Chapter 3: The Prison-Style Hot Spring
Miss Ji was enthusiasm incarnate. Though she was small and skinny, with a black-and-yellow grown-out pudding hairstyle and standing a head shorter than Xiang Yu, she had plenty of energy and determination.
She led Xiang Yu all the way from the snowy mountains to the peach orchards, earnestly introducing their peaches, wild mountain mushrooms, natural scenery, and more.
In truth, Xiang Yu was struggling to contain her curiosity. She wanted to find a place to claim her reward draw, but they were out in the middle of nowhere, and she was completely unfamiliar with the area. Afraid of being a poor host and having her run off, Ji Kailang accompanied her every step of the way. The village didn’t even have a public restroom in sight, so Xiang Yu couldn’t slip away under the excuse of needing the bathroom.
According to local gossip, the previous developer had done exactly that—gone to the restroom and never come back. Buried under a mountain of debt, he vanished for good, making the already struggling local economy even worse.
Only when they reached the village entrance did Xiang Yu see that the villagers had even put up a banner:
“Hospitable Hama Valley Welcomes You”
It was every bit as deafeningly bold as expected. You could tell that every slogan here was written with the determination to produce an unforgettable catchphrase.
Director Ji merely smiled modestly. She showed no sign of self-satisfaction, remaining humble and conscientious as she carried out her duties as a tour guide and led Xiang Yu through the peach orchard.
This was Peach Mountain, contracted and managed by the villagers. They had even held Peach Blossom Festivals here in the past. But standing before the mountain in person, the only feeling it inspired was shock.
When Xiang Yu was a child reading Journey to the West, she remembered the episode where Tang Sanzang and his disciples passed through Seven Extremes Mountain. There was a persimmon valley stretching eight hundred li, clogged with rotting persimmons piled up year after year, making travel impossible and filling the air with a terrible stench.
The scene before her was almost exactly the same.
Thousands of peach trees leaned crookedly along the steep slopes. Overripe fruit fell nonstop with a plop, plop, plop, rotting in the mud and releasing a bizarre blend of odors—alcoholic fermentation, decay, peach fragrance, and the earthy smell of soil all mixed together.
In Hama Valley, the weather could change completely within just a few miles. The rain around the mountainside gradually intensified. Looking up from the depths of the forest, Xiang Yu saw towering snow-capped peaks shrouded in heavy mist. Beneath her feet was soft soil carrying the stench of fermentation. Strange, fishy winds drifted past her nose.
It felt as though she had stepped into the hidden world of a supernatural horror tale.
You could imagine that on a clear day, the sight of snow-capped mountains and peach orchards sharing the same landscape would be breathtaking.
The mountain peaks were covered in snow year-round. Meltwater from the glaciers formed streams that supplied the peach orchards with abundant water. At the same time, the climate at the foot of the mountains remained relatively warm. The snow reflected sunlight, increasing the amount of daylight the orchards received, while the large difference between day and night temperatures helped the peaches accumulate more sugar.
Hama Valley truly was rich in natural resources, with a relatively mild climate as well. Annual precipitation ranged from 500 to 800 millimeters, placing it within a humid mountain climate zone, and the area was also rich in mineral deposits.
The sulfur hot springs were only one example. Other pools each possessed their own unique beauty. According to local accounts, deep within the snowy mountains there were even pools of meltwater so vividly blue that they resembled Tiffany Blue gemstones.
Of course, only snow leopards and mountain antelope had ever seen those dreamlike places hidden in the depths of the mountains. The villagers of Hama Valley had enough trouble dealing with the piles of rotting peaches at the mountain’s foot and the nearly 100-degree Celsius hot springs nearby.
Those legendary sights—the “Blue Eyes” and the “Green Butterflies”—were merely myths passed down through generations, about as credible as a Mother Goose bedtime rhyme.
After trekking down from the peach orchard with mud caked on their shoes, Director Ji finally brought Xiang Yu to the true destination of the trip: the hot spring pools that had been teasingly hidden from view all this time.
—
Xiang Yu had never seen anything that looked so much like a water-filled prison cell.
Ji Kailang had rehearsed countless sales pitches in her head. Yet standing before the embarrassingly shabby pools, she found herself unable to utter a single one of them.
In the end, she gritted her teeth and started with the location’s natural advantages.
“Our elevation here in Xihai is quite high. The climate in Hama Valley stays around the low twenties Celsius all year long, so it’s suitable for soaking in hot springs during every season…”
To be honest, she had been surprised when someone decided to develop a hot spring resort in June or July and planned to open during the summer. While the village wasn’t particularly hot, summer was still the off-season for hot springs no matter how you looked at it.
Xiang Yu, who was also forcing herself to keep an open mind, stared at the “water prison” before her and found herself equally speechless.
She had prepared herself mentally on the way here. She had even resolved that, no matter how bad things were, she wouldn’t throw up the braised chicken she’d eaten for lunch—even if the hot springs turned out to be nothing more than rows of public-restroom-style bathing stalls.
But after seeing the original pools in person, she suddenly understood why people bothered to install tiles…
The indoor bathing area was dimly lit. What Director Ji described as an “eco-friendly volcanic stone wall built on fertile natural earth” gave the immediate impression of a stubborn layer of dark brown grime. The walls of the pool were heavily stained and mottled.
The water was cloudy and yellowish. Beneath the surface, the heat source bubbled away, occasionally sending up a few sticky-looking bubbles that released a faint rotten-egg smell when they burst.
Calling it a water prison was actually being polite.
It looked more like the nest of some unknown creature.
Silently, Xiang Yu retracted all the harsh criticism she had directed at the previous developer’s sense of aesthetics. She turned to inspect the less “natural” renovated version next door—the public restroom.
No, wait.
The bathing pool.
The neighboring pool, lined with white ceramic tiles, looked somewhat cleaner. Red plastic anti-slip mats covered the floor, and several straw sleeping mats and pairs of slippers were stacked against the wall.
Because of the heavy steam from the hot springs, everything felt damp to the touch. Even though it had clearly been cleaned thoroughly, one couldn’t help suspecting that if you flipped anything over, the underside would be covered in mold.
After spending only a short while inside, a suffocating sense of damp stickiness seemed to seep into your body. Every breath felt like inhaling a mouthful of thick mist that settled heavily in your lungs.
“There really isn’t a better place for hot springs than here,” Ji Kailang said, repeating the same few selling points over and over. “Xihai’s elevation is high, and our village is usually more than ten degrees cooler than the city. It’s perfect for escaping the summer heat. The nights are even colder, so soaking in a hot spring feels amazing.”
She scooped up a handful of spring water and looked helplessly at its dull grayish color.
“I thought it looked dirty at first too. But sulfur hot springs are never crystal clear, are they? And can crystal-clear water have the same health benefits as ours?”
“The benefits don’t matter,” Xiang Yu replied gravely, standing on a bright-red anti-slip mat identical to the kind used in restaurant kitchens.
“What matters is this: does our village currently have a single place that can be photographed without embarrassing itself?”
“Yes, Boss. We do.” Director Ji replied without hesitation, her tone firm and decisive.
“Actually, all the beautiful parts are up in the mountains. If we can build a proper road up there and go a bit higher in altitude, there’s an extremely spectacular glacier hot spring. I’ve seen it myself—the spring water bursts straight out of the glacier at nearly boiling temperature. The peaks are covered in snow year-round, but the pools are steaming hot. Right across from it is the Goddess Peak. You can soak in the hot spring while watching the sun turn the snow-capped mountains golden, with ice waterfalls forming mist columns—it’s a view I guarantee exists in only three places in the world.”
She patted her chest.
“Iceland, Alaska, and Hama Valley.”
To put it mildly, this was the livelihood of hundreds of villagers in Hama Valley. To put it more grandly, it carried the dignity of the entire hot spring industry of the country.
Never mind what exactly “the national hot spring industry” even meant, and ignore the white tiles and red anti-slip mats underfoot for now.
Miss Ji’s expression carried a hint of regret.
“Actually, the previous developer said the same thing. He said it didn’t matter if things at the foot of the mountain looked like a public restroom—once the ‘Forest Ice-and-Fire Man’ project was completed, everything would get better.”
“…What the hell is that?”
—
**Author’s Note:
While I was thinking about what to write, I came across the news about the Yajiang Hydropower Station starting construction, and it suddenly connected with what I read in textbooks as a child…
Apparently it’s a twenty-year project. Before that, the canyon’s surreal scenery—snow leopards yawning with fluffy tails curled around them—along with system buffs and all kinds of mythical creatures, should be enough to support a lighthearted farming and management story like this. (￣︶￣)
It might not be a trending genre, but I’m going for it anyway. I humbly ask for your bookmarks, dear readers. (awkward transition) (kneels gently)