In late autumn, I went to the mountains to see the red maple leaves. The scenic area wasn't overdeveloped; the trails were the original mountain stone paths, making a soft, crunching sound underfoot. The red maple leaves covering the mountains looked like they were on fire, and the sunlight filtering through dappled the ground like scattered gold. Halfway up the mountain, there were vendors selling freshly cooked sugar-roasted hawthorns for ten yuan a skewer. They were sour and refreshing. Sitting on a rock, I slowly ate them, enjoying the mountain breeze and the red leaves. It was much more comfortable than visiting the artificially created "Instagrammable" Red Leaf Valley; it had absolutely no commercialized feel.