In the Greater Khingan Mountains, where temperatures dropped to minus forty degrees Celsius, I turned myself into an "extreme cold experiment."
Arriving in the Greater Khingan Mountains, I finally understood what true winter meant.
The plane landed at Mohe Gulian Airport. The moment the cabin door opened, the -40°C air felt like a slap in the face, instantly dispelling all drowsiness. My eyelashes frosted over within seconds, my breath condensed into a mist before my eyes, and even breathing felt like a knife cutting into my skin—this was the Greater Khingan Mountains' most solemn greeting to every visitor from afar. A friend texted to ask if I was cold, and I replied with two words: "Alive."
This extreme cold is a source of pride for the people of the Greater Khingan Mountains. This winter, with "The Greater Khingan Mountains in textbooks, where winter begins in the motherland" as its core brand, the region is showcasing its "five extreme characteristics": extremely early winter, extremely northern location, extremely cold climate, aurora borealis, and extremely pure ice and snow, extending a "cold yet passionate" invitation to tourists nationwide.
And I came to keep that invitation.
At the "Coldest Place in China," I became a guinea pig for a low-temperature experiment.
Driving south from Mohe, I made a special trip to the "Coldest Place in China"—Genhe City's Cold Pole Village. Here, the lowest recorded temperature reached -58°C. Villagers transformed their courtyards into "low-temperature experimental fields": capturing the instant water freezes upon being splashed, comparing the insulation performance of different clothing materials, and even testing how quickly a mobile phone would automatically shut down in the extreme cold—these "experiments" became the most popular activities.
I couldn't resist either, carrying a cup of boiling water into the courtyard. With a sweeping motion, I forcefully splashed it into the air—the boiling water instantly vaporized into countless ice crystals in the -30°C air, exploding into a giant ice mist flower in the sky, as dazzling and fleeting as fireworks. At that moment, the onlookers gasped in unison, as if we weren't just splashing water, but collectively creating our own extreme cold miracle.
In the snow-covered forests, rediscover your heartbeat by snowmobile.
If "pouring water into ice" is the ritual of extreme cold, then snowmobile forest crossing is the thrill of extreme speed. This year, Mohe launched a new snowmobile forest crossing project, allowing you to traverse the snow-covered forests of the Greater Khingan Mountains and experience exhilarating speed in frigid weather.
Put on your helmet, hop on the snowmobile, and twist the throttle as you rush into the birch forest. Forty-degree Celsius winds rush in from all directions, making your face numb, but your heart beats faster and faster. Sunlight filters through the birch branches, casting dappled shadows on the snow. The snowmobile rolls over the thick powder snow, kicking up a cloud of snow. At that moment, the cold is no longer torture, but the perfect complement to speed—the colder, the more exhilarating.
In Beiji Village, reindeer, heated brick beds, and the ever-burning smoke of human habitation.
After nightfall, I stayed at a local villager's home in Beiji Village. Pushing aside the heavy cotton curtain, a wave of heat, a mixture of the aromas of firewood and cooked food, rushed out. The kang (heated brick bed) was scorching hot; sitting cross-legged on it, the warmth shot from my tailbone to the top of my head, instantly dispelling the chill of the entire day. The host brought out a pot of stewed goose, bubbling on the stove; a bite of frozen pears and persimmons, these "icy desserts," was sweet, sour, and refreshing, creating a wonderful echo with the extreme cold outside. Thick frost flowers clung to the windowpanes, yet the house was so warm it made me want to doze off.
The next morning, I went to the reindeer park outside the village. Those gentle creatures had beautiful antlers and thick fur. I offered them moss from my palm, and they came closer, their noses gently touching my fingertips—a ticklish, warm sensation. At that moment, I suddenly realized that the extreme cold of the Greater Khingan Mountains didn't mean icy—the people and animals of this land, in their own way, made winter the warmest season.
Those chasing the aurora, frozen stiff, still smile.
Late at night, I crouched in Jinji Crown Square, wrapped in two down jackets, waiting for the aurora. My phone showed a low KP value, the moon was bright, and the locals said not to have high hopes. But I refused to give up—having come all this way, I felt something was missing if I didn't chase the aurora. Aurora chasers from all over the country gathered in small groups, some carrying telephoto lenses, others holding hot ginger tea, all gazing northwards, waiting quietly. The night wind, below -30 degrees Celsius, felt like knives cutting my face, my eyelashes were covered in ice crystals, my toes were numb with cold, but no one gave up.
That night, the aurora didn't appear. But as I left, I glanced back. The people in the square were still there, starlight spilled onto the snow, everyone's face was red from the cold, but they were all smiling. Suddenly, I understood—the meaning of chasing the aurora isn't about whether you see it or not, but about being willing to wait for hours in the dead of night, in -40 degrees Celsius, for a possible glimpse of green.
On the day I left the Greater Khingan Mountains, I bought a stack of postcards at the airport. The postmark from the northernmost post office, bearing the words "Arctic Village," carried more weight than any souvenir. Before leaving, I wrote a sentence for myself on one of the postcards: "You once stood in the coldest place in China, but your heart has never felt so warm."
💡 Practical Tips: Winter temperatures in the Greater Khingan Mountains often range from -30 to -40°C. Be sure to dress warmly; down jackets, snow boots, hats, gloves, scarves, and hand warmers are all essential. "Onion-style" layering is recommended, as there are significant temperature differences between indoors and outdoors. Mohe's attractions are scattered; it's advisable to hire a car or join a small group tour. Accommodation in Arctic Village and Cold Pole Village needs to be booked at least a week in advance during peak season. If you want to chase the aurora, download an aurora forecast app in advance and pay attention to the KP index; a KP of ≥3 indicates a higher probability of observation. Keep your photography equipment warm; mobile phones are prone to shutting down automatically in low temperatures, so it's recommended to keep them close to your body and carry a power bank.