Seeking Seclusion in Luzhi: A Wisp of Autumn Wind Enchants Jiangnan

Text and photos by Ying Zhigang

A wisp of cool breeze intoxicates Jiangnan; the lotus has yet to fade, autumn leaves are not yet red, and the wild geese are returning.

In old courtyards, with small bridges and flowing waters, delicate steps seem to lock in light sorrow. Summer lingers, and looking back at yesterday’s riot of colors, even paintings fail to capture them, while the fine rain continues endlessly.

In the deep lanes of time, the seasons flow like music, etching a thousand kinds of charm.

This is today’s Jiangnan.

Autumn wind and rain cannot stop the stream of visitors weaving through Luzhi Ancient Town.

Though the scenery is enchanting, one still finds oneself confined to those few streets, lanes, and ancient bridges.

So some people, disgruntled, caught me because I’ve written a few articles about Jiangnan, and complained, “All ancient towns in Suzhou look the same.”

How could ancient towns in Suzhou all look the same?

Plum-like cheeks are but rouge tears—how many understand a beauty’s heart?

One only sees flowers wither and water flow away, unaware that once, a lovesick soul moored a flower boat by the willow bank.

Suzhou’s ancient towns all share the same mold of white walls and dark tiles, like twin sisters. Unless you enter a beauty’s heart, how can you know her enchanting charm?

Even someone like me, who has come and gone countless times, may not fully realize that this ancient town still hides a Paotaitou and a Shijiawan.

Paotaitou, opposite Taiwei Lane, has an unassuming entrance, like the alleyway of a residential complex.

A hundred meters in, concrete buildings on both sides offer no scenery. If you stop here, you’d have wasted your effort.

Just stumble on a few dozen more steps, and you’ll come upon a vast expanse of water, a pool of swaying lotus, and a winding corridor that stirs emotions with every step. The sudden beauty might be too much, making you exclaim in delight.

Scenery placed there for you to see is a tourist spot. It’s the ones you discover after some searching and a bit of effort, by chance, that is the alluring Jiangnan.

The lotus pond nestles beside homes, winding alleys hug the foot of walls. A few elderly women lean against a low wall, chattering endlessly about stale old tales.

Their cloudy eyes gaze at the still-blooming lotus, and those old memories take on the blush of flowers and the vitality of leaves.

A graceful young woman walks through the alley. The old women wonder whose daughter she is, saying, “Oh, I remember her as a tiny little thing, but she’s blossomed into a fine young lady.”

The flowers seem to giggle in the wind. A bee, oblivious to the season and unwilling to rest, crawls over a blossom, tickling it into a gentle tremble.

At the far end of the lotus pond, the water widens, flowing and flowing into some unknown channel of the dense river network.

Suddenly turning back, the pavilions and towers of the ancient town are reflected in the water, a dreamlike vision of past splendor.

Ahead, a dilapidated boat is moored to the embankment, half its body submerged, half entangled with duckweed, telling legends of bountiful catches in bygone days.

On the bank, an old man cooling off in the shade calmly holds a cigarette, then lifts a large plastic teacup from the ground, gulping down a few mouthfuls. Spotting a neighbor approaching from afar, he flashes a yellow, smoke-stained smile and greets, “Have you eaten?”

And then, liveliness ensues.

Those just off work talk about the day’s toil to earn a full meal; market vendors animatedly recount the deals they’ve closed.

An electric scooter darts out of a narrow alley in a fluster; a woman, her ample chest pressed against a half-grown child, yells frantically, “Watch out! Crash!”

The old man, smoking and drinking tea, nods calmly, and says at the end, “Life is about living; contentment brings happiness.”

Along the waterfront at Paotaitou, houses stand side by side. Where two houses aren’t connected, an alley forms.

The alley is very narrow—two people meeting must sidle to pass. After trudging to the end, you’re stopped by a river.

This neighborhood is called Shijiawan.

Shijiawan also winds along the river, with old houses of uncertain age packed tightly together. In the distance, the modern cityscape is mirrored on the water.

Inside the old houses, an ancient scent pervades, accompanied by the Suzhou Pingtan (storytelling and ballad singing) from the radio, its lilting strains swirling around.

A stooped old woman, with a hoarse voice, walks along shouting, “Old man! Old man!”

Out of the paint-peeled door shuffles an equally stooped old man, comically clasping his hands behind his back, assuming a stern look to scold her, “Calling my soul back?”

The old woman isn’t upset. She opens her clenched fist to reveal two freshly picked water caltrops, and with a toothless grin, says, “Here, for you!”

You’ve seen many beautiful sights, you’ve seen many beautiful women, and your diary hides unspoken secrets. In this over-sentimental world, you still find your eyes moistened by this sudden display of affection.

The charm of Jiangnan flows through a thousand years of time; it hides in the simple meals and the serene years spent growing old together.

When you come to Jiangnan, a thousand kinds of charm unfold before you, but you know it’s only a fleeting encounter.

For what you cannot take with you are the days steeped in the aroma of cooking smoke that haunt your midnight dreams.