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From Introduction by Mabel Lee

In 1983 Gao Xingjian returned from [a knowledge that he was dying, based on
a misdiagnosis of lung cancer] to the reality of life and the rumour that
he was to be sent to the notorious prison farms of Qinghai province. He
made a quick decision to flee Beijing immediately, and taking an advance
royalty on his proposed novel, he absconded to the remote forest regions of
Sichuan province and then wandered along the Yangtze River from its source
down to the coast. By the time the "oppose spiritual pollution" campaign
had subsided and it was safe for his return to Beijing, he had travelled
for ten months over 15,000 kilometres of China.

These events of 1983 form the autobiographical substance of Soul Mountain,
the story of one man’s quest for inner peace and freedom.
Gao Xingjian’s brush with death had dislodged many forgotten fragments of his
past and he recaptures these as well as his emotional experience of
confronting death in Soul Mountain. Keeping his whereabouts secret, his
travels take him to the Qiang, Miao and the Yi districts located on the
fringes of Han Chinese civilization and he considers their traditions and
practices with the curiosity of an archaeologist, historian and writer. His
excursions into several nature reserves allow him to ponder the individual’s
place in nature; and his visits to Buddhist and Daoist institutions confirm
that these are not places for him. Although he admires the forest ranger
living the life of a virtual recluse and the solitary Buddhist
monk-cum-itinerant doctor, he realizes that he still craves the warmth of
human society, despite its anxieties. For the author, who has an obsessive
need for self-expression. Soul Mountain poses the question: when deprived of
human communication, will not the individual be condemned to the existence of
the Wild Man...?
    (read the intro at http://www.austlit.com/gao/soul-mabel-lee.html)

Quotes

The rich, the famous, and the nothing in particular all hurry back because
they are getting old. After all, who doesn't love the home of their
ancestors? They don't intend to stay, so they walk around looking relaxed,
talking and laughing loudly, and effusing fondness and affection for the
place. When friends meet they don't just give a nod or a handshake in the
meaningless ritual of city people, but rather they shout the person's name or
thump him on the back. Hugging is also common, but not for women. By the
cement trough where the buses are washed, two young women hold hands as they
chat. The women here have lovely voices and you can't help taking a second
look.
---
In the North, it is already late autumn but the summer heat hasn't completely
subsided. Before sunset, it is still quite hot in the sun and sweat starts
running down your back. You leave the station to have a look around. There's
nothing nearby except for the little inn across the road. It's an old-style
two-story building with a wooden shop front. Upstairs the floorboards creak
badly but worse still is the grime on the pillow and sleeping mat. If you
wanted to have a wash, you'd have to wait 'til it was dark to strip off and
pour water over yourself in the damp and narrow courtyard. This is a stopover
for the village peddlers and craftsmen.
---
At the time every city along the way had gone mad. Walls, factories, high
voltage poles, man-made constructions of any kind, were all covered in
slogans swearing to defend with one's life, to overthrow, to smash, and to
fight a bloody war to the end. As this train roared along there was the
singing of battle songs on the broadcast system on board and on the
loudspeakers outside in every place the train passed.