Early Spring in Suzhou: Gusu Impressions Part Three – Lion Grove Garden
The origins of Lion Grove Garden can be traced all the way back to the Yuan Dynasty, predating even the Humble Administrator’s Garden and the Lingering Garden. The emperors of both the Yuan and Qing dynasties were of ethnic minority origin. While the Qing imperial clan bore the surname Aisin Gioro, the Yuan rulers bore the name Borjigin. (In Mongolian, this is also written as Borjigit.) Several Qing emperors married Yuan-descended princesses as part of the Manchu–Mongol alliance to strengthen their rule. Emperor Huang Taiji’s empress Zhe Zhe, his consort Zhuang, and concubine Chen all came from the Borjigit clan; Consort Zhuang later became Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang. Both of Shunzhi’s empresses were also Borjigits. After that, no Qing empress hailed from that clan, though some imperial concubines did — for instance, Emperor Xianfeng’s foster mother, the Consort Jing of Emperor Daoguang, was a Borjigit, and was posthumously elevated to empress status by Xianfeng.
The last Yuan emperor, Toghon Temür (also known as Ukhaantu Khan), retreated from Dadu (modern Beijing) to Shangdu just before the Ming army reached the capital. After his death, the Ming founder Zhu Yuanzhang declared that he had followed the will of Heaven and fled voluntarily, bestowing upon him the title ‘Yuan Shun Emperor.’ In the empire’s dying days, this emperor had a refuge prepared in advance on what is now Jeju Island — a far-flung corner of the world, you might say. Back then, Korea’s Goryeo Dynasty was a vassal state under indirect Yuan rule, while Jeju Island was under direct Yuan control. But this is just a bit of historical context to set the stage.
Emperor Shun had three reign titles. After he took personal control of the government in 1341 (the first year of the Zhizheng era), he announced a grand renewal — essentially pressing the reset button in an attempt to save the crumbling Yuan edifice. The new emperor vowed to restore order and learning, and scholars and students across the realm roused their academic spirit. It was at this time that a Chan Buddhist master, Tianru, arrived in Suzhou. Seeing a multitude waiting to be taught, he simply marked out a patch of earth and began lecturing.
Master Tianru’s name revealed that he was a Chan (Zen) practitioner, but after deep study, he came to admire Pure Land Buddhism as well. Proclaiming that Chan and Pure Land were fundamentally one, he advocated practising both. Since he expounded both schools, his audience grew vast and his disciples many. His followers, seeing him lecture on the bare ground every day, pooled funds to build a temple. Once the master entered the hall to preach day after day, the funds were enough not only for the temple but also for a garden within it, filled with bamboo groves and rocks that resembled lions. The Buddha’s teaching, they said, was like a lion’s roar that spreads far and wide and subdues all beasts. Thus, they named the temple Lion Grove Monastery. Even today, many large temples hang a plaque inscribed “Lion’s Roar” in their lecture halls — take the Dharma Hall at Hangzhou’s Lingyin Temple, for instance.
Legend has it that in the early days of construction, the renowned painter and calligrapher Ni Zan helped design the garden. Ni Zan was one of the Four Masters of the Yuan Dynasty in landscape painting, along with Huang Gongwang, Wang Meng, and Wu Zhen. In the sixth year of the Hongwu reign (1373), Ni Zan revisited Lion Grove Monastery and painted a picture of it, which is now housed in the National Palace Museum in Taipei. In the 14th year of the Zhizheng era, Master Tianru passed away; his disciples gradually scattered and the temple’s incense waned. Late in the Ming Dynasty, a friend of Liu Shu, the former owner of Liu Garden mentioned in our last article, a man named Jiang Yingke, helped repair the monastery’s buildings but did not restore the garden.
During the Kangxi reign of the Qing Dynasty, for reasons unknown, the temple transferred the garden portion to a private party, turning it into a residential garden. By the early Qianlong period, Huang Xingzu, a former prefect of Hengzhou, purchased the garden, renovated it, and gave it new splendour under the name ‘Sheyuan’ (Treading Garden), which became quite famous. When Emperor Qianlong acquired Ni Zan’s painting of Lion Grove, he was so captivated that he built a miniature Lion Grove with eight scenic spots in the newly constructed Garden of Everlasting Spring inside the Yuanmingyuan (Old Summer Palace) in Beijing, modelling it after the painting. Later, on one of his southern tours, Qianlong visited the Huang family’s Lion Grove Garden — and he entered free of charge. After returning to the capital, he added another eight scenic spots to the Lion Grove in the Garden of Everlasting Spring.
The old emperor even penned a poem about his Suzhou visit:
‘I long knew of Lion Grove, passed down from lofty Ni Zan.
I suspected it hidden in a quiet valley, yet it sits right in the bustling city.
Alas, no one was willing to build it, and it long belonged to others.
The master’s hand copy lies stored in the Stone Canal Pavilion; luckily, so I haven’t forgotten it.
How could I miss what is before my eyes? The local official said it was not yet decorated.
But undecorated is its natural state, all the more reason to step inside.
Fake mountains resemble real mountains, with immortals and mortals mere inches and feet apart.
Pines hang with age-old vines, the pond holds the five lakes’ waters.
A small pavilion truly like a bamboo hat, a low house so squat your shoulders touch its shoulders.
Remembering five hundred years past, good friends gathered here then.
They watered flowers to fill the Buddha’s bowl and steeped tea to savour its essence.
They never planned for the rocks and streams to last, and now those rocks and streams are half ruined.
I gaze west to Cold Spring Mountain, where traces of the Zhao family remain.
Pavilions and terraces all refurbished, heights and depths aglow in vermilion and purple.
Who can truly tell fortune from misfortune, and dissect their meaning?
It almost feels like my commoner’s words bring shame to the master of the cloudy woods.’
In the poem he says he had known Lion Grove from Ni Zan’s painting and had already built a Lion Grove after its image in the capital. After lavish praise for the Suzhou garden, he mentioned Cold Spring Mountain — which likely refers to Zhongnan Mountain, where a spring flows that can cure plagues. That mountain was once home to an immortal named Zhao, famously known as Zhao Gongming.
As the old saying goes, ‘wealth does not pass beyond three generations.’ But the Huang family, starting from Xingzu, whether well or poorly, managed to hold on for more than three. By the late Qing Dynasty, the family declined and the garden gradually fell into disrepair. In 1917, Suzhou-born Shanghai merchant Bei Runsheng bought the Huang family’s crumbling estate — coincidentally, it was the same year revolution broke out in Russia, though the two events were quite unrelated. The Lion Grove Monastery was still hanging on at the time, refusing to sell any land, so Mr. Bei simply acquired extra dwellings east of the dilapidated Huang property and incorporated them into his private garden. Then, with a grand building effort, he raised fallen walls, restacked collapsed rockeries, dredged silted waterways, and replanted elegant bamboo — the garden rose again. Yet Mr. Bei preserved the Huang estate’s original old gate, a very humble one, reminiscent of the paired archways at the Lingering Garden.
On the lintel above the gate are inscribed the characters ‘Lion Grove,’ written by Wu Yusheng, a Suzhou native who late in the Qing Dynasty served as Minister of Rites. Just look at those three characters — don’t they exude ancient charm? They show the depth of this gentleman’s calligraphy skills. Wu had been the teacher of Kang Youwei, the royalist leader at the dynasty’s end. After Kang fell from power, Wu was implicated and driven from office by the Empress Dowager. Thereafter, he roamed the country, sightseeing and leaving behind his calligraphy, and it was he who inscribed ‘Lion Grove’ for Mr. Bei’s new garden. Incidentally, Mr. Bei had a grandnephew named Bei Yuming — you might know him better as I.M. Pei, quite the master of architectural design.
After Mr. Bei’s passing, his grandson donated the garden to the state, and in 1954 it opened to the public. In the year 2000, Lion Grove Garden was inscribed on the World Heritage List as part of the ‘Classical Gardens of Suzhou,’ and in 2006 it was listed among the sixth batch of National Key Cultural Relics Protection Units.
Lion Grove faces south, with a square in front fenced in, while the main entrance to the square opens to the east. The actual garden gate, however, is a new one built by Mr. Bei to the east of the old gate, on land he expanded from the former dwellings. This is the Bei family ancestral hall. Entering the first courtyard, you find the offering hall.
The offering hall stands facing south with corridors to the east and west, forming a skywell in the middle. It is three bays wide and one bay deep, fitted with partition doors front and back. Verandah corridors run along the front and rear, with openwork wooden door hoods between the pillars rather than inverted fretwork panels. The roof is a single-eave gable-and-hip style, with grey tiles on a post-and-beam frame but no decorative horizontal ridges. The main ridge is quite ornate, covered with brick-carved patchwork, flanked by Anhui-style dragon-fish ridge ornaments. In the middle of the ridge stand three small grey-sculpted figures — look closely, and they’re the Three Star Gods of Fortune, Prosperity, and Longevity, not the Buddhas of the Three Realms. This speaks volumes: it hints that the Bei ancestors could become immortals, though not Buddhas.
On the pillars of the central bay hangs a couplet: ‘Like meteors from the yellow path scattered into a hundred seats, recalling Cloud Forest’s sketches, they brought five dragons to life.’ This was written by the contemporary calligrapher Wang Quchang, skilled in the ancient cursive-script style known as ‘zhang cao,’ a form of clerical script written in a cursive hand — the oldest cursive script. Let’s go inside.
The floor is paved with dark-grey brick, the roof structure left exposed so the beams and rafters are visible. During ordinary days, the offering hall of a clan shrine is arranged as a living room, serving as the meeting hall for the family’s senior members. In the central bay, a backdrop screen stands behind the rear pillars; in front of it is a red sandalwood altar table bearing a screen, a stone, and a vase. On tall side stands on either side sit two pots of plum blossoms. Before the altar table are a standard huanghuali square table and red sandalwood armchairs — the seats of the clan leader and his deputy. Below them, arranged on either side, are square tea tables and rosewood chairs for other senior clan members. The round dining table with stools in the middle does not belong here; a banquet would never be set up in a clan shrine’s offering hall.
On the backdrop screen hangs a monochrome ink painting of pines and rocks, done by a contemporary Suzhou painter. Above it is a paper plaque reading ‘Graceful Charm of the Cloud Forest,’ written by the modern calligrapher Gu Tinglong. The plaque ‘Renowned Garden Under the Heavens’ on the screen in the entrance hall of the Lingering Garden also came from Mr. Gu’s brush.
In the second courtyard stands a stalagmite.
The main hall in this second courtyard is the resting chamber. By custom, the resting chamber should be slightly less grand than the offering hall. Here, the roof has been changed to a single-ridged gable roof without brick-carved ornament on the ridge, and without decorative ridge-end beasts. Both the corridor columns and wall columns have been changed to square pillars, which are of a slightly lower status than round ones. These square pillars have grooves carved into their four corners, making their cross-section not a true square — such a pillar is called ‘plum-blossom column.’
According to the Zhou ritual system of ‘ancestral temple on the left, altar of state on the right,’ a palace should have an ancestral temple to its left hand and an altar to land and grain to its right. Commoners had no altar of state, so they only built an ancestral temple on the left — that is, the clan shrine. In the Bei family estate, the garden gate faces south, so the clan shrine sits to the left of the gate. When Mr. Bei built the shrine, he should have enshrined the ancestral tablets of his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather. These tablets were usually kept on the altar table in the resting chamber; during ancestral worship ceremonies, they would be carried out and placed on the altar in the offering hall to receive offerings. While imperial family shrines once varied in layout — with separate halls for different ancestors or one hall for all — commoner families always worshipped all ancestors together in one room, without separate chambers.
After Mr. Bei passed away, his tablet could also enter the shrine to be worshipped, followed by those of his eldest son and then eldest grandson. Their tablets were arranged according to the ‘left-zhao right-mu’ system: the highest ancestor in the middle, then the first, third, fifth generations to the left (zhao position), and the second, fourth, sixth generations to the right (mu position). The Bei family shrine in Lion Grove is entirely proper in form, though nowadays it is no longer arranged as an active clan shrine. The largest clan shrine in China is certainly the Imperial Ancestral Temple, the royal shrine. What about the largest folk clan shrine? The Chen Clan Academy in Guangzhou would definitely be a candidate. Customs for ancestor worship vary across regions, but no matter what, Chinese families venerate ancestors on New Year’s Eve. Before the ritual, all the living-room furniture in the offering hall is removed, and the ancestral tablets are brought out. The clan leader then leads all the men of the family in paying respects. In ordinary times, whenever something momentous happens in the family — like a wedding or the birth of a child — the family goes to the resting chamber to inform the ancestors. When major clan matters arise, the leader summons a meeting in the front hall of the shrine to decide; afterwards, the leader and senior members report the decision to the ancestors in the resting chamber.
Passing by the Bei family shrine, to its west stands the garden’s main hall, the Yanyu Hall (the Hall of Peace and Joy). Facing south and three bays wide, its form is essentially the same as the shrine’s rear hall. The name ‘Yanyu’ comes from the Book of Songs (Shijing). King Wu of the Zhou dynasty, Ji Fa, enfeoffed his fifth son as the Marquis of Han. The process of the son’s investiture was recorded in a poem, ‘Han Yi,’ found in the ‘Greater Odes’ section of the Book of Songs. The author is unknown, but later Yin Jifu compiled and edited it. The Book of Songs was compiled by Yin Jifu, who is revered as the Father of Chinese Poetry. In ancient Greece, the Iliad and Odyssey were compiled by Homer — the Homeric epics. Homer and Yin Jifu were contemporaries, and the Homeric epics together with the Book of Songs are the oldest poetry in human history.
Yin Jifu’s Book of Songs, after being edited by Confucius, became the ‘Three Hundred Poems’ handed down through the ages. During the Spring and Autumn period, among the descendants of Mao Sui — the man who famously volunteered himself in Handan — there were an uncle and nephew, Mao Heng and Mao Chang, who wrote prefaces and annotations to the Book of Songs to popularise it. This edition came to be known as the Mao Commentary. Even so, the text remained somewhat obscure. Later, during the Southern Song dynasty, Zhu Xi studied the Mao Commentary and wrote his own Annotations to the Book of Songs, which became the go-to guide for reading the classic. The essential study aids for the Book of Songs are thus the Mao Commentary and Zhu’s Annotations. In the ‘Han Yi’ poem from the ‘Greater Odes,’ there is a line: ‘庆既令居，韩姞燕誉’ — (‘joyful in their splendid dwelling, the Han bride rests in peace and delight’). Zhu Xi glossed: ‘燕，安；誉，乐也’ — ‘yan means peace, yu means joy.’ So, the Yanyu Hall in Lion Grove is the Hall of Peace and Joy.
The courtyard before the hall is paved with cobblestones forming mosaic patterns. Under the south wall, rocks are piled to create planters, in which Taihu stones and stalagmites are set, and tree peonies are grown, forming a mini landscape (penjing). Both sides of this penjing are also planted with magnolias. All of this can be enjoyed right from inside the hall.
The front of Yanyu Hall is fully fitted with six-panel partition doors. Look at the wood carvings on the bottom panels: they depict precisely the garden penjing’s extraordinary stones and peonies. Step inside. The interior is two bays deep, the ceiling open to reveal the rafters and beams, and the floor paved with dark-grey ‘golden bricks’ — bricks of a quality nearly equal to the imperial palace’s famous golden bricks, only much smaller in size. Now, take a look at the roof.
A screen partition stands against the central columns, dividing the hall into a front and rear chamber. Notice the ceilings in both rooms: they are decorated with arched rafters, not a typical exposed structure. Because the ceiling resembles an upturned boat canopy, it is called a ‘boat-canopy ceiling.’ A hall with such a ceiling is known as a ‘boat-canopy pavilion,’ a common feature in Suzhou-style architecture. We saw similar ceilings in the verandah of the Heavenly Spring Pavilion in the Humble Administrator’s Garden, though there it was outside; this shows that boat-canopy ceilings can be used both indoors and in verandahs.
Because the screen partition sits on the central columns, the front and rear rooms of Yanyu Hall are equally sized. The front room is a conventional reception hall; let’s look at the back room.
This back room is also a conventional hall. While the front room serves as the formal parlour, the back room is a lounge. Beneath the screen, instead of tables and chairs, there stands a luohan bed — a wide daybed on which you can recline or sit. It is typically used for the host’s naps or for receiving intimate guests.
On the screen hangs a horizontal plaque reading ‘The Hall of Green Jade and Cerulean Yao.’ In his poem ‘Tongli,’ Ni Zan praised that ancient water-town with the lines: ‘The outlines of Tongli merge with Songling afar, / green jade and cerulean yao wind around and entwine.’ ‘Green jade’ refers to green peonies, and ‘cerulean yao’ to blue-tinted peaks. Naming this chamber thus is apt, for the courtyard’s penjing feature peonies and rocky outcroppings.
The rear of the hall is also fully fitted with six-panel partition doors.
Look at the door panels and the transom windows: they are all set with coloured glass. This is a Western architectural element. When Mr. Bei was renovating Lion Grove, Western influences were sweeping eastward, so it is not surprising to find Western touches added to an ancient garden.
A hall like Yanyu Hall — with a screen on the central columns dividing it into two halves — is commonly called a ‘mandarin duck hall.’ Yanyu Hall is the main reception hall of Lion Grove, used for receiving guests. It is said that male visitors were entertained in the front and female visitors in the rear, much like the separate male and female halls in the Humble Administrator’s Garden. Unlike the Lingering Garden, which has a dining room, Lion Grove’s banquet hall for guests is also right here. The round dining table in the centre bay would be brought out only at mealtimes; ordinarily, it would be moved to one of the side rooms. Since there are dining tables in both the front and rear rooms, it means male and female guests were seated separately. Mr. Bei, of course, would have taken his daily meals in the residence, not here.
On both sides of the Yanyu Hall’s verandah, moon gates pierce the walls, each topped with a carved stone plaque.
Let’s continue our stroll and enjoy the scenery. Look at this little building.
Three bays wide and two bays deep, its central bay has a back screen made of six panels of frameless thin silk framed by wood lattice. The paintings on the silk, Five Pines, were done by contemporary Jiangsu painter Wu Yangmu. Above the screen hangs a horizontal plaque reading ‘Ancient Five Pines Garden,’ inscribed by another contemporary calligrapher, Su Juxian — the same hand that wrote the plaque ‘How Do You Know I Don’t Know the Joy of Fish?’ at the Lingering Garden. It is said that five pine trees once stood in the garden during its early days, and Lion Grove was also known as Five Pines Garden; those trees are now nowhere to be found. Now, take a look at the gable walls.
The depth is quite shallow. Because the roof is a single eave without any boat-canopy decorative rafters, the roof is light and the pillars and beams are slender. Under the wall sit two high-backed chairs and a square tea table — very simple. This means that if an honoured guest visited, the guest’s attendants would rest here. On the wall hangs a painting of pines and rocks, along with a poem titled ‘Lion Grove’ by the monastery’s founder, Master Tianru:
‘Birds sing, flowers smile, east and west of the house; / cypress-seed incense blue-green, taro-fire red. / People say I dwell in the city, / yet I feel I am deep amid countless mountains. / Half an eave, setting sun drying a cold robe; / one bowl of fragrant broth with wild ferns so plump. / Spring rain, spring mist, two or three friends — / returning from the river’s western head, planting pines.’
Now take in the pines and rocks in the courtyard.
Under the north wall stands a two-storey building; let’s step inside.
This building originally belonged to Lion Grove Monastery. The ground floor was the dharma hall, and the upper floor the sutra depository. Successive garden owners never demolished it, only made repairs over the centuries. When Mr. Bei took charge, he turned it into a place of gathering and entertainment — reciting poetry, painting, draining wine cups, and indulging in mutual flattery and tall tales. So, as you can see, it is now laid out as a grand living room. On the backdrop screen is a painting, Long-lived Cypress, done jointly by three contemporary Suzhou painters; above it hangs a paper plaque reading ‘Bow to the Peaks and Point to the Cypress.’
‘Bow to the peaks’ means to pay respects to the rock mountains. The great Southern Song scholar Zhu Xi once climbed Mount Baizhang in Jiangxi, known as the ‘Little Lushan.’ Gazing at the view, he wrote: ‘The terrace stands where the mountain gapes to the southwest, bowing to distant peaks. One peak towers alone, while hundreds of miles of ridge lines are all arrayed before the eyes.’ Here at Lion Grove, ‘bowing to the peaks’ means paying homage to the strange rocks, especially the large lion-shaped stone placed in the hall.
‘Point to the cypress’ refers to a well-known Chan (Zen) koan called ‘Zhaozhou points to the cypress.’ Koans are cases for meditation. During the Dazhong reign of Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang Dynasty, there was a master in Zhaozhou named Congshen, known as Master Zhaozhou. The koan goes: a monk asked, ‘What is the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming from the west?’ The master replied, ‘The cypress tree in front of the courtyard.’ Bodhidharma was the founder of Chan Buddhism; Master Zhaozhou answered the ultimate state of enlightenment with a plain cypress tree. The seemingly unrelated response actually illustrates Chan’s core teaching: the mind-nature is intrinsically pure, Buddha-nature is inherent, enlightenment does not come from outside, and one should abandon textual interpretations to directly reach the heart-mind. You need not be literate to practise Chan; an illiterate can attain Buddhahood. Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch who wrote the famous verse ‘Originally there is no bodhi tree, nor stand of a bright mirror. / Fundamentally not one thing exists, so where could dust alight?’ was himself a poor woodcutter who could not read. Master Congshen was Huineng’s fourth-generation disciple. So, calling the building ‘Point to the Cypress’ suggests it was a place where the Dharma was transmitted, and perhaps a cypress truly stood in the courtyard in times past. It is very likely that during early Lion Grove Monastery, this building was called ‘Point to the Cypress Hall.’ During the Ming Hongwu period, the renowned writer Gao Qi wrote a poem praising the Point to Cypress Pavilion: ‘Pure shade guards the swallow-tail table; within sits one who has forgotten words. People come to ask, but he does not answer — only smiles and points to the cypress in the courtyard.’ After Mr. Bei took over, since the hall housed a large lion-like stone, he added the phrase ‘Bow to the Peaks.’
Lion Grove naturally contains water. As a line goes: ‘Dig a rectangular pool in the ground, with layer upon layer of peaks encircling all four sides. Heavenly light holds an ancient mirror’s gleam; the colour of moss rises onto spring robes. Quiet birds form true companions to the mood; idle clouds reflect and fly upside down. Who placed this single fistful of rock to serve as an angling perch?’
By the water’s edge there is even a boat. Another verse reads: ‘In gengyin year I left Wu and headed west to Chu; one autumn evening, my lone boat moored by a river island. In the desolate woods under a moon, a tiger seemed ready to prowl; on the ancient road where few folk passed, ghosts whispered together.’
It is a two-storey pleasure boat, with a front and rear cabin built as two-storey towers, and the middle cabin topped with a sightseeing deck. Stone pillars, beams, and tie beams form the framework, with partition doors and windows in between. Its upper roof is not a traditional sloping roof, but an arched vault. Even without mooring ropes, this boat can never drift away — because it is a stone boat, commonly called an ‘unmoored boat,’ built by Mr. Bei.
Behind the stone boat stands a building, the Hidden Fragrance and Dappled Shadow Tower. ‘Hidden fragrance’ refers to the subtle scent of plum blossoms, while ‘dappled shadow’ speaks of the shifting shadows of bamboo. The Southern Song poet Jiang Kui once made a winter trip to Suzhou’s Stone Lake and wrote a poem titled ‘Hidden Fragrance,’ which includes the line: ‘Playing the flute beside the plum blossoms, I rouse a jade-like maiden, heedless of the chilly dawn, to pluck a spray.’ Look at the winter-sweet plum blossoms in full bloom down below — you can almost picture a Wu beauty leaning by the window breathing in that elusive perfume.
Jiang Kui also wrote a companion poem, ‘Dappled Shadow,’ with the lines: ‘Meeting in a stranger’s land, at a fence corner at dusk, silently we lean against the tall bamboo.’ Just look at the slender bamboo beneath the tower, their airy shadows ever shifting. Spring trees know glory and decline, but bamboo’s knots know no withering.
Below the Hidden Fragrance and Dappled Shadow Tower, right by the water, stands a waterside pavilion — the Pavilion of True Delight. This waterside pavilion is exceedingly splendid. It has a grey-tile, single-eave flush-gable-ridge roof of the ‘rounded-ridge’ type, the gable ends adorned with plaster peony sculptures. Though just one room, its bay and depth are both generous. Four columns mark the corners, each topped with a gilded wooden dragon-head bracket. Under the front eave, two freestanding ornamental columns have been added, with a gilded openwork carved fascia board below the tie beam, and beneath that another gilded openwork door hood. Inside hangs a gilded plaque inscribed ‘True Delight,’ bearing the imperial signature of Emperor Qianlong. It was written in the 30th year of his reign (1765), during his fourth southern tour when he visited Lion Grove. Because of this imperial plaque, the pavilion is allowed to have such dragon-and-gilt decorations — otherwise it would be an overstepping of rank.
Now look at another small pavilion.
This one is tucked into the covered walkway — it’s a corridor pavilion. It has a grey-tile, post-and-beam, single-eave roof with a four-angled spire, and the ends of the four ridges rise in soaring ‘tender-wood’ curves. The summit ornament is a brick-carved gourd treasure vase — a finial not often seen. The spaces between the central columns are filled with brick walls punctured by square windows. Go inside and look at the stained-glass casement window.
Before Mr. Bei’s time, this window would have been an ornamental tracery window framing a view; Mr. Bei fitted it with coloured glass, turning it into a ready-made Western-style painting. Beside the window hangs a couplet written by the late-Qing literatus Zhang Maojiong in his 89th year: ‘Coalesced emerald mists gather in the lion’s cave; messenger storks in the slender bamboo immortal lodge bring frequent letters.’ The first line references an early Qing poem by Wang Shizhen about staying overnight at Saint’s Grace Temple in Suzhou: ‘Amid my master’s cave, deep-blue mists coalesce; beyond Fahua Mountain, evening smoke withdraws.’ ‘Master’s cave’ here means a Buddhist temple. ‘Deep-blue mists’ originally refer to mountain vapours — Saint’s Grace Temple is close to hills — but Zhang here alludes to the artificial rockery of Lion Grove. The second line comes from Wu Weiye’s Nine Peaks Poems, also from the early Qing: ‘Purple canopy and cyan lads, white deer and ceremonial kerchief; a slender bamboo immortal lodge — stork-script letters frequent.’ Wu Weiye was a Suzhou native who once wrote twenty-eight rhymes on the Humble Administrator’s Garden. ‘Slender bamboo’ indicates a bamboo grove; ‘stork letters’ are imperial edicts summoning worthies, as if immortals in the mountains are like immortal storks.
Look beneath the window: on the table sits an arrangement of curious stones in a tray. That tabletop is itself an imperial ‘golden brick’ used to pave the palace floors — seconds, of course. Mr. Bei inherited his predecessors’ passion for unusual stones and spent his days gathering them from every corner, displaying his finds in the halls. Take a look at his collection.
What truly sets Lion Grove apart is its piled-rock artificial mountain.
These rockeries were originally heaped up by the garden’s founder, Master Tianru. He once studied and practised meditation at Mount Tianmu in Zhejiang, where he saw all manner of bizarre rocks and secluded scenes. When building the temple in Suzhou, he searched far and wide for curious stones, even salvaging remnants of Emperor Huizong’s ‘Flower and Rock Transport’ (the notorious huashi gang), and piled up several artificial hills behind the temple. The Lion Grove rockery is the largest among all classic gardens in Suzhou — rising several levels and twisting left and right, with open paths and hidden caves everywhere, displaying the prized qualities of Taihu stones: penetrability, porosity, slenderness, and wrinkling. This rockery is one of the childhood favourite places for Suzhou locals to climb; even grown-ups love to squeeze through its passages. It is also notorious for head-bumps and stumbles; it is not uncommon to see visitors emerge with bleeding scalps and stifled sobs. So, the garden management not only puts up warning signs at the entrance but also uses the public-address system to remind mums to mind their children.
The late-Qing painter Yao Xie (also known as Mr. Damiei) once visited the Huang family’s Lion Grove and left a poem praising its rockery:
‘I long heard of Lion Grove’s strange wonders, soaring as high as a Buddhist temple.
It stood beyond measuring rods, scraping the sky with its sheer steepness.
My soul glimpsed but once this numinous thing; its divine craftsmanship left me gasping in awe.
Just entering, the path winds and twines; pausing a moment, my feelings rose in turmoil.
Ten thousand hollows like wasp-nest cells; seven spirals where ants crawl up anthills.
Empty crevices reveal downward hollows; twisting steps rise to the clifftop above.
Light gradually peeps through side openings; down a step, a stream seems suddenly cut off.
Dark and light switch in an instant; moving east or west shifts by inches.
The long spiral route circles back repeatedly; doubling back, the path seems about to diverge.
Perilous yet its foundation is secure; in the deepest recesses, the scene turns crystal clear.’
Throughout the garden, openings in the lattice walls frame carefully composed views. Look at this spot: white-washed walls hung with ink wash paintings, a lattice window turned into a coloured picture.
See how red and white plum blossoms set off the window frame. The Ming thinker Li Zhi wrote: ‘At last I know the feeling of spring belongs to the idle; red and white mingle as I gaze again and again. Just as the blossoms open, you leave once more; the one who sees the flowers is not the one who planted them.’
And here: ‘Several rounds of skirts and clogs lose their way in the winding corridors, as if ants threaded through a pearl’s nine twists. No matter you meet no fine times by design; the fleeting scents of hair and robes greet us on and off.’
After visiting Lion Grove, the Qing poet Xu Chuanpei wrote a poem in its praise:
‘Before the fasting room in the fourth month all turns lush green; a wanderer in quiet paces back and forth.
I heard there is a fairy garden here; the fame of Five Pines is what I’ve known best.
A great lying stone greets the clear pool at the gate; I enter a secluded spot where brocade flowers cluster.
First I climb the winding terraces and pavilions; blinding my eyes, pure splendour of water and wood.
Suddenly towering up rise dozens of stone peaks; each peak high-placed, cloud and mist stand straight.
Looming cliffs seem about to fall over rock-strewn shores; ridges coiled round the house startle the face from every side.
Wanting to leave but turning back, the cleverness is wholly absorbing; seeming bright yet dim, it writes the feelings but once.
Oh, I see no more that Ni Yunlin of old, whose masterful brush compared to Gu and Lu.
Not only do the lions resemble a lion grove; piled cloud mountains rise a mere foot and more.’
The poet mentions ‘Gu and Lu’ — Gu refers to Eastern Jin painter Gu Kaizhi, and Lu to Southern Dynasties painter Lu Tanwei. Both belong to the Four Great Masters of the Six Dynasties. The Song poet Lu You wrote: ‘If only I could find painters like Gu and Lu, to portray by their hand my night-returning scene!’ No authentic works by Gu Kaizhi survive; his best-known surviving copy is the Nymph of the Luo River scroll. As for Lu Tanwei, not even copies of his paintings remain.
Though Lion Grove Garden has suffered neglect and been rebuilt through the dynasties, its waters and rockeries are still remnants from the late Yuan period, and the Dappled Shadow Tower is also a Yuan legacy. The overall garden layout still rests on that late-Yuan foundation, embedded with numerous Ming and Qing garden-building elements and dotted with Western touches. Overall, the style is predominantly Ming and Qing. The architectural style of the Manchu Qing rulers is not particularly pronounced; after entering the central plains, they largely followed Ming conventions, so classical gardens in Jiangnan continue the Ming tradition. Having already strolled through the Humble Administrator’s Garden and the Lingering Garden — gardens where the pulse of the Qing is more palpable — visiting Lion Grove with its lingering Yuan flavour adds yet another intoxicating layer to the journey.
