At the Gate of the Temple: Meeting the Heart of the Mountain
Post 3 in the Qing Cheng Mountain Journey
The walk to Jian Fu Gong is simple and unassuming—a wooden plank path winding quietly through the Qing Cheng forest. The air is cool, damp, alive. The path leads to a small side parking area used by those who work in the nearby shops, and just a few steps beyond that, you arrive directly at the temple gate.
Nothing dramatic announces your arrival.
And yet, everything changes there.
Mount Qing Cheng is a pilgrimage site for all of China. During summer and holidays, the mountain swells with people—families, practitioners, tourists, pilgrims. Then, just as quickly, it returns to stillness.
It was mid-April. There was still a chill in the mountain air as I stepped through the gate and began walking up the stone steps toward the formal entrance of the temple.
My head was full of doubt.
What was I going to say?
What if I wasn’t welcomed?
What if this all blew up in my face?
Praying silently to be received well, I walked toward my Master’s official desk.
She turned around.
I stood there with hands folded, bowing—equal parts reverence and fear—mumbling my best attempt at a greeting in Chinese.
She looked at me and said plainly:
“Who are you?”
Zhang Ming Xin is a short but fierce woman.
She is the 20th-generation Abbot of the Dragon Gate Daoist Sect (Dan Tai Bei Dong) and the Senior Abbot of Jian Fu Gong. She carries herself with unmistakable authority and warmth. Her laugh reveals her Sichuan accent—and a mischievous sense of humor.
She is deeply respected in the community and has dedicated her life to preserving and transmitting a lineage 24 generations old.
Qing Cheng Mountain is considered the wellspring of Taoism.
And she is the heart of the mountain.
Standing in her presence, I knew—without exaggeration—that the fate of my life rested in her hands.
Nervous and fumbling, I tried to explain who I was and where I came from. My Chinese was poor, and my nerves made it worse.
Sensing the moment, Master Zhang called out to the small crowd of visitors nearby and asked if anyone spoke English.
Immediately, a woman standing on the other side of a red pillar called out “I know English!” and walked towards us eager to help.
She walked over and spoke to me in English.
I instantly confessed how nervous I was.
She smiled and reassured me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” she said.
She was with her husband, and soon we were all sitting together at Master Zhang’s table—her office, right there in the open temple space.
For the next ten to fifteen minutes, we talked. We introduced ourselves. We bridged worlds.
Then Master Zhang handed each of us a yellow paper talisman, stamped and folded into a triangle—a blessing granting free entry to hike the mountain.
And just like that…
This is where my adventure with my new interpreters began.
To be continued…
