Fragrant Hills

Listen to the path under your feet. Dry leaves crackle on the stone steps, and somewhere above you a bell moves in the wind. The air feels cooler and softer than the air in the city below. On clear days it carries the smell of pine resin and damp earth. You are on the eastern slopes of the Western Hills, at the edge of Beijing, in a park the Chinese call Xiangshan... Fragrant Hills.

The name has a simple explanation, and it is a good one. The highest summit here is called Incense Burner Peak. Two large rocks near the top were said to look like an incense burner. On misty mornings, cloud gathers around the peak and drifts upward like smoke from burning incense. So the hills became fragrant in name, even when the only real scent is pine. Look up toward the summit as you climb. On a hazy day you may see the same effect.

That peak has a second, more playful nickname. Locals call it Guijianchou, which means roughly that even a ghost would worry about climbing it. The summit rises a little over five hundred metres, and the stone stairs are steep in places. The name is a joke, but your legs will understand it. Many visitors take the cable car up and walk down. If you climb, take your time. The view of Beijing opens slowly behind you.

People came to these hills long before the park existed. Emperors of several dynasties used the slopes for temples, retreats and hunting. During the twelfth century, rulers of the Jin dynasty built here. Later generations added halls and gardens. The hills offered something the walled capital could not offer — clean air, running springs and distance from the court. For an emperor, a few hours on horseback brought him into a different world.

The great expansion came in the eighteenth century under the Qianlong Emperor, one of the longest-ruling emperors of the Qing dynasty. In the 1740s he turned the area into an imperial garden called Jingyi Yuan, the Garden of Tranquillity and Pleasure. It held dozens of scenic spots, each with a poetic name. Qianlong loved to name things, and he loved to write poems about them. Many inscriptions in these hills come from his brush.

Here comes a part of the story many visitors miss. Most of what Qianlong built no longer stands in its original form. In 1860, British and French troops burned imperial gardens around Beijing at the end of the Second Opium War. In 1900, foreign armies damaged the area again. Much of what you see today is rebuilt, repaired or restored. So look at the buildings as layers. Old foundations sit under newer walls.

One survivor sits on the northern slopes. It is the Temple of Brilliance, a Tibetan-style complex that Qianlong built in 1780 for a visit by the Panchen Lama, one of the most senior figures in Tibetan Buddhism. Its thick, pale walls look very different from the wooden halls of Chinese temples. Behind it stands a glazed-tile pagoda. Small bells hang from its eaves. When the wind blows, you hear them before you see them.

Now the second surprise. The famous red leaves of Fragrant Hills are not mostly maple leaves, as many people assume. The main colour comes from the smoke tree, a shrub with round leaves that turn deep red in autumn. In late October and early November, whole slopes change colour. Crowds of Beijing residents come to see it. People here sometimes describe the effect as a red tide moving up the hills.

The park also holds a piece of modern history. In the spring of 1949, Mao Zedong lived for several months at Shuangqing Villa, a quiet compound inside the park. From here, the Communist leadership directed the last stages of the civil war and planned the move into the capital. The villa is small and calm, with a pond and old trees. It is easy to walk past without realising what happened inside.

At the park's northern edge stands the Temple of Azure Clouds. Its white Diamond Throne Pagoda rises in tiers above the trees. The temple also has a hall filled with hundreds of carved arhats, Buddhist figures who reached enlightenment. After Sun Yat-sen, the founder of the Republic of China, died in 1925, his coffin rested at this temple for several years. Later it moved to his mausoleum in Nanjing.

Near the main gate, you may notice a building that looks both Chinese and modern at the same time. This is the Fragrant Hill Hotel, designed by the architect I. M. Pei and opened in 1982. Pei, who was born in China, worked with white walls, grey trim and courtyard gardens. He wanted a modern building that still felt rooted in Chinese tradition. Architects still travel here to study it.

The hills also connect to literature. Local tradition holds that Cao Xueqin, the author of the classic novel Dream of the Red Chamber, spent his last years in villages near these slopes. Scholars still debate the details. A small memorial in the area remembers him. Whether or not the story is fully true, it fits the place. Quiet hills, old gardens and fading noble families are all part of his novel.

As you walk on, notice the small things. Notice the moss in the cracks of the old steps. Notice the pine bark, rough and scaled like armour. Listen for older visitors singing or playing music at the pavilions in the early morning. Many Beijing residents come here every week. For them, this is not a monument. It is a place for exercise, conversation and fresh air.

Before you leave, stop for a moment and look back at the slope you have climbed. The light on the leaves will change as the sun moves. The bells of the pagoda may still be ringing behind you. Emperors, monks, soldiers and writers all walked these paths. Now it is your turn... and the hills will look a little different the next time you come.