I have hiked in the Alps and scrambled over rocks in Utah, but nothing prepared me for the scale of Wulong.
The drive from Chongqing city took three hours, winding through misty tunnels and green mountains. By the time I arrived at the visitor center, the air was significantly cooler. It smelled of wet earth and pine needles.
The journey starts with a glass elevator. I stood by the transparent wall as we descended 80 meters into the earth. The sky above shrank rapidly until it was just a sliver of white light. When the doors opened, I stepped out into a different world.
I was at the bottom of a giant sinkhole. Towering above me were limestone cliffs that looked like they had been sliced by a god's sword. This is the realm of the "Three Natural Bridges"—Tianlong (Sky Dragon), Qinglong (Green Dragon), and Heilong (Black Dragon). They aren't bridges in the human sense; they are the remains of a collapsed cave ceiling, massive stone arches that connect the canyon walls.
I walked down the winding stone path. The silence was heavy. Even the tourists spoke in whispers here. The scale of the rock makes you feel insignificant, like an ant crawling across a cathedral floor.
Then, I turned a corner and saw it: the Tianfu Official Post.
If you've seen the movie Curse of the Golden Flower, you know this building. It sits in the shadow of the Tianlong Bridge, a complex of low, wooden buildings with dark grey tile roofs and red lanterns. From high above, against the sheer grey walls of the cliff, it looks like a toy house.
I walked into the courtyard. The wood was damp. I imagined the ancient couriers who used to stop here, horses sweating, carrying messages across this impossible terrain. It felt isolated, a tiny outpost of humanity in a land ruled by stone giants.
Leaving the outpost, the path led me deeper into the gorge. This was my favorite part of the hike. The vegetation here is prehistoric. Ferns the size of umbrellas hung from the dripping rocks. Moss covered everything in a thick, green velvet. A small stream trickled beside the path, the water crystal clear and ice-cold.
I reached the Green Dragon Bridge. This is the highest of the three, soaring 281 meters above the ground. I had to crane my neck back so far it hurt just to see the top. Water was dripping from the arch, falling hundreds of meters in slow motion. When the droplets hit my face, they felt like rain from a different time zone.
At the Black Dragon Bridge, the canyon narrowed. The light dimmed. The rock here was darker, looming and oppressive. It felt like walking into the throat of a beast. I saw waterfalls cascading down the sides, turning into mist before they hit the ground.
There is a specific spot where you can look up and see the sky framed by the rocks in the shape of a perfect eagle. I stopped and stared. It’s easy to see why legends are born here. In a landscape this dramatic, your mind starts to invent dragons and spirits just to explain it.
The hike out was a steep climb, but I refused the sedan chair carriers offering a ride. I wanted to feel the burn in my legs. I wanted to earn the view.
When I finally emerged back into the sunlight at the top of the canyon, I felt dazed. The modern world—the parking lot, the buses, the vending machines—felt jarring. I looked back down into the abyss. It was hidden now, a secret world buried beneath the green canopy.
Wulong isn't just a scenic spot. It’s a lesson in humility. It reminds you that the earth is old, powerful, and incredibly beautiful, and we are just passing through.