Oxygen Absorption at Huangtupo

On the vast land of Malong in Qujing, there is a little-known yet poetically hidden place—Huangtupo. It doesn’t appear on the front pages of travel guides, nor does it have eye-catching signboards to direct you. It quietly lies embraced by surrounding mountains, like an old letter forgotten in the corners of time, waiting for someone with a heart to gently unfold it. I arrived here on a spring morning. The morning mist had not yet dispersed, and the soft sunlight slanted over the rolling yellow-brown slopes. The entire valley seemed draped in a layer of golden gauze. Looking into the distance, the hills rolled forward like waves, the ridges winding like threads, and the rapeseed flowers were in full bloom. The bright yellow intertwined with the earthy brown, resembling a coarse yet warm cloth woven by the earth itself. Huangtupo has no spectacular or shocking sights; its beauty is simple, everyday, and earthy. There are no scenic area fences, no sightseeing cable cars, only a gravel path leading deep into the village. Along the way, farmers have already begun their work: an old man drives an ox to plow the field, the black ox treads slowly through the muddy water, the plow turns up moist soil, releasing the most primal fragrance; several women squat by the ditch washing vegetables, their laughter drifting on the wind, crisp like water striking stones. Entering the village, the houses mostly have earthen walls and blue tiles, the plaster is weathered but still sturdy. Some families are drying chili peppers, corn, and cured meat in their yards, the atmosphere of daily life is palpable. A villager surnamed Li invited me in for tea. He said, “We have been poor here, and people called us ‘barren slope,’ but we have never despised this land.” He pointed to the terraced fields outside the window, “Look, as long as you’re willing to farm, even yellow earth can produce gold.” The most touching moment is when the afternoon sunlight floods the hillside. I sat on a high hill quietly watching the play of light and shadow: the sunlight crawled inch by inch up the slope, illuminating the newly plowed ridges, the smoke rising from rooftops, and the children running in the distance. A local dog lazily napped in front of a door, chickens scratched for food in the yard, a century-old pear tree blossomed with white flowers, and when the wind blew, petals fluttered like snow—this scene was so peaceful yet full of life’s strength. Huangtupo is also an important place for preserving Malong’s traditional folk customs. Every year on the eighth day of the second lunar month, the village holds the “Soil Worship Festival.” Villagers carry offerings to the top of the slope to burn incense and pray for blessings, thanking the land for its harvest. They believe that although the yellow earth is barren, it is the most honest: the more sweat you shed, the more grain it returns to you. Walking here, you slowly understand: the true beauty of the countryside is not in being stunning, but in resilience; not in embellishment, but in authenticity. Huangtupo does not cater to trends, nor does it chase excitement. It simply exists in its most genuine form—with a slope, a well, a family, and the farming and harvest of four seasons, telling the simplest survival philosophy of Chinese rural life. If you are tired of carefully packaged “internet-famous villages,” why not take a trip to Huangtupo in Malong. No need to check in, no filters required, just barefoot walk on the warm soil, listen to the sound of the wind blowing through the wheat seedlings, and you will understand: the most touching scenery has never been the noise of distant places, but this silent yet affectionate land beneath your feet, which says nothing, yet has already written all the answers to life into every grain of sand, every blade of grass, every sunrise and sunset.