Putting Myself Under House Arrest — In the Embrace of Ninglang

Every year before the Spring Festival, I always arrange a getaway for myself.

In late January 2017, I chose Lugu Lake as my vacation spot. To keep a bit of mystery, I didn’t tell my family in advance. The night before, I arrived in Kunming and stayed near the airport. This was a village that had grown up specifically to serve transit passengers, and the service was very attentive.

The next morning, the hotel took us to the airport to catch the 9 a.m. flight. It wasn’t until we were checking in that I had to reveal our destination: the Eye of Ninglang—Lugu Lake.

The flight landed on time at Lugu Lake Airport, which was built by leveling off several mountain peaks. Outside the airport, a brother called something like Jyacuo was already waiting for us. He was the driver arranged for me by the Hutuwu Inn (I later learned he was also a family member of the inn’s owner). On the way we stopped to overlook the panoramic view of Lugu Lake. When entering the scenic area, my wife and I had to buy tickets (I remember it was 100 yuan per person, and our child was free).

Jyacuo dropped us off at Luowa Pier, where we transferred to a wooden boat to reach the inn, which was already in Sichuan territory. The inn sits right by the lake; you could also walk over a small hill from the pier, but it’s inconvenient with luggage, so guests are picked up and dropped off by the inn’s boat.

We checked in by the afternoon. The inn was right on the lake, and all rooms had lake views. I had booked a second-floor suite with a 270-degree panorama: the bed faced the lake, the sofa faced the lake, and even the toilet and bathtub faced the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, we could see Princess Island in the distance. There were no other inns or restaurants nearby, so there was no noisy disturbance—only the landlord’s family living next door. Occasionally, hikers who crossed the hill would stop by to have a look. And then there was the dog called Hutu, who often ‘got lost,’ wandering in and out, east and west.

The inn’s butler asked if we had any plans, whether we wanted to go out and look around, and if we’d have dinner at the inn. (Guests’ three meals a day were free, but you couldn’t order dishes. Since the ingredients bought daily were unpredictable, you just ate whatever was available.) Lugu Lake is at about 2,700 meters above sea level. My young prince was visiting the plateau for the first time and had a slight fever and was listless, so we decided not to go out. I brewed a pot of Pu’er tea (provided in the room) and, with the view outside the window flooding in, slowly savored the drifting fragrance of the tea... As dusk fell, I looked up to see a sky full of stars—something you can never see in the city. The night was peaceful and silent, as if you could hear the stars breathing...

In the morning, the butler came early to the pier to attract gulls for everyone. We tossed breadcrumbs into the air, and the gulls circled merrily, catching the crumbs in midair, occasionally letting out squabbling chirps. After breakfast, the other guests went off sightseeing, but we simply hiked over the hill to Luowa Pier where we had boarded the boat earlier. We had lunch at a Chongqing restaurant, basking in the sunshine. In the afternoon, we returned to the inn and shut ourselves inside, as if in a painting, nestled by the emerald lake. Rather than wander about, it was better to stay put and quietly enjoy the view. As the saying goes: ‘Every look is a scene; why go out searching?’ On our terrace, we enjoyed the afternoon tea provided by the inn, gazing across at Princess Island, and I lit a pipe—truly a moment of pure contentment. The child’s mother spread a mat by the window and practiced her beloved yoga… In the evening, we turned off all the lights in the room, pulled back the bathroom curtain, and my son and I lay in the bathtub, soaking while watching the starry lake shimmering outside...

On our last day at Lugu Lake, we still stayed in the inn. The inn’s two ‘celebrities’ visited our room. One was Hutu, the dog known far and wide, who came in looking for a snack. If it hadn’t been for the butler telling us that the old fellow had a weak stomach, I would definitely have given him something, faced with his sincere gaze. The other was Buer, a cat with a permanently world-weary expression—to this day I still don’t know what it came for. Since they were here, we took a photo as a keepsake.

In the evening, we arranged a car with the butler to take us from here to Lijiang. It was the same Jyacuo who had picked us up, and the price was very fair (800 yuan, about the same as what we found online).

On the morning of our departure, it was as peacefully quiet as always. I hastily jotted down a few heartfelt lines in the room’s guestbook, then boarded the boat and left this serene inn... The three short days felt like a world apart. Wrapped in this secluded emerald bay, I was content to be a strand of waterweed. I savored the simplicity and stillness of life—no need for deliberate restraint or accumulation, just a state of utmost calm and balance, as if autumn waters stretched to the horizon in my heart...

Later, the inn moved to the south shore of the lake (which belongs to Yunnan), and the original inn changed its name.

Later still, the cat named Buer passed away peacefully; and the dog Hutu got himself a ‘girlfriend’...