“Wu-xia” are often “You-Xia” — the traveling men, who wrote and encountered adventures on their journeyes. Imitating them, I also traveled a lot during breaks; yet, there I was, lying in hotel beds, idly scrolling through my phone and editing photos took with friends, or sitting in tripadvisor’s top restaurants. In these moments, I felt disconnected from the true essence of a Wuxia — though I was traveling, but I didn’t feel any Wuxia at all; did that mean I’d never find Wuxia spirits in the modern world?
After tasting the freedom and carefreeness of riding the bike to Hangzhou and shortly backpacked, I just realized how much it resembled “Wuxia”. Since I didn’t stay in hotels nor travel in cars, I slept in a “dorm” during the day and embraced the night, cycling around the West Lake in the darkness at 12 AM, and saw the imagery and etherealness of “西湖悬玉钩[...]舟楫泛中流。目极想前事，神交如共游。瑶琴久已绝，松韵自悲秋。” Alone, I viewed the Su Di under the natural moonlight, feeling every ounce of my fatigue and worldly anxieties being forgotten and dissolving into the tranquil embrace of the lake. In the serenity, I felt a connection with the ancient souls who had once stood in the exact same spot, touched by the landscape’s tranquility and ethereal beauty, and thus chose to be a “traveler” — like what I’d do next. I realized that the spirit of Wuxia had never truly vanished; it was merely obscured, waiting to be rediscovered. The freedom and carefreeness about mundane concerns flooded back to me momentarily.
Since I do not want to be a mere traveler like I used to be, I resolved to visit everywhere on wheels, on foot, and with a backpack — that includes visiting Peru, or Latin America, where I feel a strong affinity for, not only in books but actually backpack there. To prepare for the challenging altitudes and the climbing up and downs in the Caste landscape expected, I dedicated two months to intensive cardio exercises and weight training, aiming to avoid the hardships I encountered on my ride to Hangzhou.
But when the locals informed me that one's reaction to high altitudes depends entirely on the sea level they came from, I quickly discovered that none of my training mattered against the altitude. It left me question the worthiness of the two months spent in the gym — that was during the AP month. Many precautions seemed unnecessary: my exercises didn't alleviate my headaches or fatigue on the high-altitude land; the anti-theft bags and locks I brought remained unused in the country far safer from crimes than “foreigners” had suggested; and, lastly, the boxing classes and practice matches I had taken for self-defense after the Tangshan incident didn’t help me remain calm when I was being catcalled and approached. In the actual threats, my response was paralyzing fear; I even felt that with gloves, I couldn’t defend myself — not to mention, protecting others like a Wu Xia. The ideals of Wu Xia, who wielded martial arts to protect the vulnerable and the innocent, seemed so distant.
Sharing these experiences with peers at the volunteer organization, a Chilean friend echoed my frustrations, and told me that catcalling and street harassment are prevailing — neither physical strength nor skills can reduce such risks or empower one. Now, both the Wuxia spirit and my boxing training felt impractical. The principles of courage, altruism, and self-sacrifice, even the very ability to defend others, seemed to be gone.
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