Encountering “Heaven’s Blessing” in Shennongjia National Park

During our trip to Shennongjia National Park, Ms. Wang was the one blessed by heaven.

As luck would have it, she had never been to Shennongjia before. Her impression of the place probably still lingered somewhere among old legends of Yeren (Bigfoot) roaming the forests. Yet on her very first visit, she was greeted by endless rolling clouds. On April 21st, the sky suddenly cleared after several days of rain. The night before, the weather forecast had said the sun would not appear until the 22nd, so we had planned to photograph golden snub-nosed monkeys on the 21st and shoot the azalea sea on the 22nd. With good weather ahead, we thought we had plenty of time. But as our car drove up the mountain, I sensed something changing: the sunlight grew increasingly intense, shining brightly through the windows and lighting up everyone’s face. Down in the deep valleys, mist billowed everywhere, as if a huge invisible pot was burning beneath the earth, steaming water vapor upward. Clouds and mist drifted around the mountainsides.

I exchanged a glance with Wu Chunlin, the park employee driving us. We both understood what was happening: the sea of clouds was arriving early.

So I discussed with Fang Zeyang, a journalist from the local media outlet traveling with us, and we resolutely changed today’s filming plan. The golden snub-nosed monkeys could wait; the sea of clouds could not. The car didn’t stop at Dalongtan but headed straight to Shennong Valley, where the sea of clouds often appears, and to Taiziya, the home of the azalea flower sea.

The car stopped at Shennong Valley. I took my drone and slowly climbed up toward the viewing platform with Ms. Wang and Fang Zeyang. Standing at 2,820 meters above sea level, the air here felt as if a layer had been sucked away. Though Ms. Wang was usually in good health, she suffered a touch of altitude sickness, pausing to catch her breath every few steps. She never hurried, just stood quietly, gazing at the distant mountains and the stone steps beneath her feet. I reminded her to go slowly.

We were just a few steps from the viewing platform when suddenly, the view opened up before us. It was as if someone had abruptly drawn open a huge screen, fixed at both ends to the confronting cliffs on either side of the valley. The surging sea of clouds rushed toward our chests, evoking the line “Clouds rise there from and lave my breast, the view in Jingchu fill my soul”. Bathed in sunlight, the steaming clouds looked exceptionally pure white--like freshly fluffed cotton, or just-steamed glutinous rice cakes, soft and within reach. Above our heads, the sky was brilliant blue, with wispy clouds dancing like peacocks spreading their tails. The sea of clouds and the blue sky stood in stark contrast: one dense and unyielding, the other light as watercolor, colliding abruptly with no transition, yet breathtakingly beautiful. The boundless sea of clouds stretches to the sky like flawless white jade; snow-like clouds waves are glowing in the sun.

The viewing platform was already buzzing with excited tourists. Everyone held up phones, snapping photos. Some people simply lowered their cameras altogether and stood there in silence, stunned. Praises filled the air--“This is incredible!” “Totally worth it!” One young man grew so excited he stomped his feet and nearly knocked over an elderly gentleman’s camera. Ms. Wang said nothing. Standing by the railing, she quietly changed angles, taking photographs of herself against the clouds. I stole a glance at her and saw pure contentment across her face.

I hurried to launch the drone. One hundred meters. Two hundred. Three hundred. Four hundred. Five hundred... At every altitude, the landscape transformed. Near the ground, the clouds resembled a thin veil spread beneath our feet, through which the fir and azalea forests on the mountainsides could still be faintly seen. Higher up, the cloud sea turned into churning white waves, lapping against the cliffs. At 500 meters, the view exploded outward all at once: the Yinyu River valley, Tianji Ridge, Taiziya --stretches of clouds lay like white lakes embedded among the mountains. I hurried to finish shooting and urged Brother Wu to drive us to those places immediately.

Brother Wu Chunlin was born and raised here, knowing every road and mountain here like the back of his hand. Without a word, he started the car and set off.

First, we arrived at the viewing platform for the Yinyu River Valley. The clouds here were different from that in Shennong Valley--quieter, deeper, and more secluded. Fir trees poked out of the clouds, dark and sturdy, like silent elders in white robes, standing in contemplation. I photographed them again and again, never feeling satisfied. Ms. Wang also kept shooting too. She had an important mission on this trip: to share the best photographs with our international volunteer club group, so more people could enjoy Shennongjia’s beauty.

Then we reached Tianji Ridge. The clouds here were alive. Wind swept upward from Yinyu River Valley, pushing the clouds up the ridge, over the crest, and spilling them into the lower valleys beyond. I set up my camera to shoot time-lapse footage, watching the clouds roll in and retreat again and again, endlessly. The name “Tianji Ridge” --“Skyline Ridge”-- couldn’t be more fitting.

By the time we reached Taiziya, however, the sea of clouds had dispersed. Only distant mountain ridges, places beyond our reach, remained wrapped tightly in clouds, like a warm quilt covering the mountains. More clouds gathered overhead; sunlight  flickered in and out. One moment everything blazed with crystal clarity; the next, shadows dimmed the landscape, making photography increasingly difficult.

On the way, Brother Wu had said the azaleas might not be in bloom yet. Unexpectedly, they were in full blossom--pink, white, red, clusters upon clusters blooming vibrantly, decorating dozens of square kilometers of hillsides. But our drone batteries were exhausted, and the thickening clouds interfered with filming, so we had to give up shooting for the day and come back tomorrow.

Back in the car, we all felt immensely fulfilled, admiring the precious moments we’d captured. We felt honored for Ms. Wang--encountering such magnificent scenery on her first visit, she was truly someone who had received “Heaven’s Blessing”.

At dinner, we talked about this with friends, who all said: “You’re so lucky! Some people visit Shennongjia ten times and never see the sea of clouds.” Others added: “Heaven’s blessing chooses people. Calm people. Patient people. People willing to slow down and truly take in the mountains--they’re the ones most likely to receive it.”

I thought about it and agreed. That day, Ms. Wang climbed the stairs step by step, so slowly, gazing so earnestly when she paused, as if every breath was greeting the mountain. Perhaps the mountains sensed her reverence, and thus presented its finest scenery.

After returning to the city, I went through the photos again and again. Every single one was lovely, yet none was perfect--lovely because the sea of clouds was truly magnificent, imperfect because even the best photo would never fully capture the heartbeat of standing there in that unforgettable moment.