The crimson flag is flying strong, the embroidered golden stars barely visible in the distance. It whips back and forth, perched atop the highest point in our horizon like a taunt; bet you can’t get up here.

I look back down to the first step. An extensive flat stone lies cracked and worn in front of me, age spots showing like old skin. The rock walls that flank either side are beginning to crumble with age, and scraggly bushes have managed to take refuge in the crevices. I’m beginning to feel like climbing such a structure would be accepting an unavoidable demise.

Wang Lin stands behind me, waving his fan high in the air to garner the attention of the tour group and clustering them together like bowling pins. He’s explaining the history of the wall while his head displays yet another fantastic hairpiece - today, he’s sporting an umbrella hat. As always, he rocks it.

A voice behind me suddenly shouts encouragement; “Very many luck!” Surprised, I turn to search for it’s owner, and my eyes fall on a squat little man, fat and round like Buddha. He’s resting on a broken plastic stool, clearly straining under his expansive girth, and he’s missing at least three teeth.

He points to the wall. “Go up like warrior!” he calls to me, a broad smile curving across his face.

Before I can respond, an equally squat woman appears on the scene - and by the dread on Buddha-man’s face, I can reasonably surmise that they’re acquaintances. A ferocious flurry of Mandarin erupts from her mouth as she grabs him by the arm, her face contorted with anger. A massive basket is slunk across her back, and she reaches in to it, pulling out a stuffed Mongolian camel toy.

She then proceeds to thwack him with it.

The other locals don’t even react, but my fellow tourists tourists stand and gawk at the spectacle - one man even takes a photo. I’m hastily ushered from the scene by Wang Lin. “What just happened?” I ask him.

“He hasn’t sold enough souvenirs today. His wife thinks he’s a l?nduò de zh?.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks amused. “Lazy pig.”

Before I know it, I’m back where I started - Wang Lin has placed me smack dab in front of the steps again. All 8,756 of them. They seem to climb endlessly towards the sky, each flight singing promise of sore calves. But then my eyes are drawn back to that mocking little flag, that flag that sits on the highest lookout tower, and I feel an inexplicable urge to climb it. I can beat that flag. How bad can a few steps be?

Three hours later, I’m in agony.

Lack of water has brought me to the brink of delirium, and I’m stumbling so much that I have to grasp the side of the wall to drag myself forward. Blisters have blossomed across the sides of my feet, and the scorching sun has made it’s mark on my now scarlet flesh. But the worst is my thighs - lord, my thighs!

The only thing that’s kept me from expiration is Wang Lin, whom, despite having made the exact climb I have, is completely fine. He cheers me on like I’m breaking a world record (more likely because I’m the only one of our tour group who decided to make the climb) and his voice is rising to hysteria as I put one foot in front of another.

“One more step, madam!” I can feel my own mania growing as the end approaches. My limbs scream in protest, but I make them push, one after another, climbing frantically and Wang Ling is practically squealing with excitement. I ignore the infernal burning that incinerates my butt cheeks, and I keep going and before I know it, I’m there, my feet planted on the floor of the lookout point - finished.

Wang Lin is beside himself. “Yes, madam! You did it!”
I’m sore, tired, and drenched in sweat, but with a self-satisfied smile, I gaze out onto the view around me. The tree-clad mountain ranges dip and slope before us, with the sun still hanging high enough to illuminate the valleys. That crimson flag is fixed on the wall next to me, drooping slightly in the wake of my glorious victory, and I breathe deeply, savouring my own impressiveness.

Suddenly I feel a light prod on my arm. I spin around, wondering why Wang Lin would dare disturb me in the middle of my basking. But it’s not Wang Lin’s face that smiles back at me - this one has much fewer teeth.

Buddha-man.

I splutter with outrage. How could this man have beaten me up here? Not only did I leave first, I’m also at least a hundred pounds lighter than him! I glance behind him and see that he’s also got that basket of stupid stuffed camels fastened to his back - that’s got to weigh another fifty pounds at least. The man is a walking weight - how did he beat me?!

“It’s not possible!” I blurt out, and Buddha-man retreats slightly, clearly alarmed at my degree of derangement. Confusion is plastered on his face, and he says something in Mandarin.

I whip my head towards Wang Lin. “What he’d say?!”
The tour guide doesn’t meet my eyes, looking highly uncomfortable. “He asks… do you want to buy a camel?” he offers evasively.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “Ask him if there’s a shortcut! There has to be a shortcut!” Wang Lin reluctantly complies.

For a moment, the man looks extremely bewildered, and he scratches his head, taking in my sweat-drenched figure. Then understanding flashes across his face, and he begins to laugh. He points towards a small sign that’s attached to the other side of the lookout:

“Chair Lift This Way”.