Summary of the Key Points
This interview dispels the romantic notions people have about "cultivating in a fairy mountain" through Li Chuang's experience of living as a Taoist priest. The mountain is not a place of idyllic leisure, filled with the sound of flutes and clouds, and pets to pet; rather, it is a reality brimming with cold and mundane tasks. The Taoist temple is not an isolated paradise free from worldly concerns, as it has its own "workplace rules," such as attendance and annual summaries. The priests treat pilgrims with both tolerance and pragmatism (pilgrims are essential for the temple's survival). Moreover, the cyclical view of time on the mountain helps to alleviate the linear anxiety felt by those below. The core message is clear: Whether on the mountain or in the city, one cannot escape the realities of life; one must first be a good person before discussing transcendence.
1. The Imagined "Fairy Mountain" Turns Out to Be a "Survival Challenge in the Wild"
Do you think Wudang Mountain is the poetic scene depicted in martial arts dramas, with Taoist priests playing flutes amidst mist and clouds? Li Chuang's experience dispels this illusion. With an altitude of over 1,600 meters and temperatures below zero degrees without heating, he had to rely on his "inner strength" and three layers of blankets to stay warm. The clothes he washed would freeze at the head of the bed, apples and bananas needed to be boiled before eating, and tables left un wiped the previous night had to be "thawed" before cleaning—using a cloth to smash the ice, not just wipe it! He says, "People down the mountain envy my life as a immortal among the clouds, but all I wish for is no rain today and my blankets to stay dry." Behind the misty charm lies a tough daily routine.
2. Becoming a Priest Is Not a "Skill Training Class," But a Lesson in Letting Go
Many tourists visit the mountain with the idea of becoming priests to learn martial arts or calligraphy, but the priests respond bluntly: "You’re not here to attend classes; you’re here to let go—of desires and negative emotions." For example, playing the flute is not about practicing music theory; it’s about one day hearing the wind and using leaves to express one’s heart, which aligns with the Tao. Regarding pilgrims, the priests are practical: "Who would offer incense if they have no worries? The money from their offerings supports the temple, so we need to make them leave happy." They even keep only one bad fortune-telling stick in the jar, and those who draw it will try to help find a solution—faith cannot be detached from real life.
3. There Are Also "Workplace KPIs" on the Mountain: Attendance and Summaries Are Inevitable
Don’t think Taoists don’t have to work! Li Chuang found that the temple has its own daily routines, including attendance requirements for regularization, a six-day workweek with one day off, annual summaries, and tax filings. The priests look distressed when writing these summaries and even ask for Li Chuang’s help. He jokes, "I don’t even know what you’ve done all year—how am I supposed to write them?" This scenario sounds familiar, much like asking a colleague to create a PowerPoint in the office. He reflects, "It turns out even priests can’t escape taxes and summaries; who is spared by fate?"
4. The Cyclical View of Time Alleviates My Linear Anxiety
We down the mountain live in a linear time frame: if we didn’t work hard yesterday, today will be worse, and tomorrow will bring more anxiety. But on the mountain, time is cyclical—each spring is like the last, and each snowy day is similar to the previous one, without a sense of competition. Li Chuang says, "Time on the mountain is like farming; it follows the seasons, so there’s no need to panic. Although the moon is always full, I’ve grown older and experienced new things—a spiral of progress, not linear anxiety."
5. Even Immortals Are Human: Both Up and Down the Mountain, We Live in the World
In the end, Li Chuang realizes that the character for "immortal" (仙) contains the symbol for a single person, meaning one must first be a good human before discussing becoming an immortal. Whether on the mountain or in the city, we have to deal with interpersonal relationships (helping with summaries for the priests, worrying about leadership’s approval). Escaping reality is futile. For instance, he once quit his job to open a small shop, thinking he would live a reclusive life, but ended up spending half an hour haggling over a few cents. Now he understands: No matter where we are, we must face reality and find happiness in our relationships with others, not hide on a mountain to become an imagined immortal.
What’s most touching about this interview is that it brings the "fairy mountain" back down to earth—without any filters, only the true hardships and warmth. It shows us that transcendence isn’t about escaping reality but about living life clearly within it.