Ghost of the Marble Gorge

The sun was already starting to hide behind the massive peaks of Taroko, turning the marble walls of the gorge into giant, glowing ghosts. In the distance, the Liwu River roared like a hungry dragon, its turquoise water crashing against white boulders.

“A-Hao! Wait for me! My legs are like jelly already!”

Twelve-year-old Mei-Lian wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her younger brother, A-Hao, who was ten and had way too much energy, didn’t even look back. He was busy chasing a bright blue butterfly—the kind their Abuela (Grandma) told them was a forest spirit.

“Hurry up, Siao-Mei! If we’re slow, the teacher will give all the biandang (lunch boxes) to the other kids. I want the one with the big pork chop!” A-Hao shouted, disappearing around a sharp bend in the Tunnel of Nine Turns.

“Hey! Don’t call me Siao-Mei! I’m the older sister!” Mei-Lian huffed, hiking up her heavy backpack.

They were supposed to be with Class 6-B from Hualien Elementary, but A-Hao had spotted a “secret path” near a shrine. Being a typical “thick-skinned” younger brother, he’d darted off before Mei-Lian could grab his shirt. By the time she caught up to the bend where he had disappeared, the trail was gone.

The air suddenly turned cold. The mist, or what the locals call “the mountain’s breath,” began to crawl down from the cliffs.

“A-Hao?” Mei-Lian called out. Her voice sounded small against the massive marble walls.

“Mei! Over here! I… I think I slipped.”

Mei-Lian scrambled down a steep, mossy slope. She found A-Hao sitting at the bottom of a dry creek bed. His knee was scraped, and his face was white as a steamed bun. They looked up. The main trail was twenty feet above them, hidden by thick ferns and jagged rocks.

“A-ya, you really are a troublemaker,” Mei-Lian sighed, though her heart was thumping like a drum. “Can you walk?”

“I think so. But Mei… where are the others? It’s getting real o-ma-ma (pitch black) out here.”

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The Whispers of the River

They tried to climb back up, but the marble was too slick. Every time they gained a foot, they slid back down.

“Listen,” Mei-Lian whispered. She remembered what their Abuelo used to say: If you lose your way in the gorge, let the Liwu River be your map. The river didn’t just make noise; it sang. It hummed a deep, vibrating bass that you could feel in your teeth. “We follow the water downstream,” Mei-Lian decided. “It leads back toward the bridge and the park headquarters.”

As they walked, the forest started to feel “crowded.” Not with people, but with shadows. The Formosan Rock Macaques—the local monkeys—were hooting in the trees, sounding like they were laughing at the two lost kids.

“Are there ghosts here?” A-Hao asked, clutching his sister’s sleeve. “People say the Marble Gorge is full of spirits who guard the stones.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Mei-Lian said, though she secretly gripped her jade pendant. “Just look for the Fern with the Silver Back. Abuela uses it for wounds.”

She spotted a clump of Pteris ferns. She showed A-Hao how to rub the underside of the leaf—the silver powder felt cool on his scraped knee. “See? The mountain provides if you aren’t a shua-pai (show-off) and actually pay attention.”

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The Bridge of Clouds

They reached a point where the creek met the main river. The sight was terrifying. The water was a swirling vortex of milky blue, cutting through walls of white stone that looked like giant teeth.

Suddenly, a thick fog rolled in. It wasn’t normal fog. It moved like it had a mind of its own, swirling into the shape of a tall figure.

“The Ghost!” A-Hao shrieked, hiding behind Mei-Lian.

Mei-Lian froze. The figure didn’t move. It wasn’t a ghost—it was an old, weathered wooden post of an ancient suspension bridge, long forgotten by the tourists. It looked like a person standing guard.

“It’s just wood, silly,” she breathed out, though her hands were shaking.

But as they moved past it, the wind whistled through the marble cracks. It sounded like a name: “Hwaaaa-liennn… Hwaaaa-liennn…”

“Did the river just say our hometown?” A-Hao whispered.

“It’s just the wind, Lao-Tei (Little Brother). But look! Wild guava!”

She pointed to a small tree clinging to the cliff. The fruit was small and hard, but when they bit into them, the sweetness gave them a burst of energy. They ate like they hadn’t seen food in years.

“We need to find a ‘Red Leaf’ tree,” Mei-Lian said, remembering her geography class. “The Maples grow near the lower exits. If we see red, we’re close to the road.”

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The Long Night

The stars came out, bright and sharp. The gorge looked like a different planet. They found a small cave—more like a hollow in the marble—and huddled together.

“Mei? Do you think Mom is crying?” A-Hao asked quietly.

“Mom is probably scolding the teacher right now,” Mei-Lian joked, trying to be brave. “And Dad is probably calling the search team with his big ‘boss’ voice.”

They fell asleep to the sound of the river. In her dreams, Mei-Lian saw a woman dressed in traditional Truku weaving, pointing toward a path hidden by a waterfall. The woman smiled, her eyes as bright as the marble crystals.

When the sun hit the top of the cliffs the next morning, Mei-Lian woke up with a start. “A-Hao! Look! The waterfall!”

Just around the bend, a thin ribbon of water fell from a height so great it looked like it was coming from the clouds. Behind the veil of water was a narrow ledge.

“That’s the ‘Spirit Path’ Abuela talked about!” Mei-Lian shouted.

They scrambled toward it. The path was narrow and wet, but it bypassed the dangerous rapids. As they walked behind the waterfall, the light caught the mist, creating a circular rainbow—a “Brocken Spectre.”

“Look! We’re inside a rainbow!” A-Hao cheered.

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The Return

Two hours later, the sound of the river changed. It grew quieter, wider. They turned a final corner and saw it: the red-painted steel of the Taroko Gate.

“I see the bus! I see the bus!” A-Hao started jumping like a wild frog.

A group of park rangers and their frantic teacher spotted them. “A-Hao! Mei-Lian!”

As they were wrapped in warm blankets and handed bottles of tea, Mei-Lian looked back at the gorge. The mist was lifting, and for a split second, she thought she saw a figure standing on the high marble cliffs, waving a hand in farewell.

“Did you see the ghost?” A-Hao asked, his mouth full of a fresh pork chop biandang.

Mei-Lian smiled, feeling the smooth marble pebble she’d tucked into her pocket. “Not a ghost, A-Hao. Just the mountain making sure we learned our lesson.”

“I’m never chasing butterflies again,” A-Hao promised, though five minutes later he was already trying to catch a lizard.

Mei-Lian laughed. They were home. The Marble Gorge was beautiful, but she was definitely ready for a long nap in a real bed.