China in the Treetops

This book is a new edition of China in the Treetops， the first work created by Mr. Liang Heng with the theme of ancient trees， which records the historical rise and fall witnessed by many ancient trees on the land of China， perfectly integrating nature and human history. The book fully expresses the humanistic forest concept of “an ancient tree is a textbook of history.”

Beneath our feet， the most noteworthy elements are the groundcover plants like ferns and mosses. These form the forest’s lush carpet， a moist cradle for all life here. Each fern frond bears seven or eight leaves， each resembling intricate paper cuttings or woodcuts. Their shapes， though lacking fluid lines， possess a sculptural solidity akin to engraved stone. Dating back to the age of dinosaurs， ferns are the most ancient inhabitants of this forest. Despite their age， their vibrant green hues shine like a cluster of luminous gem flowers in the forest’s dim depths. As for mosses， they were common in my childhood， often seen as a green fuzz on the ground after rain. However， the moss here， nourished by the damp environment and fertile soil， grows into fine， grass-like strands that weave into dense carpets. The locals call it “moss grass.” It thrives on the ground， trees， and rocks， painting the world green without leaving any blank spaces. Gently enveloping each lifeless log， mosses give dignity back to fallen trees. Whether upright， leaning， or lying flat， the decaying trunks retain a semblance of life， dressed in moss’s verdant attire. Green moss and dead wood quietly collaborate in the transformation of life. Atop the massive rocks， there grows a special kind of moss grass. It is said that chewing on a single strand can cure prostatitis， the most feared ailment by men. Meanwhile， hazelnuts， blueberries， mushrooms， and wild grapes cluster around tree roots， draping the branches， all within arm’s reach. Walking here feels like stepping into a fairytale world.

The true beauty of this old-growth forest lies in its towering trees， especially those that coexist with rocks. One such tree， a living one， has firmly planted itself atop a solid rock， resembling a missile lodged in stone， smooth and poised to launch. Its trunk stands robust and imposing， akin to a rocket prepared for takeoff. At first glance， the sight left me stunned， unable to move， as if time and space had frozen. It was a red pine， which might have begun its life as a seed landing on the stone. Relying on the forest’s humidity， it sprouted and grew. Yet， its fate seemed ill-starred， confined from birth to the smooth， barren stone surface. Its tiny roots explored the surroundings， clutching onto minuscule bits of soil and settling into slight depressions to gather moisture and energy. Pine trees have a unique ability: their roots secrete an acidic substance that gradually softens and erodes stone. The Chinese idiom “mutual support in times of difficulty” describes fish relying on each other’s breath to survive， but this pine used its life’s essence to soften an inanimate rock. Over time， it persuaded the stubborn stone to yield a small crevice. There， the tree anchored a root and continued its tireless cycle of softening， burrowing， and seeking. Eventually， it raised a banner of life on the unyielding rock. Now， the red pine’s trunk measures 40 centimeters in diameter， about the size of a small washbasin. Although not particularly large， experts estimate its age to be over 90 years. Filming this life’s symphony with a time-lapse camera and replaying it in slow motion would be nothing short of awe-inspiring.

If that red pine embodies masculine strength， another tree nearby displays feminine grace. Growing on a narrow， elongated slab of rock， its two main roots cling tightly to the stone’s edges， extending left and right to support its trunk. The entire tree forms a “T” shape， resembling a gymnast performing a perfect split， or a woman poised elegantly in midair or grounded in an impressive stretch. The two roots resemble her slender legs， while the trunk serves as her graceful body， upright and proud， gazing forward. This is the first time I have seen tree roots and trunks equally proportioned， both symmetrical and beautiful. In southern rainforests， I’ve encountered chaotic aerial roots; on the North China Plain， I’ve seen knobby roots of old locust trees. But never before have I witnessed such resolute yet effortless roots sprawling across a rock. It’s hard to tell where the roots end and the stone begins. I suspect their molecules have already merged， blending seamlessly. This tree has absorbed the stone’s resilience while etching delicate curves — a true “beauty of the secluded valley.”

In this primeval forest， almost every towering giant is breathtaking， vibrant， and silently alive. Some grip round stones like eagles clutching prey， their roots tightly clasping. Others wrap their roots around square rocks as if bundling goods with cloth. Sometimes they even leave small exposed rock surfaces like tiny windows. Ultimately， the trees first conquer the stones with their roots， then persistently grow skyward. Observing trees in a primeval forest is never monotonous like in a plantation， as the endless natural elements and the passage of time create infinite combinations， producing breathtaking， irreplicable artistry. These trees — what are they striving for?

Liang Heng

Liang Heng is a well-known scholar， news theorist， and writer. He has been engaged in journalism for a long time， and has served as a reporter for Guangming Daily. He is the deputy director of the National Press and Publication Administration， and deputy editor-in-chief of People’s Daily.