Everyone warns you about the stairs in Lushan, but nobody prepares you for the mist. I arrived at the Five Old Men Peaks expecting a sweeping view of the Yangtze River. Instead, I got a face full of white. At first, I was frustrated—I’d hiked an hour for a photo of clouds. But then, something shifted. With visibility down to ten meters, the world shrank to the crunch of gravel under my boots and the creak of the old cable cars. I sat on a damp rock and listened. No tour groups, no horns, just the wind moving through the pines. A local vendor appeared out of nowhere, selling steamed corn. He laughed and said, "You can't see the mountains today, but you can taste the air." He was right; the damp, crisp air tasted clean. Is it better to see a famous view or to have the mountain all to yourself in a cloud? I’m starting to think the mist is the real attraction.