As I trekked through the mists of the Huang Shan mountains, I came upon a young man painting the scenery with traditional brush and ink on rice paper. He smiled proudly as he showed me his work. It was indeed quite beautiful...for a painting, but it paled in comparison to the living scene before my eyes: a silken shimmer of pastel clouds clinging in tendrils to the tops of mountains, an endless dance of wind and fog that alternately revealed and concealed subtle changes in the dark hills beneath. How futile it must feel for a mere mortal to try to...
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