Freedom Mountains and Seas – The mountains of Wanshan Island

At noon, I set off alone on this mountain path to search for the trenches and bunkers described by local fishermen. The scorching sun blazed down on the rocks, and you could even see the heat waves rising like ripples. The wild grass shone green, and the flowers by the road bloomed brazenly, attracting bees and butterflies. The scent of the grass and trees being roasted became increasingly intense. Nearing the mid-mountain area, the trees also seemed to grow taller, leaning towards the slope. I was still exposed to the relentless sun, and in the following trek, and for the next few days, I paid for my mistakes with nature's punishment: firstly, when I returned from swimming in the sea, I wore only a vest and sports shorts for the sake of coolness, resulting in my legs being scratched by the grass on the narrow mountain path. Even stopping to wipe sweat could lead to mosquito attacks. Secondly, I forgot that the sunscreen I had applied before had been washed off during the shower. This oversight was reminded by the merciless sun halfway up the mountain, and only when my shoulders began to burn did I realize there was no escape, only a narrow mountain path winding ahead. Sweat had already seeped from the edge of my hat, and when I took it off to wipe my forehead, my hair steamed in the sunlight, feeling almost ablaze. Looking at the path winding through the overgrown wild grass, I regretted it. I didn't know how much longer the road ahead was, and the way back was also very distant. I could only move forward. The sweat had completely soaked my clothes, running down my calves, intensifying the pain from the grass cuts. Faintly, I heard the sound of a mountain spring ahead. Turning a corner, a gushing spring flowed out from between huge rocks. Though the outlet was small, the water fanned out, and the long grass was washed into a comb, gently enjoying the coolness of the mountain spring under the brilliant sun, surrounded by a halo of green light. Finally, I saw the first tunnel entrance, a huge concrete bunker under the mountain rock, with its concrete air vent covers teetering on the brink of collapse. The entrance was tightly sealed by a thick concrete door, marking the era that has since slept in darkness. The steel wrench was rusted, and the nine big characters on the side wall were covered with cement, but those who lived through that era will not forget: 'Dig deep pits, store vast amounts of grain, and never seek hegemony.' The national defense strategy facilities of that era have made people in today's cities aware of the web-like air-raid shelters, which in childhood memories of dark and mysterious places have mostly turned into shopping centers with dazzling neon lights. Not long after passing three tunnels, a huge figure stood on a massive stone wall, a dense and thick concrete wall with a heavy semicircular eave pressing above the lookout holes. The winding stone steps had been covered by lush weeds, and I could only look up at the narrow, mysterious darkness covered by climbing plants. The best spot on the mountaintop to watch the sunrise was also a martial law area, so when I saw what seemed to be a concrete driveway ahead from afar, I had already decided to descend via the small path. Just as I was about to turn around, I unexpectedly discovered a stone monument partially hidden by intertwined mountain vines and grass. Approaching and pulling away the vines, I could see the engraved characters 'Yin Yang Spring' in relief script. Due to the unbearable burning pain in my arms and legs, I did not venture further. Beside the monument, there were traces of water flow, but the spring's source was not seen.