A Nanjing Local's View of Nanjing — Jiuhua Mountain Park
Time: March 2021. Way: Walked after getting off at Jiuhua Mountain Station on Metro Line 4. Scenic spot: Jiuhua Mountain Park. Address: No. 20 Taipingmen Street, Xuanwu District, Nanjing.
For two weekends in a row, I drove round trips of 500 kilometers. When I returned from Suzhou at the end of the second weekend, I felt physically tired and reminded myself to adjust and rest. This weekend, no more long journeys. I stayed put. Saturday I didn't go downstairs all day. But the bright sunshine on Sunday morning was irresistible. I had to pick a place to stroll—somewhere not far and not tiring.
March is Nanjing’s cherry blossom season, and Jiming Temple Road is the most popular tourist spot. Since I’ve never been one for crowds, I chose the neighboring Jiuhua Mountain Park. On Jiuhua Mountain, a pagoda stands out, visible from many angles across Nanjing. For decades, I’ve only ever glimpsed it from afar. This year, I suddenly had the idea to see it up close and fill in this blank on my travel map. I got off at Jiuhuashan Station on Metro Line 4, and right outside the subway was Jiuhuashan Road.
Nanjing is so beautiful—stepping outside is stepping into a scene. The red stems and yellow leaves are also so lovely.
This tree, towering several stories high, stands so upright and bold, with pink blossoms and new green leaves all so lush.
In the middle of the road stands an archway for Jiuhua Mountain Park.
The cloud patterns on the huabiao pillars are simple yet classical.
At the end of Jiuhuashan Road, a small hill rises, and at its foot is the gate of Jiuhua Mountain Park. A stone archway with four pillars and three gates, its plaque inscribed with “Jiuhua Mountain Park” in five large characters. The pillar capitals mimic huabiao, and the archway is fitted with a vermilion gate flanked by a pair of stone lions and a pair of Buddhist elephant-lions.
After a few steps, I passed through the archway, entered the mountain gate, and climbed the stone steps.
Reaching a platform, to the right were prayer rails and two incense burners set at different heights.
By the railing hung a notice: “Xuanzang Temple tile replacement merit fund.”
Leaning on the railing, I looked back at the mountain gate.
The center of the platform, facing the mountain gate, was Xuanzang Temple.
In front of the temple stood a stele recording the history of Xuanzang Temple.
Passing through the temple’s front hall, I entered a small courtyard. On the west side stood the Five Contemplations Hall, where the monks have their meals.
On the east side was the guest hall of Xuanzang Temple.
Back on the platform, devout worshippers burned incense and prayed before the incense burner.
I continued climbing along the mountain path to the right of Xuanzang Temple. Viewing the temple buildings from the side, the temple nestled within the mountain, shaded by lush trees and encircled by flowers and grass.
Halls and pavilions, tiles and upturned eaves, tall trees and delicate February orchids—subtle and warm, they revealed the harmony, tranquility, and charm that combination and variation can bestow.
Following the steps upward toward the summit of Jiuhua Mountain, I could see the pagoda in the distance and a statue at the end of the steps.
At the top of the steps, amid green trees, stood a life-size bronze statue of Xuanzang, robed and carrying a backpack. This bronze statue was the largest representation of Master Xuanzang in Asia at the time.
Xuanzang seemed to stride toward us, travel-worn.
Behind the statue on the summit platform stood the famous five-story, four-sided Sanzang Pagoda.
A few more steps led to the platform. On one side was an introduction to Xuanzang Temple and Jiuhua Mountain.
On the platform there was a round stone pedestal, and atop it sat the Sanzang Pagoda.
Three stone steles were inlaid on the south side of the pedestal. The central circular stele recorded the route of Xuanzang’s westward journey.
The left and right steles had the same shape, each with a beast-head carving below. The left stele recorded the history of the Sanzang Pagoda. The right stele recorded the life and deeds of Xuanzang.
A large stone tablet inscribed with the “Heart Sutra of Perfect Wisdom” stood on the platform.
At last I could view the Sanzang Pagoda up close. Built in 1943 to commemorate the Tang dynasty monk Xuanzang, it is a five-story, pavilion-style blue-brick pagoda on a round base, imitating wood structure. The pagoda body is four-sided with five stories, each story featuring four arched doors.
Standing on the platform and looking out at the cityscape, the tallest building in the distance was Zifeng Tower.
The cityscape rolled in undulating layers.
Delicate flowers bloomed on hard rock.
A few steps up onto the pedestal allowed me to view the pagoda at eye level. The lower part of the base was adorned with a stone skirt, and each side of the first story had four semicircular archways. On the south wall of the first story, the blue bricks bore the characters “Sanzang Pagoda.” The arches were lined with stone edges carved with patterns. Wooden railings enclosed the doorways. Inside the pagoda’s heart chamber, at the center, was a lotus-shaped stone seat inscribed with “Bone Relic of Master Xuanzang,” on which rested a square stone casket—the place where Xuanzang’s parietal bone is stored. People praying in front of the pagoda were devout and focused.
On the west side of the summit, near the pagoda, stood the Six Harmonies Pavilion, a hexagonal pavilion with double eaves and a pointed top. The pavilion was richly ornamented, with carved beams and painted rafters, full of antique charm.
At the center of the pavilion hung the Six Harmonies Bell, named to signify national peace and favorable weather.
The platform of the Six Harmonies Pavilion served as the best viewing point on Jiuhua Mountain. Gazing in all directions, I saw a long panorama of landscape and city unfolding before me.
Looking east from the viewing platform, the magnificent Zhongshan mountain range stretched wave after wave, an endless sea of forest.
To the north was the windy, shimmering Xuanwu Lake.
The ancient Ming city wall followed the mountain, simple and solid. Lake and mountains merged, autumn waters blending with the sky—my heart felt at ease.
The air was crisp and clear; every beautiful scene came into view. Familiar sights like Nanjing Railway Station, Sun Palace, and the bridge in Xuanwu Lake appeared from a fresh perspective.
Looking south, I saw the high-rise forest of Nanjing.
On the north side of the mountain stood a Kṣitigarbha Hall, an unusual temple facing east.
Its orange-red walls stood out, majestic and striking, embraced by green trees and blue water.
In front of the Kṣitigarbha Hall was a large prayer wheel.
Jiuhua Mountain is only 61 meters high, but it is the first hill of the Zhongshan range extending westward into the city. Climbing to the top, I gazed far into the distance. The mountain encircled Xuanwu Lake, and the Ming city wall wound along like a jade belt. A temple sat on the mountain, a pagoda crowned the peak, a lake lay beside it, and a city spread below—lush woods, bird songs, and floral fragrance.
A few more steps along the mountain path brought me to a small hilltop pavilion.
Above the eaves stood a little grass, proud and erect.
Descending the knoll, I came to the foot of the city wall.
The weathered wall and tender grasses and flowers complemented each other beautifully.
A stone tablet told that this section of the wall was restored in 1994, its interior reinforced with concrete while its exterior was faced with old bricks in the original style.
The corner of the wall was grand and imposing.
Ancient trees and the city wall revealed the depth of this historic city.
The breath of spring was full of vitality.
Looking up, tenacious flowers and grasses adorned the wall.
I walked east along the wall.
On one side was the Jiuhua Mountain ridge; on the other, the wall followed the ridge.
From below, I looked up at the Sanzang Pagoda.
From this angle, Jiuhua Mountain appeared steep as if cut, resembling an overturned boat—hence in ancient times it was called Fuzhou Mountain. The Six Harmonies Pavilion and the pagoda on the peak created a dramatic three-dimensional effect.
The prayer wheel I had just seen from above.
As the terrain rose and fell, different views presented themselves, each with its own flavor.
Walking on, I realized that Jiuhua Mountain, nestled in the bustling city, is a happy public park. It has fitness equipment and health trails, providing not only scenic beauty but also services for citizens.
Halfway up the mountain, beyond a patch of February orchids, a wide-open space appeared.
At the foot of Jiuhua Mountain lies the Jiuhua Mountain Tunnel, which passes beneath Xuanwu Lake to reach Xinzhuang Junction—a key part of Nanjing’s eastern inner ring expressway. This spot was above the tunnel, so there was a monument commemorating the tunnel’s construction, along with twelve zodiac animal statues.
The zodiac sculptures and a few cherry trees surrounded a longevity turtle stone carving.
The turtle, in blue-black hues, looked west with its head raised.
Beside it stood a stele describing the turtle.
A small pavilion nearby offered a place to rest.
Arriving at the Taiping Gate side, through the riotous mountain flowers, views of Purple Mountain and the city buildings created a painterly scene.
Jiuhua Mountain Park is not large, nor is the mountain high. The mountain form follows a dragon vein, and from this spot amid waters, hills, and city, I could gaze far, enjoying the beauty of nature without leaving the city’s embrace. This is truly the best place to take in Jinling’s scenery.
Because the nearby Xuanwu Lake, Jiming Temple, and Ming city wall are all more famous, few tourists come here. Most visitors are local residents taking a casual stroll, so there is no bustling crowd. Though in the heart of the city, the mountain forest is serene. The garden is elegant, quiet, and beautiful—being there feels secluded from the world. On Jiuhua Mountain, watching the passersby on the city wall, coming and going, bustling—am I not also just a passerby?
