Tuisi Garden: The Tale of a Hundred Thousand Silver Taels

★Travel Destination: Tuisi Garden, Tongli Ancient Town, Wujiang District, Suzhou

I had thought that during the pandemic, tourist attractions would be mostly empty. Just a couple of days earlier, we had visited Yixing, and while it wasn’t exactly a private tour, the number of visitors was truly negligible, allowing us to thoroughly enjoy a quiet trip. But little did I expect that the ancient town of Tongli would be so famous. As we leisurely approached the tourist center, we saw a sign at the entrance. Normally you could enter the scenic area just by swiping a card, but now you needed to make a reservation due to capacity limits—and download the Sucheng Code...

Well, Suzhou has its own Sucheng Code, so neither the Xikang Code nor the Sukang Code was recognized here. So we had to do it on the spot and apply for the Sucheng Code. Though the procedure was a minor hassle, visitors were in high spirits, filling in the Sucheng Health Code and booking their entry time to the town. Fortunately, volunteers along the way helped us, and we entered the ancient town smoothly. Then, when we reached Tuisi Garden, we found we had to make yet another reservation.

Tuisi Garden can be called the number one attraction in the ancient town. Since we were already at this treasure trove, there was no reason to pass it by. We had been here before, but now that we were at the gate, there was no excuse not to enter. So we patiently followed the entire procedure again. Luckily, we’re not too old and pretty adept with smartphones, so it didn’t take long. For elderly visitors who couldn’t use smartphones, they had to accept their fate and go into the visitor center for manual booking—which naturally took more time. But despite all these inconveniences, tourists’ enthusiasm was undimmed.

This most famous garden in Tongli was built in the 11th year of the Guangxu reign of the Qing Dynasty, by Ren Lansheng, a Qing official who returned to his hometown after being dismissed from office. The garden’s name comes from a line in Zuo Zhuan: ‘In serving his lord, Linfu thought of fulfilling his duty when in office, and of making amends for his faults when in retreat.’ So the dismissed Ren Lansheng came to ‘make amends’ in the Tuisi Garden. Whether Lord Lan truly believed he had done wrong or was just being self-deprecating, we have no way of knowing. In any case, we’re fortunate that Lord Lan was dismissed—otherwise we wouldn’t be able to admire this exquisite garden in Tongli.

Tuisi Garden covers 5,674 square meters, with a built-up area of 2,622 square meters. It shows how extravagant ancient residences could be—clearly, the green space was huge! Today, we live in high-rise apartments, and the only way to be surrounded by greenery is to go to a park. A small recreational garden nearby has become a favorite spot for local residents to stroll and relax.

Though not on the main street, the gate of Tuisi Garden is still quite imposing. Two antique-style palace lanterns lend a classic air to the entrance, as befits a traditional structure.

The Tea Hall, also called the Flower Hall, was used to receive ordinary guests. Above it hangs a plaque that reads ‘Tuisi Garden’ — the calligraphy of the renowned artist Qi Gong. In the center is a vertical scroll painting, flanked by a couplet: ‘Those who plant trees must nurture the roots; those who cultivate virtue must nurture the heart.’ There is a profound philosophical flavor to it.

Yinyu Hall is the main hall of Tuisi Garden, used for hosting distinguished guests, ancestral rites, weddings, and funerals. The three characters on its plaque were written by the famous calligrapher Shen Peng. I felt a touch of pride, since Mr. Shen hails from Jiangyin. The central hall also features a vertical scroll and two couplets, grand yet dignified.

Behind is the residential Wanxiang Mansion, also known as the Running Horse Tower. Its two side doors are brick-faced, leading to the living quarters of the master and his family. The two small buildings are exquisitely crafted, with openwork carvings and an all-wood structure—a style beloved by Suzhou residents. The second floor is connected by a covered corridor, so the two buildings are interlinked.

Exiting through a side door leads to the garden. By the entrance is a dry boat where guests’ sedan chairs would park, but it was under renovation, so we couldn’t step aboard. In Jiangnan gardens, with their abundant water, a unmoored boat is usually part of the scenery. This one, however, is entirely on land, merely shaped like a boat.

Further along is a shop called ‘Jiannanchun’, its walls covered with exquisite paper-cut art. I took a photo, only to be told that photography isn’t allowed here. Naturally, the paper-cuts are for sale.

The Zouchun Wangyue Tower is a place for family and friends to linger. The surroundings are pleasant, said to always hold a spring-like feel. Judging by its name, it was likely an ideal spot for moon-viewing during the Lantern Festival or Mid-Autumn Festival.

Climbing the stairs on one side, you can overlook the entire garden. Water is, of course, not lacking here; the buildings are arranged along the water’s edge, secluded among tall, dense greenery. The best view is from the Lansheng Pavilion. Leaning on the railing and gazing into the distance, even without a breeze ruffling your hair, the scenery is truly delightful.

Upstairs are the bedrooms of the gongzi (young gentlemen) and xiaojie (young ladies). The dignified, restrained one is the gongzi’s chamber; the one with richer, more vivid decor is naturally the xiaojie’s boudoir. Men and women have innate differences—unless one is like Qiu Jin, a woman with a chivalrous spirit who yields nothing to men. The young lady of the Lan family was clearly a standard refined daughter of a distinguished family, so her room is arranged just as most young women would prefer.

The Tuisi Thatched Hall is spacious. On the long table sits a small screen, and in front is a table displaying stones. Below the plaque hangs a painting of pine, bamboo, and plum—the ‘Three Friends of Winter.’ The couplet on either side is in seal script, which to someone used to Song, Imitation Song, Kai, or Hei typefaces is almost impossible to decipher. The characters you can recognize certainly won’t outnumber those you can’t. So, faced with this couplet, we sheepishly admitted to being illiterate.

With a lake, there is inevitably an unmoored boat, named ‘Naohong Yige.’ It has a prow but no stern, built from lake stone, half submerged in the water. A gentle babbling sound can be heard, perhaps from a nearby rockery. Some visitors stand at the boat’s bow feeding the fish, and the koi frolic joyfully—as if they themselves are part of a moving painting.

There is a pavilion built atop a rockery. After a long walk, it’s a pleasant place to rest—not only because there are seats, but also because the scenery here is truly lovely. Thick foliage blocks the sun; when sunlight filters through the leaves, the greenery loses some of its profundity and gains a certain charm. It’s a moment of peaceful tranquility.

The Guyu Shengliang building is fascinating, a rarity in classical gardens. Behind a chaise lounge, an entire wall is covered with mirrors, which instantly ‘borrows’ the garden’s view. It is said that in the scorching summer, reclining on the lounge before the mirror while admiring the scene can bring a cooling sensation. After a quick look at the layout, aside from the proximity to water that might evoke a hint of coolness, I honestly couldn’t see how this building could really produce such a cooling effect.

The Osmanthus Hall gets its name from the clumps of osmanthus trees planted all around the courtyard. Naturally, this was where the master enjoyed the blossoms in autumn. Ancient scholar-officials truly had a refined taste for life—from winter plum blossoms, to spring orchids, to autumn osmanthus, and even wintersweet when snow fell. No wonder they loved composing poetry; they had such a rich foundation for it.

In the courtyard, a red maple is planted beside the wall, and a fan-shaped window opens in the white wall with its dark gray tiles—a classic beauty that tugs at the heart. The vast expanse of greenery beyond becomes the perfect backdrop. Although the sun was shining nicely today, the sky wasn’t azure blue, which was a slight imperfection. Against blue sky and white clouds, it would have been even more beautiful.

In terms of size, this garden is not particularly large, but every detail reveals meticulous craftsmanship—a simple elegance that reflects the taste of ancient literati. It is said that Ren Lansheng spent a hundred thousand taels of snow-white silver to build it, which at the time would have been quite a lavish expenditure. This may be why scholar Yu Qiuyu, in his book *Cultural Perplexity in Agonized Travel*, rather arbitrarily claimed that Tuisi Garden was built with ‘extorted money.’

Personally, I believe Mr. Yu has wronged Lord Ren. The *Biography of Ren Lansheng* in the *Draft History of Qing* records his achievements in some detail. During the great famines in Shanxi and Henan, Ren Lansheng donated his official salary and raised over a hundred thousand strings of cash. When appointed to the Fengying-Liusi Circuit, he accomplished many concrete deeds. He improved the post roads between Fengzhou and Chuzhou, so the route from Linhuai to Jiangpu in Jiangsu—over 200 li long—became a smooth thoroughfare, a true livelihood project. He established boat basins, built several hostels, set up relief bureaus so poor families could borrow money from the government to make a living. He opened orphanages, cowpox vaccination clinics, anti-opium bureaus, sericulture bureaus—creating sources of food and clothing. He added free schools, planned famine relief during locust plagues, created abundance granaries, and when fourteen prefectures along the Huai River experienced massive flooding, he carried out relief and labor projects simultaneously so that not a single person had to flee. This brief summary alone makes it clear that Ren Lansheng, in his tenure as an official, truly brought great benefit to the people.

Of course, he was later dismissed, but at the time, the emperor dispatched two ministers to Anhui to investigate, and they concluded that ‘all the charges were unfounded.’ In other words, the accusation of ‘selfish profit-making’ had no evidence. One can say that Ren Lansheng was a good, practical, and responsible official, a breath of fresh air in the corrupt officialdom of the late Qing. His dismissal was likely the result of bureaucratic infighting, not because he had committed any serious fault.

The Ren family had lived in Tongli for four generations. His great-grandfather and grandfather were both students at the Imperial Academy, and his father was a country gentleman, so the family was likely well off. In fact, after retiring and returning home, Ren Lansheng donated over 1,000 mu of ancestral and personally acquired grain fields as charitable land, to fulfill his father Ren Yousheng’s unfinished philanthropic work. It seems unlikely that Ren Lansheng would have needed to embezzle public funds to build Tuisi Garden.

After Tuisi Garden was completed, Ren Lansheng did not reside there for long. When the Yellow River breached at Zhengzhou and Anhui was hit by floods, he was ordered to northern Anhui to handle disaster relief. Unfortunately, he fell from his horse and later died of illness at his post in Yingzhou at the age of 51. Even on his sickbed, Lord Ren ‘drew the disaster situation with his hands, without a single word about family affairs.’ With such a righteous official, I refuse to believe he would have embezzled silver to build the garden—exquisite as it is, and renowned both at home and abroad.

Rich land leaves behind fragrance, years grow old;

Stolen seasons tinged with worldly dust.

At Three Bridges, reflections gather, a subtle scent array;

The joy of tilling passes down the family, green willows fresh and new.