Genie Mountain and Me

I. Alone: The Road to the Sunrise-Gilded Peaks (August 1)

It is now 21:32. I have completed the first day of my trek around Genie Mountain(Genie), and I am lying in my tent at the Sunrise-Gilded Peaks(Rizhao Jinshan) campsite, ready to write down today’s story.

The weather was against us when we set out in the morning, with a steady drizzle falling. We agreed to “use technology” on the first day: let a vehicle carry our luggage while we walked with light packs. The scenery was so spectacular that every few steps we could not resist stopping to take photos. Before we knew it, it was already noon, and we had only just reached the first plateau.

Sisi suggested calling a motorcycle and leaving a phone number, but the drivers here did not take numbers; they said we could simply flag one down if we met one along the way. Fair enough. We kept walking and taking photos. At one in the afternoon, Sisi suggested that we just take a vehicle, and everyone tacitly agreed. But I still wanted to try. After wrestling with the decision for a while, I made up my mind: I was going to walk. I could not say whether it was stubbornness or an unwillingness to give in. I had come all this way, so I had to measure this road with my own feet. Sisi and the others were concerned about me too, and told me to take a vehicle if I had not arrived by six. I said okay. In truth, I was not confident either, but I simply wanted to walk it. Sisi gave me a bottle of water, an energy gel, and some bread. And with that, I set out on a journey of my own.

First came the first mountain pass(Pass). I made it up and even overtook quite a few people along the way—though of course I was carrying a light pack, so it was not a fair comparison. Following the direction everyone else was going, I glanced instinctively at my track: wrong, I had drifted off course. After thinking for two seconds, I decided to follow the track. I did not know where their road led, but it was not part of my route. And so an “abstract” stretch of tracking began.

I took a look and saw that the quickest way back was to head straight down the mountain. Good grief—there was no path at all. Never mind; I just had to walk. I instinctively looked back. Not a single person had come this way. In that moment, I was a little frightened, but even more than that, I felt a strange excitement—as though the whole mountain belonged to me. It’s all right. This is passable. I can do it. Following the track, I began cutting upward. The tire marks along the way became my motivation, as though telling me: if a vehicle can make it through, then it can be walked; I will definitely be able to cut back to the route. After wading through water and crossing the mountain, I finally returned to the line. But looking around, there was no trace of a path anywhere—only boundless grassland and high mountains. There was no one behind me, not even a single yak. It seemed that I was the only person left between heaven and earth. But there was no alternative. The campsite lay ahead, and I had to keep going. The solitude frightened me, yet it also made me more clear-headed than ever before—out here, no one but you can take even a single step on your behalf.

Without realizing it, I walked into a thicket. There was no path at all; I could only force my way through the gaps. At last I cut my way out and saw two motorcycles in the distance. My heart finally settled. Following the motorcycles’ direction, I traced the route to a narrow path beside a stream. The path was so narrow that I thought carrying a heavy pack here would pose a real risk of falling, and I could not help feeling fortunate. Beyond the path, a flat area dotted with structures resembling yurts came into view. To make sure I had not gone the wrong way, I went over and asked how far it was to the Sunrise-Gilded Peaks campsite. A young man kindly replied, “Five or six kilometers. You can cross the little bridge here, then climb up on the gentler slope on the other side.” I thanked him at once, feeling much more reassured. At least it meant I had not gone astray. This was the right path, and it would take me to the campsite.

There was one troubling detail: this entire stretch was an ascent. Alone, I felt as though I had returned to the pilgrimage circuit around Mount Kailash(Mount Kailash), except that this time I had no one with me on the trail, no support, and no oxygen. The weather kept worsening. I had to put on my raincoat and begin crossing a pass more than 4,000 meters above sea level. I kept my eyes fixed on my phone, terrified that one wrong step would leave me trapped in the mountains—or even dead there. That thought was not an exaggeration: in a place like this, a single mistake can be fatal. Mild hypothermia began to set in. My fingers stiffened, and inside my raincoat I could no longer tell sweat from rain. But I did not stop. A little hypothermia was all right; it was not my first time. You can do this. Checking the route every few steps kept tempting me to look into the distance and wonder how much farther I had to go and when the crossing would end. I knew that was bad; it was wearing away my patience. I could not continue like that. I had to focus steadily on each step beneath my feet. I began to wonder: why do people come to places like this to suffer? But then I thought—perhaps it is precisely this kind of “hardship” that makes the comfortable routines of city life feel precious. To keep my direction true, I began using distinctive shrubs as markers, checking how far I had drifted and how much distance remained each time I reached one. At last, I made it up. Still not another person in sight, not a single yak(Yak). Standing on the pass, panting hard while wind-driven rain struck my face, I could not help smiling—I had crossed another mountain.

Out here, no one but you can take even a single step on your behalf.

Fortunately, I finally had a little signal. I estimated the campsite’s position and gained a rough sense of its direction and distance. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and I felt that this downhill stretch should get me there quickly. I messaged my teammates to tell them I was safe, and they asked for my location. I continued on and encountered a herd of cattle. I was delighted: animals meant there ought to be a proper path nearby. At last, as I kept descending, I saw a road marked by tire tracks, and it aligned with my route. This was it. This was the main road to the campsite. Humming a song, I quickened my pace, looking forward to reuniting with my teammates.

At last, the outline of the campsite appeared ahead. But there was no signal—the farther down I went, the less signal I had. I stared blankly at the packs around me and searched everywhere for my teammates, but found no sign of them. There happened to be a small shop nearby, so I decided to try my luck; perhaps they were there. They were not. After a short rest, I began searching for a place with reception so I could contact them, worried as well about whether they had any signal. Finally, I reached the hilltop and found reception. A few minutes later, a message from my teammates came through, and we reunited. We pitched the tents and boiled water. I only half knew what I was doing, but fortunately they helped me. At last, we were settled.

But today felt like a narrow escape from death. Curled up alone in the tent while rain continued falling outside, I was unhappy and feeling a little emo. I even wanted to go home. Looking back over the journey—getting lost, wading through water, crossing mountains, hypothermia—any one of those would have been enough to deal with. But then I thought: Aren’t these exactly why I came here? If everything went perfectly smoothly, how would it be any different from lying at home scrolling through my phone? But it is all right. Come on, Lele—you can do this!

See you tomorrow.

II. Together: From New Lenggu Monastery to the “Slope Campsite” (August 2)

It was my first time camping in the wild. Rain fell throughout the night, and the ground where we had pitched our tents was sloped, so I kept sliding downward in my sleep. Just as I finally began to feel drowsy, a sudden “roar—” sounded outside the tent, like some kind of wild beast, and jolted me awake. Images flashed through my mind: was it a bear? How terrifying. There were no human voices outside, only the intermittent “roar—”. My teammates were awake too. When I learned that yaks were wandering around the tents, my heart calmed slightly. But I still could not sleep. I worried that one might come over, ram my tent, or step on me, which made sleep even more impossible. I could not resist quietly lifting one corner of the tent to sneak a look. It was pitch-black. The low, thunderous “moo—” rang out from time to time, but it was farther away than I had imagined, and nothing could be seen clearly in the darkness.

At last, dawn came, and the rain eased a little. I thought I would go to the toilet. Yesterday I had glimpsed a small toilet hut at the campsite; surely it would be better than relieving myself outdoors. When I got there—good grief, someone was inside, and there was neither a curtain nor a door. Someone emerged from the second stall. I asked, “Is anyone in there?” “No, but you can’t use it.” A bad feeling rose within me. I stepped inside and found a ghastly scene—feces everywhere, with nowhere to put my feet. I tried with great difficulty, but it was impossible. I managed to urinate and fled at once.

Back at the tent, Sisi and A-Yin had not yet risen. I thought about eating something, but did not want to boil water; it was too much trouble. I would make do with a few snacks. A protein bar barely filled my stomach. It was so difficult: there was a pile of gear to pack, and today I had to carry everything along the route. Just thinking about it made my head ache. There was no alternative. Time to pack.

I opened the tent and looked at the scenery outside—so beautiful. Clouds and mist curled around the mountainsides like a fairyland. I remembered the line: “I have a one-square-meter bedroom and a 510-million-square-kilometer living room.” In that moment, all the disarray and exhaustion were washed clean by the view before me. Somehow, it all felt worthwhile again.

A little after nine, we began the day’s journey. The road looked easier than yesterday’s. The scenery was magnificent. I had never seen mountains so vast or forests so lush. Although the sky had not completely cleared, the beauty still left me speechless.

Before we knew it, we reached a long, steep descent. After struggling almost all the way to the bottom, we discovered we had taken the wrong line. The track stayed above, while we had followed the main group too far away. One after another, people behind us also noticed that they had gone off course. After discussing it, we decided to cut back. Sisi’s pack was relatively heavy, and she was struggling under it, so we swapped. Once I put it on, it was indeed heavier than mine and pressed against my lower back—but it was all right. I could carry it.

We climbed slowly upward until at last a landmark came into view—

.

But the way down did not look easy. Never mind. This was our route, so all we had to do was continue forward.

We descended this section with the agility of blue sheep. The moment we emerged, the lake and sky were breathtaking. A-Yin and I exclaimed in unison: “So beautiful.” “It looks like Xinjiang.” “Folks, we’ve arrived in Altay(Altay).” Although I had never been to Xinjiang, I felt that this was probably what it looked like.

We continued forward. The next section was a concrete road, free of rough mud, and slightly easier to walk. Vehicles passing by would occasionally call out “

,” and we replied, “Tashi Delek.” Warmth filled my heart. We were strangers, yet there was an inexplicable sense of closeness. I wanted so much to record that moment. It felt like the simple, sincere blessings in ahua vlog, flowing into my heart like a warm current. Especially the innocent “Tashi Delek” called out by a child passing us—it made the whole journey feel worthwhile. Had I become one of those so-called “backpackers” too? Perhaps I had, in a way.

As we walked, the cry of someone selling watermelons came from nearby. We all had the same impulse to buy something and satisfy our cravings. At the roadside stall, we bought watermelon, peaches, and oranges and ate our fill with delight—so sweet, so refreshing.

Hiking is one of the rare moments when I can break free from the “program.” I do not have to worry about what technology was updated today or which system has gone wrong again; there is only the road beneath my feet and the wind beside it. The feeling is remarkable. In the city, I build everything with code; out here, I can rely only on my own legs and lungs. The two kinds of “building” are entirely different, yet both leave me fulfilled. Some landscapes cannot have their beauty interpreted by a lens; they must be felt with your own eyes. Some roads cannot have their difficulty depicted by a map; they must be measured with your own feet.

At last, we reached New Lenggu Monastery, the only resupply point of the day. Once we had replenished our supplies, we discussed the road ahead. After trekking through the entire morning and noon, everyone was already exhausted, yet two-thirds of the distance to the campsite still remained. We asked about motorcycles to the “

Campsite,” but learned that none could go there. They said they were not responsible for that area. Apparently, operations here were divided into territories, almost like an industry chain.

After several rounds of discussion, we still decided to continue walking. We shouldered our packs and began the next leg.

Climbing and descending without end, we reached the fork toward the “Hangda(Hangda) Campsite” and entered “no-path” mode. Following the track upward, we crossed a sea of flowers. Although the blooming season had passed, it was still beautiful.

This was the greatest ascent of the journey. We crossed hill after hill, always thinking we had reached the top, only to find another hill ahead. Finally, a little after six in the evening, we reached a temporary end to the climb. Beside us stood sacred Genie Mountain(Genie Mountain). It was magnificent.

But the campsite was still two or three kilometers away, so we had to press on. It was already seven in the evening, and the sun was about to set.

Our pace grew slower and slower. Sisi twisted her ankle again, and everyone was exhausted. After assessing the situation, we estimated that we would not reach the planned campsite before dark. Sure enough, we arrived at a slope where the next crossing looked extremely difficult, and Sisi’s ankle would not allow her to keep pushing. There was nothing else we could do. After discussing it, we decided to camp right there on the slope. It was not a proper campsite, the conditions were poor, and there was no water source. Fortunately, the water we had was just barely enough. By the time we finished pitching the tents, darkness had fully fallen and the temperature had plummeted. We hurried into the tents to rest and cook. Unlike the first day, I did not boil water, wanting to conserve it. Once again, I found myself deep in thought. At that moment, all I felt was that staying alive mattered most.

The orange light of sunset reflected on the mountain peaks, and in that moment, it all seemed worthwhile again. I watched the outline of sacred Genie Mountain(Genie Mountain) gradually blur in the twilight and thought: perhaps something is not “worthwhile” because it is easy, but precisely because it is hard. If everything went smoothly, perhaps this memory would not be nearly so vivid.

Perhaps something is not “worthwhile” because it is easy, but precisely because it is hard.

III. The Journey Home: The Daredevil Squad (August 3)

Today was the final day. In the afternoon, we needed to travel to “Redi(Redi)” to catch the vehicle back. Because we had failed to reach the Xiaojilong campsite on the first day, we agreed to check the time once we arrived there and then take a vehicle directly to Redi.

It was another arduous trek, but at last we reached the Xiaojilong campsite. I could not believe this was a campsite—there was only one tent.

There was no signal and no resupply point. It was completely different from what I had imagined, and my heart sank. Ten kilometers still remained, we did not have enough water, and Sisi had exhausted her strength. I thought calmly: I was still in decent condition and could scout ahead—but we had to stay together. So we decided that I would go ahead with a light load, carrying only a few supplies in a small pack. I could move quickly and look for a vehicle and a signal while they rested at the campsite.

A-Yin said she would come with me; she could still walk. She had a flight to catch the next day and was anxious to get back. So we agreed that the two of us would form a “daredevil squad” to search for a signal and make contact. If there was no reception, we would continue forward together. If we could reach a driver, A-Yin would leave first to catch her flight, while I would call a vehicle back to collect Sisi and the others.

We had only half a bottle of water left, so we brought the filter in case we needed it.

A-Yin and I set out. We kept crossing hilltops in search of a signal—if one did not work, we climbed another. Finally, on one hilltop, we found reception and contacted motorcycles through our driver. Later, we met the two experienced trekkers from the day before, who shared some water with us. To ensure Sisi and the others were safe, and to meet the motorcycles—we decided to return to the campsite and wait for the vehicles so that everyone could leave together.

We returned to the campsite to wait for “rescue.” Although we did not complete the entire route, I believe the process matters more than the result. Staying alive matters more than anything. More importantly—we set out together, and we had to return together.

As I sat at the campsite waiting for the vehicles, I turned and looked back at the mountains we had crossed. Genie(Genie) was still there, silent and immense. I had not conquered it—no one could. But it had given me three days. In those three days, I crossed the wilderness alone, waded through streams, and climbed over mountain passes; I also got lost with my teammates, shared the experience with them, and pitched tents together on a slope. Before coming, I thought this would be a test of “finishing the route.” Only now did I understand that it was really a lesson in “walking together.”

Before coming, I thought this would be a test of “finishing the route.” Only now did I understand that it was really a lesson in “walking together.”

Genie Glacier Route, August 1–3, 2026. Three days and two nights, with a maximum elevation of approximately 4,466 meters and a cumulative hiking distance of approximately 44.39 kilometers. I did not complete the entire route, but I completed the part that was mine to walk.