The rain finally stopped, and it felt a little bit chilly. We suddenly got the sense that we were already at the bottom of the "funnel". Breathing in the air and feeling that tranquility, we sat on the rock to wait for the sunshine to peek through the canopy of leaves above, when the light would be dispersed into rays of brilliance.

Setting off along the rugged path once more, we crested yet another peak before the ground started to flatten out. We could see a railway, farmland, and houses. We were back to our own world. Notifications of dozens of unread messages suddenly started filling my phone screen.

Not too bad. We finished the trek in seven-and-a-half hours, and overtook another team of walkers en route.

We found out that we could hire a driver for 100 yuan ($14) to take us back to Bizuo village along the rough road, but our guide suggested that we save the money and take a bus back.

"When will the bus come?" I asked.

"I don't know. It usually comes at this time of a day," He senior replied with a shrug.

We waited for the Godot-like bus for more than an hour. It didn't come.

"Hire a driver for us, please. We can afford 100 yuan," I finally said.

The man made a phone call and, shortly, a car arrived.

To our surprise, it's He senior's son, the innkeeper.

In the car, our host recounted how he took Grylls along the mountainous roads across Maolan to explore possible routes for his show's production.

"You have any photos with him?" I asked.

"Of course I have," he responded.

"Why don't you display it at your inn? It would be great marketing."

"It's only a TV show," he smiled. "And he was dropped by a helicopter into the cave you climbed yesterday."

Helicopter? Well, at least by doing it on foot, we outmatched him in some way, right?

The sunshine finally arrived the day we were due to leave. Who knows? Maybe it's a better time to visit the forest, but regret is an indispensable part of traveling. After all, we have reason to return, better prepared, of course.

Washed clean, He junior's sneakers were shining brilliant white on the windowsill.

Forgetting Wang Anshi's prose, I can now only recall the wisdom of Confucius: "A workman must first sharpen his tools if he is to do his work well."