Along the rugged mountain road on the top of the cliff are steep cliffs everywhere, some with drops of tens of meters. Walking halfway up the mountain, you feel that the surrounding mountains were cut out with a huge ax. Perhaps it is no surprise that a poignant love story is attached to these cliffs. Legend has it that this place was smashed down by the Dragon King with a sword, so it is to the supernatural craftsmanship of nature that we owe our eternal gratitude.

Unfortunately we just missed the sunrise, but glancing downward I spotted a small fishing boat creating wavelets that glistened in the sun's rays, the gleaming ripples disturbing an otherwise still expanse of blue. It was then I realized how entranced I had become with this island's poetic and sensuous glories.

Soon it would be time to leave. We arrived at the pier and boarded the ferry, over which hung a sullen quietness, as though the magic spell had been broken and leaving the island had jolted everyone into returning to their self. Like an ebb-tide wave my heart rejoiced in going home, but at the same time sorry to farewell Gouqi so soon.

As the Beijing heat does its best yet again to torment me, the sea breeze, the beaches and the sights and sounds of a fishing village linger in my mind, leaving me panting for more.