A Spring Morning in Jiangnan: In Luzhi Ancient Town, Waiting for a Spectacular Bloom

Text and photos by Ying Zhigang

(original copyrighted content; unauthorized reproduction is strictly forbidden)

With Suzhou's sunny weather today, it's the perfect time to visit Luzhi Ancient Town. The crowd is just right—neither too many nor too few.

The little shops selling crabapple cakes and green rice balls are already open. Elderly residents of the ancient town sit under the covered corridors, calmly holding glass cups as they watch the trickle of visitors. This spring's newly arrived Biluochun tea releases its fragrance into the steaming vapor.

Everything feels just right.

Now, you don't have to worry about bumping into people. You can pause and take a close look at the bluestone path, polished to a gleam by millions of footsteps.

This bluestone path holds centuries-old legends, linking one secluded alleyway to another. But wherever its alluring twists may lead you, there is always a courtyard with blooming flowers, from which gentle, elegant sounds drift out.

In Luzhi Ancient Town at this time of year, willows are veiled in mist, the breeze carries affection, the water smiles. For you and for me, it is the most luxuriant time, like green vines in their prime.

When you come to Luzhi Ancient Town, are you here to see Jiangnan or to see the people of Jiangnan? It doesn't matter—the spring colors of Jiangnan are at their best, and the ancient town brims with charm everywhere.

When taking photos, you can calmly choose your angle, waiting for that desired person to step into the frame and capture your decisive moment.

You glimpse a glamorous figure reflected in the shimmering water. That person has already walked away, but a wisp of floral fragrance rises in your heart.

The crabapple blossoms on the opposite bank are at their most vibrant. As a breeze passes, petals scatter, and time seems to freeze in those drifting specks of crimson.

They say a thousand people see a thousand versions of Jiangnan. I think, then, a thousand men must hold a thousand visions of a rosy-cheeked beauty.

We cannot foresee where life's pirate ship will take us, but as long as that person in our heart is by our side, to the ends of the earth you and I will be happy pirates.

Some laugh at my boldness. They say Jiangnan should have poetry, like: "Free-flying blossoms light as dreams, boundless threads of rain fine as sorrow."

Perhaps all tender tales of Jiangnan must include a few lines of verse, a few stanzas of lyric, set in silken rain.

How many enter Jiangnan simply to seek that hint of ancient longing amidst the misty rain? Or to raise an oil-paper umbrella, abandon themselves to the Tang-Song poetics, and search the gentle, rain-soaked lanes for a lilac-like soul of intrigue.

Others say Jiangnan should be: "In a small pavilion, listening to spring rain all night; in the deep lane, selling apricot blossoms come morning."

Jiangnan's spring rains are lingering and clear, born in secluded lanes, passing by bridges, then floating away with the sound of oars.

At night, lying by the flowing water, you hear the rain drip and plop—landing in the water vat under the eaves, landing in the dream beneath your pillow, landing in the Qingming of Tang and Song poetry.

But my friend, if you come bearing the dust of the road, having weathered the storms and frosts of the world, why not bask in this gentle Jiangnan spring, under a warm and sunny sky, and dry that heart long soaked in tears?

In the warm weather, choose a crisp shirt, a pair of light-blue jeans, and tuck the shirt hem into your waistband. Add a knitted cardigan—elegant and stylish.

You must dress up with care, for you never know whom you might meet today. In Jiangnan, in the spring beauty of Jiangnan, every encounter is a lovely one.

You can buy a crabapple cake or a green rice ball, then sit on the covered bridge, watching sunlight filter through the leaves and scatter onto your face, carrying a healing glow.

When life beyond here is already a compromise, in the ancient town, in Jiangnan, please give that struggling self a break.

Who can foresee what enchanting scenery awaits around the next corner? Who, in the deepest of worldly affairs, waits—waits for that spectacular bloom?