Huangshan is a range of seventy-two granite peaks in Anhui province, eastern China, and it is the landscape that taught the country to paint. The name has nothing to do with colour. In 747 a Tang emperor renamed it for Huangdi, the legendary Yellow Emperor, said to have refined an elixir of life and ascended to heaven here. What the painters came for is the cloud. On more than two hundred days a year the yúnhǎi, the sea of clouds, pours white into the valleys until only the summits stand out of it, then shifts and parts within minutes. It is likeliest on a morning that clears after a wet spell, so you sleep in a hotel on the summit and climb by headlamp in the dark. You wait in the cold at a lookout such as Bright Summit or the Refreshing Terrace. As the sun clears the horizon it catches the white below and turns it copper-gold, and the peaks kindle one by one.
Stone steps are cut into the rock all over the mountain, running along sheer walls, and a new spire opens at every turn. Three cableways take the climb out of the approach for most people. At the Jade Screen the Welcome Pine holds its branches out over the drop, and the granite spires framed between its twisted boughs are the picture everyone takes. The tree is reckoned more than 1,500 years old and has a keeper watching it day and night. Off the ridge the West Sea Grand Canyon falls away on narrow stairways and plank walkways pinned to the walls under you, and a monorail saves you the climb out. In late April and May wild azaleas flush the terraces red, pink and white. In the 1600s masters like Hongren and Shitao came up to sketch the pines and cliffs, and painted them for the rest of their lives. Their Huangshan school turned these mist-cut peaks into the template for Chinese landscape art. Shitao put it plainly: Huangshan is my teacher, and I am a friend to Huangshan.