I turned on my phone, opened the College Board website, only to be met with the same text I had seen countless other times in the taxi: “Your AP scores will be available starting Wednesday, July 5th, 2023.” I turned off my phone again. Unfortunately for me, today was already July 5th, and seeing how China was 12 hours ahead of the eastern US, I had to wait until 8 PM—or another 7 hours—until I received my score. The taxi dropped off the four of us—my parents, my brother, and me—at the base of Emei Mountain, the tallest of the four sacred Buddhist mountains in China, just above 3,000 meters tall. There would be a difficult 4 hour climb before a gondola would take people the rest of the way. As I stood in the parking lot, the smell of lush vegetation and the muggy mountain air contrasted with the fumes from cars and smokers. I awkwardly stood in front of the visitor center. Hoping to not look out of place while waiting for my mom to get to the front of the line, I pulled out my phone; before my dad immediately ordered me to put it away. I shook my head but complied. I couldn't help my anxiety, as I needed the 5 on my AP Chinese exam. Part of my China trip was going to be a volunteering event, where I would be tutoring rural kids about science, math, English, and other activities, providing education to underfunded communities. However, one of the requirements was a 5 on the AP Chinese exam or an equivalent. Through some confusing signup process, I was able to register by essentially promising a 5 on this year's AP Chinese exam. As I trudged my way up the trail, the dense Sichuan fog began to clear. The gray sky provided a comforting cooling sensation as the climb became more arduous. My climbing efficiency dipped, as I found my family and I stopping more and more frequently. Wisps of fog rose as I took photos of the surrounding ferns, broad-leaved trees, mountains, and the occasional bird or monkey. Scaling the increasingly steep trail, my brother and I slowly pulled away from our parents and most of the other tourists. The deciduous surroundings were replaced by slender fir trees, and the sides of the path slowly became steep rock faces with sprouts of green dotting the sides of gray. Simultaneously, the stone path also became narrower, and each step became an undeniable reminder of my fatigue. I could not think about anything else besides rest. With my breaths becoming heavier and the gnawing in my legs increasing, I sought the railing for support. I blankly stared at the landscape ahead of me—a forested mountain on the left gradually descending, and a flat, sloping green valley below, expanding toward a miniscule city. Looking down, I felt a rising force start in my stomach then make its way toward my throat. In the face of the sheer openness before me, the worries over my modern-day problems were completely washed away by a mixture of awe, respect, and fear. My physical ailments were overtaken by an uplifting feeling of wonder and admiration. Feeling lighter on my feet, my brother and I continued to walk towards the gondola lift, where I continued to be overtaken by a sense of reverence for the landscape around me. Revitalized by an inexplicable force, my weariness from earlier slowly drained out of me, and I strode confidently towards the lift. Upon reaching the supposed “safe haven” which signaled the end stretch of my climb, I did not feel physical relief or boredom while waiting for my parents to catch up, but rather gazed into the distance in wonder. The gondola brought us above the fog, leaving the green portion of the mountain behind and carrying us toward the rocky peak. After a light twenty minute walk to the peak, the sun shone warmly in a cloudless sky save for a few wisps of cirrus. A small breeze ruffled my shirt, and as per my mom's orders, I tightened my hat.As it was getting late, we chose to have dinner at a small Buddhist temple, where we ate vegetarian dishes made with the local flora. After dinner, we finally walked to the large stone courtyard, where the centerpiece, an enormous gold statue of the Bodhisattva Pu Xian, towered over us. The 12-story statue, combined with the setting sun, began to replicate the same initial mixture of emotions I had first felt during the climb. After taking some pictures with the family, I walked to the stone fences lining the pavilion, and looked out at the sun cutting into the blanket of fog shrouding the land. I was approached by my brother: “It's 8 PM.” I opened my phone. My heart was steady, and I felt no fear, but rather a sense of calmness and inner peace. I opened the website without the restlessness I had felt in the morning. There, I was greeted by what would have been intense relief: a 5. Instead, I merely smiled, took a screenshot, and looked out onto the sunset.