Go to Wuhan, beside the pulse of the Yangtze River, watch the white clouds stretch for thousands of years atop Yellow Crane Tower, and encounter the city's hottest fireworks and vibrant life amid the morning aroma of hot dry noodles.
Go to Jiangxi, follow the rhythm of ancient poetry, explore the millennia-old porcelain language hidden among the green mountains and waters, or understand a kind of pastoral poetry that belongs to the East, ancient and vivid, amid the autumn-drying colors of Huangling.
Going to Daocheng Yading, gazing toward the sky of the western Sichuan plateau, just to catch a glimpse of the pure milk sea beneath the snowy peaks, turning the hypoxia from the plateau into a deep breath of the soul, and regaining the original devotion and tranquility before the sacred mountain.
Go to Inner Mongolia, ride a horse beneath the boundless grass and drifting clouds, chase a gust of wind, spend the night in a yurt under the starry sky, and feel the vastness of heaven and earth and the freedom of life.
