Suzhou: A Hint of Boldness in Gentleness 3

Day 3, June 22, Tuesday. The four of us got a head start, gathering in the lobby by 6:50. Today's plan was the Humble Administrator's Garden – Suzhou Museum – Beisi Pagoda – Pingjiang Road. We'd already chosen our breakfast spot, Songhe Noodle House on Guanqian Street.

We were like returning visitors, back on Guanqian Street, back sitting in the Songhe Noodle House. We ordered: two red broth noodles and two white. Ping chose the Ruyi Vegetable Red Broth Noodle, Ting the Golden Mushroom Red Broth Noodle. The other two—Zhang went for the white-broth Sautéed Three Delicacies Noodle, and I, the white-broth Edamame and Preserved Vegetable Noodle. The chef asked if we had any special requests. Ping signaled that the noodles could be on the softer side.

At that hour, we were the only ones eating noodles. I stole a moment to wander around the shop. The whole setup felt like a museum—introductions to various noodle soups, shop jargon and sayings, the utensils, tables and chairs, celebrity calligraphy and paintings, even grain ration coupons from the hard times. I almost forgot about the noodles I was supposed to be eating.

By 7:30, we finished breakfast, hailed a taxi on Lindun Road, and headed to the Humble Administrator's Garden.

Along the way, the driver started talking about Suzhou's sights—Hanshan Temple, Tiger Hill, and the like. We just nodded and mumbled, politely disinterested. But when he brought up Suzhou cuisine, our spirits lifted, and we clicked. The driver mentioned the Squirrel-shaped Mandarin Fish, saying the ones at Songhelou and Deyuelou were too expensive and just for fooling outsiders. We sucked in our breath—we'd just been to one of those yesterday. Had we been played for tourists? The chatty driver went on about Suzhou noodles, insisting the best ones were from tiny workshops, like Meiweizhai on Xibei Street. Other places like Yuxingji and Zhuhongxing were all franchise chains now—no matter how many noodle masters they had, it wasn't enough to go around. We suddenly felt awkward, since our breakfast had been at Songhe Noodle House. The driver smiled. Well, there you go—fooled again. Just as he spoke, we arrived at the Humble Administrator's Garden. A short ride, just the base fare. We thanked him, but in those few moments, his words had made us feel like tourist rubes twice over.

Tickets for the Humble Administrator's Garden were RMB 70 in the off-season, no discounts, but you could pick your entry time. We were among the first batch, before the big crowds arrived.

The garden is known for its understated elegance, with high white walls. We entered through the main gate, one of three. The entrance hall featured three lake rocks—graceful? Dignified? Those who focus on curves, naturally blushed and called them graceful; those who notice height, righteously declared them dignified.

We'd done our homework. The garden route: Entrance → Lanxue Hall → Artificial Rock Hill → Lotus Pavilion → Tianquan Pavilion → Shuxiang Hall → Fangyan Pavilion → Wuzhu Youju Pavilion → Daishuang Pavilion → Xuexiang Yunwei Pavilion → Hefeng Simian Pavilion → Yuanxiang Hall → Xiuqi Pavilion → Yiyu Xuan → Xiaocanglang → Xiaofeihong → Xiangzhou Island → Bieyoudongtian → Yiliang Pavilion (Yulan Hall) → Thirty-Six Mandarin Duck Hall / Eighteen Camellia Hall → Liuting Pavilion → Yushui Tongzuo Pavilion (→ Fucui Pavilion) → Reflection Tower → Jianshan Tower → Lüyi Pavilion → Haitang Chunwu → Tingyu Xuan → Linglong Hall → Jiashi Pavilion → Garden Museum → Exit.

We passed through a moon gate into enchanting scenery. Lanxue Hall, the main hall of the east garden, came into view. In front of it, a few visitors trailed a guide, listening to a long-winded commentary. When the topic turned to the garden's couplet—“lotus on four sides, willows on three, half a pond of autumn water, a whole mountain cottage”—someone in the group blurted out that it was borrowed, not original, taken from Jinan's Daming Lake: “Lotus on four sides, willows on three, a city of mountain scenery, half a lake city.” Bravo! We, the onlookers, were drawn in. Knowledge breeds an air of refinement. A real talent—even Baidu couldn't match that. Truly, experts among the people!

There are three paths through the east garden, all circling a lotus pond. One: Lanxue Hall → Hanqing Pavilion → Central Garden. Two: Lanxue Hall → Fangyan Pavilion → Central Garden. Three: Lanxue Hall → Lotus Pavilion → Tianquan Pavilion → Shuxiang Hall → Central Garden. We took the first, heading west from Lanxue Hall along a stone path beside the waterway, climbing a low hill to Fangyan Pavilion, which faces Shuxiang Hall across the water to the north. To the south, a half-pavilion sits on the street-side wall, named Hanqing.

Instead of going straight to the central garden, we passed through a half-open side door on the west into what was once the owner's residential compound. First came a guest hall, now converted to a tea room. The main house lay another courtyard deeper, facing north. A group of young women flitted between the Huipu Shufeng side door and the main hall, leaving their most beautiful youth in this spot.

We retraced our steps, then followed a corridor in the east garden to an archway by Goose Pond. Stepping through, we entered the central garden. Looking out, we saw an expanse of green lotus leaves meeting the sky, with Beisi Pagoda standing tall in the distance—a textbook example of borrowed scenery, the essence of Suzhou garden design.

Nearby, the idle pavilion Wuzhu Youju had doors open in all four directions. South framed a spring scene of a small bridge and flowing water; west, a summer view of a pond full of lotus blooms; north, the silhouette of bamboo in autumn; and east, perhaps winter's frost on roof tiles.

We continued west, crossing a small bridge and winding over rockeries. We didn't stop at Daishuang Pavilion or Xuexiang Yunwei, but went to the summer's deepest spot, Hefeng Simian Pavilion. The couplet on its pillars read: “Lotus on four sides, willows on three, half a pond of autumn water, a whole mountain cottage”—the very borrowed lines those tourists earlier had pointed out. This is not unusual in the Humble Administrator's Garden. If it could borrow the view of Beisi Pagoda, why not borrow a couplet? As long as it’s meaningful and fitting. A couplet in front of Bieyoudongtian Pavilion—“Call me to open the door and welcome the dawn moon; send someone off, but where, to whistle in the autumn wind?”—was inscribed by a famous person, yet also not original.

Across the pond lay our parallel universe, with our gaze leaping from Xiuqi Pavilion to Yuanxiang Hall, Yiyu Xuan, then Xiaofeihong, Dezhen Pavilion, Yulan Hall, and Xiangzhou Island, finally merging at Bieyoudongtian. With that, we concluded our tour of the central garden!

We entered the west garden through Bieyoudongtian. Looking ahead, on a clear sandbank by the water stood a fan-shaped pavilion. “With whom shall I sit?” we wondered. We saw a couple sitting there, hand in hand, back to back—a fleeting moment of togetherness, vowing to grow old together. May you respect each other like honored guests and share through thick and thin.

A covered walkway linked to the Thirty-Six Mandarin Duck Hall / Eighteen Camellia Hall, an exquisitely refined and ceremonial building. Its fame is immense, its luxury pronounced. One part to the north, one to the south, each needed a different name: one for the mandarin ducks—for feasting and socializing, all duck rendezvous; one for the eighteen camellias—truly idle, good for quiet contemplation, the loneliest valley, the finest blooms, listening to the sound of temple bells and drums.

Ting was struck by the Western-style stained glass windows with openwork designs, which unintentionally framed the lush green of Fucui Pavilion.

Leaving the flower hall, we followed the walkway further. Taying Tower was under renovation. We walked a short curve and found Liuting Pavilion open, with seats—this was the westernmost point of the west garden. Uphill were Fucui Pavilion and Li Pavilion. Gauging our energy, we skipped the up-and-down path and took the gentle straight route, passing the central garden once more to snap a photo of Jianshan Tower.

And of Reflection Pavilion:

And Hefeng Simian Pavilion:

After that, we returned to the east garden. Ting and Zhang studied the garden's history and its figures in Shuxiang Hall, while Ping and I went to Tianquan Pavilion. At first, I didn't know its name. Ping circled around a bit, putting in some effort, and finally found the inscription that read “Tianquan.”

At 9:10, we exited the garden, fully satisfied. The streets were noticeably busier now.

Next stop: Suzhou Museum. We had already reserved tickets online for the 9:00–10:00 time slot, and punctual as we were, we arrived right on time. The entry queue snaked back and forth, clearly designed for crowds. Maybe because we'd been eating too much Suzhou noodle soup these days, someone casually joked “crossing the bridge,” which made a staff member's face tighten. “Cut it out!”—but cutting was a bit harsh, so after some negotiation, we toned it down to “shave it.” Shaving was way more fun!

Suzhou Museum comprises the new building designed by I.M. Pei and the old building, which was once the Prince Zhong Mansion of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. We started with the new building, which is what people refer to as the “internet-famous” Suzhou Museum. The design is by I.M. Pei, and the museum honors him with a special exhibition room, using multimedia and multiple viewpoints to detail his deep, hands-on involvement.

We began our visit by watching a short documentary in the video room, “I.M. Pei and the New Suzhou Museum.”

Continuing on, the ground floor had three thematic displays: Treasures of Wu Pagodas, Wu Land Relics, and Wu Style Elegance. We visited Treasures of Wu Pagodas first, which includes Radiant Light Shining from the Pagoda and Precious Tiger Hill. Cultural relics like the Shrine for Sacred Relics, Buddhist relics, and the Yue Kiln Celadon Lotus Bowl were on display. I snapped some photos.

Above: Buddhist relics; below: Yue Kiln Celadon Lotus Bowl.

Next, Wu Land Relics, which had several halls. In the Dawn Light Hall, there were Neolithic artifacts unearthed in Suzhou—stone tools, pottery, and jade from the Majiabang, Songze, and Liangzhu cultures. In the Contending Powers Hall, bronze ware from the Spring and Autumn period and the warfare between Wu and Yue were displayed. In the Splendid South Hall, we saw a six-lobed white-glazed bowl from the Ding kiln, one of the five famous Song dynasty official kilns. In the Metropolitan Rhyme Hall, household ornaments like Ming-style furniture, gold and silver ware, and other objects were shown.

The last hall on the ground floor was Wu Style Elegance. By then, the four of us had drifted apart. I was alone, so I breezed through casually. Scholarly Refinements featured Ming and Qing playthings, and I reminded myself to read Wen Zhenheng’s and Liu Yu’s Treatise on Superfluous Things. Cultivated Treasures displayed Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing porcelain—I’d need to take a supplementary course at the Shanghai Museum. Masterful Jade Art was about jade, not really my thing. In Exquisite Carvings, the amazing craftsmanship in bamboo, wood, ivory, and horn was amusing, but I just glanced. Elegant Paraphernalia—brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, literati fans—were imbued with personality, and I liked them. Idle Pleasures were about elegant hobbies—a zisha teapot in one hand, a golden birdcage in the other—like a relic of a former dynasty, a bannerman of the Yellow Banner, but sadly not in the imperial capital, lest he drop his status like dregs. The final section, Splendid Floating Life, was striking: a Panjin arrow robe in Su embroidery, the foremost of the Four Great Embroideries (Su, Xiang, Yue, Shu).

The museum also devotes space to courtyard design. The Ink Play Cottage set the stage, with Taihu rocks, pomegranate trees, bamboo groves, and a rockery made of stone slabs, giving enough theatrical flair for one act after another.

In the central hall, the four of us reunited. Groups of schoolchildren were using the museum as an educational resource, moving about and doing social surveys and projects. We stepped aside and went up to the second floor to see Wu School Paintings and Calligraphy, but instead of works by the Four Masters of Wu, we saw paintings by He Xiangning of the Lingnan School, plus members of the Southern Society like Liu Yazi.

Finally, we stepped outside into the open air. Under the clear sky, a pond spread out, with exhibition halls on the left and a stone-slab relief on the right. Crowds flocked there. The museum offers free unlimited Wi-Fi, welcoming everyone to log on—truly living up to its internet-famous status.

Compared to the new building’s popularity, the old Prince Zhong Mansion seemed a bit neglected. Perhaps due to deep-seated stereotypes of peasant rebellions turning roguish, the mansion has always been marginalized. A library building offered introductions to many ancient book collectors, of whom I knew only a handful: Lu Guimeng, He Zhu, and Ye Mengde.

We walked through the inner garden, the old opera stage, and the Woju Hall. Beside the ancient wisteria garden stood a gui-shaped stele with the inscription “Wisteria Planted by Mr. Wenhengshan” meaning it was planted by Wen Zhengming, with the calligraphy by Duan Fang, the governor of Jiangsu.

The last thing we saw was the mansion's council hall, where a half-length statue of Prince Zhong stands, likely depicting him at the height of his power: bold and spirited, a feather fan and silk scarf, talking and laughing as mighty enemies crumbled. What Jiangnan Great Camp? What Jiangbei Great Camp? All wiped out. What foreign rifle teams? What Ever-Victorious Army? Completely crushed. I remembered that Li Xiucheng, Prince Zhong, and Chen Yucheng, Prince Ying, were the top leaders after the Heavenly King in the late Taiping years. After Prince Ying was defeated at Anqing and killed by Miao Peilin, Prince Zhong alone held up the crumbling regime until Nanjing fell. He was captured by Zeng Guofan while trying to save the young Heavenly King, and his final written confession—whether genuine or not—has been criticized, leading later generations to doubt his loyalty.

We were getting tired. Ping and I rested on a stone railing in the open courtyard, while Ting and Zhang, with more energy, went on to the front council hall, which had an exhibition on Li Xiucheng's life and a thunderous thousand-jin cannon.

At 11:10, we left the mansion. The day was scorching. A young woman in Hanfu beside us hid under a tree, busy on her phone.

The next stop was Beisi Pagoda. We walked, passing Meiweizhai on Xibei Street—the noodle joint our taxi driver had recommended that morning. It looked ordinary, a bit run-down. We arrived at 11:30. Zhang went to check it out, while Ping, Ting, and I just snapped a photo from across the street.

Ping's feet hurt, and she complained a bit about the long walk just for a pagoda. Well, as the old saying goes, “When the heat is on, folks push harder.” Zhang handed out ice cream to cool us down.

The next leg was Pingjiang Road, this time we’d walk it end to end, north to south. We caught a cab from Beisi Pagoda on Xibei Street straight to Pingjiang Road on Baita East Road, just a few minutes. At 11:40, we arrived.

This was the northern end of Pingjiang Road. Standing on Baojili Bridge that spans the Pingjiang River, the first thing we saw was the Pingjiang Road Visitor Center and the boat dock. At that hour, there weren't many tourists, and even fewer at the dock.

The boats came in, and we went into the lanes. Here, we encountered many little shops: Zhuohua Zui Wine House, Jiangnan Three Weaving Shops, Huawuque, Writing Desk. Each shop was a piece of cultural creativity, housed in rustic Pingjiang Road buildings with a branch of blossoming flowers, a pot of clear wine, a qipao draped over a chair, calligraphy and paintings for appreciation. The lighting was either dim or dazzling, with soft Wu dialect in the ears and young people bustling on the street. It was a time warp, a bit dizzying, a bit intoxicating, eventually blurring into an illusion of flowers-not-flowers, mist-not-mist beauty.

It’s a blessing that Suzhou was only a private retreat, never an imperial capital. Without rigid constraints, it achieved this sort of spiritual abundance. We fell in love with Suzhou, we latched onto Suzhou!

We encountered fragrant Pingjiang Road, we got lost in the Su Fan cultural creative shop. Near Lilac Lane, we passed another Maokong, more upscale than the one last night, but sorry to say, we didn't go in. By now, our stomachs were empty, and spirit had to yield to appetite. Finding a restaurant was the priority.

Just ahead, a rustic-stove restaurant called Yushi Fandao caught our eye. It was exactly noon. We hurried over. The entrance wasn't on the main street but in a side alley.

The window seats with street views were taken, so we settled elsewhere. Ordering involved no menu; you went to a display of real dishes. We picked: crispy bird’s nest square, sizzling iron plate prawns, home-style cucumber flowers, and a lotus pond stir-fry, plus a sour and bamboo shoot fresh soup.

The bird’s nest square, a traditional red-braised pork, turned out to be deep-fried then braised. The meat was a bit dry, not deeply flavored, in a novel style—wrapped in lettuce, very Korean. We left most of it.

The iron plate prawns arrived sizzling, instantly filling the air with aroma. The meat was plump and tender, the shells crispy. We devoured them, careful not to burn ourselves. A generous portion, almost finished to the last bite.

The soup—salted pork, bamboo shoots, tofu knots, and lettuce stems—was a creative twist. The lettuce added fragrance and color. Paired with rice, it was unbelievably delicious. Even though we couldn't finish it all, there wasn't much left. We gave it our all.

After settling the bill, not expensive, we left at 1:00 PM.

Heading south, this was largely a reprise of our stroll from two days before. Daytime didn’t know the darkness of night. The Han'er Hotel where we'd once stayed up late, the Lingyun Society opera house—all were still there. But across the river, the wall that once read “Flowers bloom on the path, night fragrance—spring returns unharmed, busy with blossoms” was no more.

On the canal, boats slid by with the creak of oars, sending ripples across the water.

As we bid farewell to Pingjiang Road, a memorial pavilion inscribed with its history stood nearby.

We hailed a cab again, back to the hotel by 1:20 PM. Then we checked out. Originally, we had another stop: Canglang Pavilion. But eager to get back to Shanghai before the traffic rush, we gave it up with a pang. Goodbye, Suzhou—Canglang Pavilion, we’ll meet again sometime.

August 1, 2021