runs in two windows, and the afternoon window closes at 2:30 p.m. boarding. The first cliff-coffin show at Lónghǔ is at 9:00 a.m. The drive between the two scenic areas is two and a half hours on the G45 expressway.
We have picked the day. The fifteenth day of the first lunar month. Lantern Festival. Also, as it turns out, the birthday of Zhang Daoling, the founding Celestial Master of the Daoist tradition that has its ancestral seat at Lónghǔ Shān. We did not pick the day for that reason. We picked it for the spring weather and the festival atmosphere. The Zhang Daoling birthday is a bonus. Two UNESCO sites in one day, plus a major Daoist festival.
Dave has the selfie stick. Claude has the lavalier mic and the small ring light. We are ready.
The plaza is full of red lanterns. Vendors are setting up stalls along the entry promenade. The festival is beginning.
"Day one of our two-UNESCO challenge," Dave says to the phone. "We have a major Daoist festival happening today, the founder's birthday. Lantern Festival. Look at this place."
"Zhang Daoling, founding Celestial Master, born this day in 34 CE according to tradition," Claude says. "Lónghǔ Shān is the seat of his lineage. Sixty-three generations of Zhang family priests."
"Sixty-three generations," Dave says.
A bus full of tourists pulls in. Then another. The 9:00 cliff-coffin show is going to be packed.
The show is in front of the cliff face that has the actual cliff coffins in it. Two performers in costume operate ropes and hoist a replica coffin to a cavity. The crowd applauds. Today the crowd is larger than usual.
"Two to three thousand years old," Claude says. "Bayue people. Pre-Han population of southeastern China. They placed their dead in caves on the cliffs."
"Older than Rome," Dave says to the phone.
We get the shot. The cliff-coffin reenactment performers wave. A red banner above the show area reads 庆祝祖天师圣诞 — Celebrating the Founding Celestial Master's Holy Birthday.
"Did you see that banner?" Dave asks.
"That's the Zhang Daoling birthday banner," Claude says. "They've decorated the whole scenic area for the festival."
"Bonus content," Dave says.
Six chairs on the raft. Dave and Claude in two of them. A family of four from Hangzhou in the others. The boatman is a man in his fifties with a long bamboo pole.
"We are now on the Lùxī River," Dave says. "Bamboo raft, traditional Chinese style, Danxia cliffs on both sides. Claude, what are we looking for?"
"The Ten Incomparables," Claude says. "Plus the actual cliff coffins. They are still up there in the cavities, the originals from the show."
The raft drifts. The boatman points at the cliff face. Elephant Trunk Mountain. Mushroom Stone. He is wearing a red ribbon on his shirt. So are the boatmen on the rafts behind us. Festival uniform.
At the second bend, the cliff coffins come into view. Wooden boxes high in the cavities.
"There they are," Dave says. "Three thousand years old. Just sitting up there."
A small group of older women on the riverbank are walking toward the Tianshi Mansion with cloth bags. They are not looking at the rafts. They are going somewhere.
"Pilgrims," Claude says.
"Pilgrims," Dave repeats to the phone.
We have time for a quick walkthrough of the Tianshi Mansion gate before lunch. The gate is busy. Today is the founder's birthday. The plaza in front of the gate has perhaps three hundred people. Some are tourists. Many are not.
The non-tourists are mostly older women and men carrying offering bundles — fruit, paper money, incense bundles wrapped in red paper. They are queuing at the side entrance, not the tourist entrance. A young woman in a red volunteer vest is directing them.
"This is the Tianshi Mansion," Claude says. "Sixty-three generations of Zhang family priests have presided here. Founded as a residence in the late Tang. The current buildings are mostly Ming and Qing reconstructions."
"Sixty-three generations," Dave says.
We walk through the tourist entrance. The first courtyard. The main hall. Plaques. Carved beams. A statue of Zhang Daoling at the central altar, larger than life, with offerings piled in front. Many offerings. The piles are growing. Visitors are bowing three times and adding to the piles.
A man in dark Daoist robes walks across the far end of the courtyard. He has a folder under his arm. He is moving fast. He does not stop.
"Did you see him?" Dave asks.
"Real Daoist priest," Claude says. "He looked busy."
"Busy day for him," Dave says.
We get the shots. We leave for lunch. The kitchen at the scenic-area restaurant is slammed today. The fish takes a while.
"We have to leave by 12:00 to make the Wǔyí raft," Claude says.
"I know."
We eat fast. We pay. We go.
The drive is two and a half hours. Dave films through the windshield. The expressway runs through the Wǔyí Mountains. Same Danxia formation as Lónghǔ.
"Same rocks, different province," Dave says.
At 1:45 we are at the Wǔyí exit. At 2:00 the visitor center. At 2:10 raft tickets. At 2:25 we are on the raft.
"We made it," Dave says to the phone.
The Nine-Bend River — Jiǔqǔ Xī, 九曲溪 — runs nine and a half kilometers through the Wǔyí scenic area, twisting through nine bends. Drift takes ninety minutes.
The boatman is in his sixties. Wide straw hat. Rolled-up shirt. Small radio in his shirt pocket playing what sounds like a Sòng poem set to electronic music.
"That's the Zhū Xī song," he says when Dave asks. "From the Impression Da Hong Pao show. They play it everywhere now. Zhū Xī had his academy at Bend Five. Wǔyí Jīngshě. Twelfth century."
"Eight hundred years ago," Dave says.
The raft moves through Bend Six and Bend Five. Cliff inscriptions — mó yá shí kè, 摩崖石刻 — in classical Chinese, Sòng to Republican-era. At Bend Four, wooden planks protrude from holes in the rock.
"Boat coffins," the boatman says. "Three thousand five hundred years old. Older than the Lónghǔ ones. Same kind of people. Different name now. Pre-Min population. My wife's family is descended from them. They work tea now."
"Three thousand five hundred years," Dave says to the phone.
We get the shots.
Eight hundred stone steps. Steep climb. Summit at 410 meters. The view is the U-turn of the river around the valley with late-afternoon light hitting the cliff faces.
"How old are these stairs?" Dave asks halfway up.
"Some sections Sòng," Claude says. "Some Ming. Some Qing. Some recent. Continuously rebuilt. The granite is local."
We reach the top. About thirty other tourists at the small overlook. Selfie sticks extended. We get the shot.
"This is the shot," Dave says.
Outdoor performance directed by Zhāng Yìmóu. 360-degree rotating auditorium. Several hundred performers. Fifteen movie screens integrated into the natural landscape. The Zhū Xī poem set to electronic music — the same poem the boatman had on his radio.
We are in row twelve. The show is ninety minutes. The lighting is spectacular.
"Zhāng Yìmóu directed this?" Dave asks during a quiet moment.
"Same director as the Beijing Olympics opening," Claude says.
"World-class," Dave says.
Dave is at the desk writing the blog post. TWO UNESCO SITES IN ONE DAY!! Lónghǔ + Wǔyí (and a major Daoist festival!!). The post will include the cliff-coffin show, both rafts, the Tianyóu summit shot, the Impression Da Hong Pao show, and a respectful long shot from the Tianshi Mansion gate.
"Posting," Dave says.
The post goes up. Within twenty minutes it has 89 likes. By morning it will have several hundred.
"That was a great day, Claude."
"It was a great day, Dave."
We turn out the lights.
The Tianshi Mansion did not close at 5:00 p.m. today. Today is Zhang Daoling's birthday. The 63rd-generation Celestial Master has been performing the ancestral rites since dawn. The schedule is heavy.
He began with the zǎo kè (早課) morning rite at 5:00 a.m. — the daily liturgy expanded for the founder's birthday into the long version with the full canonical recitation, lasting two and a half hours, in the inner hall closed to visitors. Then breakfast with the resident priests in the small refectory. Then the jìn xiāng (進香) incense procession from the inner hall to the central altar at 8:30, ahead of the public arrivals.
At 9:00, while we were watching the cliff-coffin reenactment, he was beginning the jiān jiāo (建醮) renewal rite for the local temple society. Five priests assisting. Drums and bells and the chanted memorial that opens the rite. Document burning at three points to dispatch petitions to the Three Officers — Heaven, Earth, Water. The rite ran two hours.
At 11:30, while we were eating fish, he was hearing the petitions. The line of older women and men we saw at the side entrance were waiting for him. Each person had a name to register. A grandmother whose daughter is having difficulty conceiving. A son whose father had a stroke last month. A merchant whose business has been losing money. The petitions were written by the assisting priests on yellow paper, sealed with the ancestral seal — the Yáng Píng zhì dū gōng (陽平治都功) seal that was passed down from Zhang Daoling himself, or so tradition holds — and added to the offering pile at the central altar.
At 1:30, while we were on the expressway, he conducted the bài shòu (拜壽) birthday-honoring rite for the founder. Full vestments. The jīngwěi (經緯) ritual cap. Ten priests in formation. The chanted Zhang Tianshi Bǎo Gào (張天師寶誥) — the canonical praise text for Zhang Daoling. Ninety minutes.
At 3:30, while we were buying raft tickets at Wǔyí, he was performing the kāi guāng (開光) eye-opening rite for a new image of the founder that had been donated by a Hong Kong devotee earlier in the year. The image had been resting in storage since arrival. Today it was activated. Vermilion brush touched to the painted eyes. The breath of life conferred. The image is now alive in the ritual sense.
At 5:00, while we were climbing Tianyóu Peak, he was beginning the huí xiàng (回向) merit-transfer rite, dedicating the day's accumulated ritual merit to the registered names — the grandmother's daughter, the stroke patient, the failing merchant, perhaps two hundred others. The rite ran ninety minutes. The yellow petition papers were burned in batches. The smoke rose. The merit transferred.
At 7:30, while we were in row twelve at Impression Da Hong Pao, he was performing the shōu jiāo (收醮) closing rite. The deities who had been summoned at dawn were sent back. The seals were restored to their cases. The vestments were folded. The incense was banked.
At 9:00, while Dave was photographing the dinner, the Master sat down for his own dinner with his wife and the resident priests. The kitchen had set aside congee with pickled vegetables. He had been fasting for the rites since the previous evening. He ate slowly.
At 10:30, while Dave was writing the blog post, he was reviewing tomorrow's schedule with the temple administrator. The 16th of the lunar first month. Cleanup day. Some closing rites for the donors. A meeting about the temple roof, which has begun leaking near the west wing.
At 11:00, when our lights went out, his lights went out too.
The boatman from the Lónghǔ raft has finished his shift. His TikTok video from the morning has 12,000 views. He is pleased. He worked the festival shift for the extra pay. He goes to bed at 10:30 because tomorrow is also a festival day, with the 16th-of-the-month cleanup tours.
The boatman from the Wǔyí raft has finished his shift. His wife came home from the tea fields at 7:00. The second flush is ending. They had dinner together. They go to bed at 10:00.
The volunteer in the red vest at the Tianshi Mansion side entrance has finished her shift at 8:00 p.m. She is twenty-three years old. She is a graduate student in religious studies at Sichuan University. She volunteers at the Mansion three festival days a year. She walked the long line of petitioners through the door. Some of them she recognized from previous festivals. The grandmother whose daughter is trying to conceive — she remembered from last year's festival. Same petition.
The cleaning crew at the Tianyóu Peak overlook has finished sweeping the platform. They will be back at 5:30 a.m. for tomorrow's first sunrise visitors.
The Bayue descendants at the Lónghǔ scenic area have closed the food stalls. Tomorrow morning, before 7:30, they will be back to set up.
The cliff-coffin reenactment performers have unwound the ropes and lowered the replica coffin to its storage position. They will hoist it again at the 9:00 show tomorrow.
The actor who played the lead Sòng-dynasty scholar in Impression Da Hong Pao has finished his curtain call. He has the same role tomorrow night.
The mountain is the mountain. The river is the river. The cliff coffins are the cliff coffins. The Tianshi Mansion is closed for the night.
道可道，非常道.