A (true) short story I wrote about a hike I did near Guilin.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face as I stared at the mountain towering over me. I followed its steep, rough terrain upwards until it disappeared in a thick, grey fog. The road behind me was completely silent, and the Li River on its other side lay perfectly still, reflecting images of the karst landscapes it peacefully snaked through. The windless dawn was warm and humid, and I stood alone with the sound of my heavy breathing. China's Guanxi province was famous for its remarkably-shaped limestone mountains, and my love of hiking had brought me to XingPing, a quiet town away from the hustle and bustle of busy travel hubs in the area.

I smiled as I eyed the path in front of me and turned to register my surroundings. On the other side of the road, through the haze, I made out the outline of a man. Shrugging, I tackled the climb.

I quickly collected a selection of mud, scratches and bruises as I slipped and skidded on uneven steps, mossy rocks, and bristly plants. After I’d broken a hot sweat, I looked back to see how far I’d come, and a wave of uneasiness came over me as I recognised the silhouette making its way up behind me. I picked up my pace as my thoughts began to wander. I was in a remote town, at dawn, on a one-way, rickety path to the peak of a mountain, followed by a man who did not look like a hiker. Perhaps my thirst for adventure had met consequences.

After hours of nervous trekking, I met the final obstacle to the top: a wobbly ladder loosely propped against the mountain’s wall. I climbed it cautiously as it creaked, protesting my weight. The view from the top was miraculous. Above the fog, groups of mountains competed for height and size in a tight semi-circle, an enthralling row of glorious, crooked teeth.

I heard footsteps and deduced that my hiking partner had caught up with me. When no one joined me on the summit, I surreptitiously looked down by the ladder, and found a man examining the ground inquisitively. I speculated his motives for braving the hike without the reward of the plateau’s views. My chest tightened.

I waited on the peak for a long time before apprehensively climbing down the ladder. I felt the man’s eyes on me as I passed him, but I couldn’t look at him. I raced down the path alert, continually looking back. He was never far behind.

At the base I ran back into the fog, only realising days later that I never thanked the man who’d accompanied me on a laborious path for hours, whose only concern had been my safety.

Giulia Sciota