Chengdu | Returning to Pujiang’s Simple Life: I Just Want to Be a Joyful Village Woman in Mingyue Village

As I toast, roll up the curtain, and invite the bright moon, dew and breeze slip through the window screen. In late spring into early summer, peering through the city's towering glass towers, I gaze westward, a streak of sunset glow sinking west sends a signal: let’s go, let’s have some fun.

Chengdu people’s travel plans are like birds chasing the seasons. The west gathers the essence of the basin. Leaving aside the vast stunning landscapes of western Sichuan, within a two-hour drive lies endless delight. Journeying west from Chengdu, passing through Chongzhou and Qionglai, you reach Pujiang. After ticking off Chongzhou and Qionglai, we decided to explore the legendary internet-famous village, the best-known spot in Pujiang: Mingyue Village.

Five years ago, Mingyue Village was an obscure hamlet, as quiet as countless ordinary farming villages. Luckily, “art” and “passion” discovered it. The heritage and reinvention of the Mingyue Kiln and indigo dyeing, the coexistence of new-style guesthouses and traditional western Sichuan courtyards, tea bushes stretching along greenways… Over five years, Mingyue Village seems not to have fixed a pattern, yet it has become Chengdu people’s ideal weekend life destination.

We arrived at Mingyue Village on a bright sunny noon. Rolling down the car window, we plunged into air fragrant with bamboo shoots. The just-picked tea garden still wafted hints of tender leaves. Bending down, you could hear the wind rustling through. I recalled a summer vacation over ten years ago, when a game of hide-and-seek sent me and my little friends dashing into a stranger’s yard, only to be scratched all over among the flowers. Here doesn’t seem suited for a quick photo pit stop. Simple yet slightly bewitching signposts give everyone the chance to explore Mingyue Village, and along the way hide many surprises. Trust me: during your time in Mingyue Village, please close your eyes, forget worldly trifles, and become an ordinary villager.

Forty-eight hours in Mingyue Village slip away in the blink of an eye…

「Day Chapter」Tea Garden · Greenway: A Morning Not Wasted

Mingyue Village’s morning, though without the "yoo-yoo cry of deer," still offers birdsong beside streams. I never thought I could claim a whole greenway to myself, frolicking in endless ways to reclaim all the carefreeness those hard days owed me.

Early risers also include tea pickers in the garden. Viewed from above, the tea garden is delicate and lovely, with ever-deepening green from tender buds downwards, forming a shade that even sunlight cannot pierce.

The pickers, sharp-eyed and quick-handed, whisk away any leaf whose time has come. In their hip baskets brews the freshness of new buds, a rising and falling signal left just for us.

Indigo Dyeing: All Day I Pick the Indigo, Not Enough to Fill My Skirt

A line from the Book of Songs — “All day I pick the indigo, not enough to fill my skirt” — lends a 3,000-year-old craft a profound feel. Yet the moment your fingers touch the silk and cotton fluttering in the wind, and the herbal dye smell fills your head, it becomes incredibly intimate.

Mingyue Village’s indigo dyeing is well-known and absolutely not to be missed — even addictive. You take a piece of tightly bound white fabric and immerse it in a vat of deep-hued dye. Through constant thorough massaging, you let the dye invade every fiber, then harness the power of oxidation to endow it with a unique blue.

What makes indigo dyeing most addictive is that before you unfold the “blank canvas,” you never guess what you’ve drawn.

Many indigo-dye studios operate in Mingyue Village; “Qingdai” and “Lanran” are both quite popular. At the Lanran Workshop, there’s a heritage artisan, an amiable auntie who, day after day, eagerly guides visitors standing nervously before the dye vats.

The huge vats hold soul-bestowing dye. The plant-based fragrance rushes deep into your nose; one whiff and it’s unforgettable.

Under her guidance, I created my first piece of indigo-dyed fabric. Though the herbal smell went to my head, I rediscovered a long-lost joy. As we grow used to instant gratification, an occasional serendipitous surprise becomes all the more precious. Now indigo dyeing goes far beyond small pieces of cloth; it’s been made into all kinds of charming objects, from basic clothing to bags, pendants, and toys, moving from pure “blue” to colorful bursts. Spreading traditional culture in diverse forms is, after all, a kind of inheritance.

At the Lanran Workshop there’s also a slightly shy uncle. While we chattered in front of the dye vats, he started stir-frying a pot of something fragrant. Only after asking did we learn it wasn’t some rare treasure, but freshly collected bamboo shoot husks. The tender shoot hearts go to the table, and the discarded husks now have a new purpose. Under his nimble movements, the scent of summer scattered across the yard.

Pottery · Kiln: Solidifying the Memory of the Earth

The Mingyue Kiln, which had not ceased firing for 300 years, extinguished its flames before the devastating earthquake of 2008.

Mingyue Village’s pottery is famous, partly due to its lineage. Qionglai’s Qiong Kiln is one of Sichuan’s longest-lasting, richest in forms, and most beautifully decorated kilns. Nearby Mingyue Village naturally inherited this unique craft.

Today, with everyone pursuing artisanal spirit, ceramics fired using Qiong Kiln’s traditional techniques carry a deep sense of history. Had it not been for the 2008 quake, the Mingyue Kiln might still be carrying on a century-old fire. Precisely because it is one of the few “living Qiong Kilns,” it is all the more precious.

After a full year of careful restoration, the old kiln “retired,” becoming a treasure of Mingyue Village. In front, an area for visitor experiences has been set up, along with a ceramics display hall, offering a glimpse into its former glory.

Another reason for its renown is artistry. The Shushan Kiln founded by Li Qing, a master of China’s craft and art industry, and the Huohen Wood-fired Kiln Workshop created by ceramic artist and designer Liao Tianlang, have added fresh vigor to traditional ceramic ware.

The wooden gate of “Shushan Xiaozhu” isolates this craft workshop from the hustle and bustle outside. Inside, a few stone slabs lead to old houses. Neat, skillfully crafted ceramics are displayed; under an adjacent glass roof sits the Shushan Kiln Ceramic Art Museum, a “living museum.”

For ordinary visitors, beyond seeing novelties, the most important thing is to personally mold raw clay into pottery. With the teacher’s guidance, a few simple gestures form a tea bowl; apply a little pressure, and it becomes a cup; soften a line here, round a corner there, then rely on sunlight to take away excess moisture — the pieces awaiting the kiln look rustic yet exquisite. It only takes a blaze of orange-red fire to bring out unique, one-of-a-kind hues.

Tea: A Half Cup Moistens the Square Inch

“Wild spring, mist, and white clouds; I sit drinking fine tea, loving these hills.” When the sun’s intensity weakens, it’s the most enjoyable time of day, and Mingyue Village enters its gentlest hours.

Don’t think that villagers’ lives only revolve around covered-bowl tea. The trendy and modern are equally at home here. “Xiehou” (Encounter) might be the place least interested in “going viral.” James, who has high standards, personally served us an English-style afternoon tea, bringing a touch of refinement into this rustic setting.

The white building with large expanses of glass is a popular photo spot for many tourists. The heavy footfall also makes “Xiehou” not so easy to “encounter.” His high expectations for himself and for “Xiehou” mean James has to tactfully turn down some unsuitable requests, so that the place can be at its best.

During our afternoon at Xiehou, we did nothing at all, simply leaning by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching kids and puppies rolling gleefully on the lawn, colorful bubbles rising naturally in our hearts.

Like everywhere else in Mingyue Village, the entrance to “Youduoyun” (A Cloud) is unassuming; you have to step down a few paces to find this house. Its tea pastries are very popular. While I hesitated in front of the counter, a little girl beside me blurted out that their ice cream was delicious. Wandering often wears out the spirit — aimless, destinationless — and the girl who promptly offered tea pastries, we call her a fairy. The fatigue of a long half-day’s journey was zeroed out with one iced Americano, a scoop of ice cream, and a big mouthful of cheesecake. Soon I, too, began telling hesitating guests, just like that girl, “The ice cream is good.”

In contrast, “Yingyuan” (Cherry Garden) is much more reserved. Its beauty is “up in the sky.” At eye level it looks plain, but climb onto the connected rooftop and look back to discover its magic — by late April, blossoms have nearly all fallen, tea gardens have been picked over again and again, leaving only deep greens and Yingyuan’s white walls, composing a minimalist, meticulous painting.

He Tang Yingyuan, founded by Xiong Ying in 2010, decided to relocate to Mingyue Village in 2018, making the distance from Chengdu 80 kilometers. Yingyuan, retreating step by step deeper into the days, has blossomed with new colors here. In spring, carefully nurtured flowers fluff their skirts; in summer, vines cover the rooftop garden in green; in autumn, Yingyuan brews wine — that fermented aroma must be intoxicating, right? As for winter, curl into a warm quilt, finish the last of your own wine in one gulp, slice some cured sausage and bacon — utterly at ease.

「Night Chapter」Lodging: Good Dreams That Hold You Through the Night

At night in the village there is only one sound — silence. The daytime bustle of Xiehou and Yingyuan switches off. In early summer the fields are not yet full of frog croaks. An undisturbed night is a holiday’s most precious gift.

“Xiaode” (Knowing) is a secluded compound within Mingyue Village. Its thoughtfully concealed garden entrance hides behind tree shade; a shielded wooden wall by the roadside leaves only a few small windows for observant souls. Enter along a little bridge over a stream: all is quiet and cozy, footsteps become hushed. The rooms, right by a tea garden, are dotted with Mingyue Village surprises: indigo-dyed crafts, delicate ceramics, ubiquitous bamboo art — all balancing sophistication with rustic simplicity.

Girls who once dreamed of opening a flower shop gradually came to love general stores, because rather than watching time pass, they prefer to let it settle. Besides, being able to pluck precisely the right item from a jumble, in my eyes, is a wonderful superpower.

The rooms at Wuming Jianju (Nameless Simple Dwelling) await guests with affinity. The unpretentious design retains maximum contact with nature. From bed to tea garden is only two steps; before you can fully wake, you’ve already embarked on the next journey. That alone might make an evening a little dull, so from villagers’ evening chats we learned that Mingyue Village’s music bar is about to open. On a small hillside surrounded by gentle streams, a simple steel frame supports a glass house; Beatles and Suede posters hang boldly — it’s got that certain vibe.

The next day before leaving, we dug up a few bamboo shoots. Though no longer the tenderest taste of early summer, taken back to the city, they’ll let you savor again the comfort that Mingyue Village brings.