The Mountain Scorched Red by Pine Tar

Deep in the mountains of Yunnan lies a mountain steeped in pine resin. The red pines grow redder than ham, and their resin runs down in streams that can set half the night sky ablaze. The hot springs at the foot of the mountain can boil eggs, but they can swallow the living, too. Those who have bathed in them say there are dragon shadows in the water. Those who haven't only dare listen to the pines from far away. In their roar, it sounds as if countless people are humming the same tune.

Across the mountain lies the Icewater River. Its glacial meltwater is cold enough to pierce the bones, yet it and the hot springs make a world of ice and fire. The elders say twelve children are frozen at the river's bottom, put there in ancient times to subdue the Warm Dragon. Beneath the banyan by the bank, caravan bells have rung for a thousand years, carrying salt and tea, as well as strange tales of “flying mice” (blood-sucking bats) carrying off pine resin and snakes drooling as they worship the dragon.

From the days when the Red Pine Tribe fed their saplings with their own blood, to the humble warmth of a Republic-era hut, where caravan men chased after girls wrapped in cloth with nothing on, and on to today's neon-lit hot spring resort, three generations have bathed in the same pool. Faint red pine patterns float on every palm. They think they are seeking health and love, unaware that the red pine roots beneath their feet wind around bones a thousand years old, and that the rice wine they drink holds the ashes of an unburned contract.

Granny says, “What dragon could there be on this mountain? It's just our breath warming the pine roots. We've breathed on them for a thousand years, until even the stones grew warm.” But when the last drop of pine resin falls into the Icewater River, everyone hears a dull thud from deep inside the mountain, like someone sighing, or smacking their lips

This is a story written in pine resin, steeped in the heat of blood, the chill of ice, and the wildness of humanity. Only when you reach the end do you understand: the so-called “Warm Dragon” is nothing more than the unspoken symbiosis between the mountain and the human heart, burning hot for a thousand years, and warming us for a thousand years, too.