When the moonlight of the ancient town spreads a flowing poem for you

Twilight is the gentlest writer of the ancient town, dyeing the white walls and black tiles of Boxinyunshe Wenyuan into an ink painting scroll. When the last ray of sunset passes over the flying eaves of the horse-head walls, the copper bells hanging at the eaves suddenly ring softly, as if reminding travelers passing by: the night belonging here has just begun.

No need to rush, just walk slowly along the bluestone path. The road still holds the moisture of the day, and you can hear a faint "creak" underfoot. Lanterns light up one after another at the corners, and the warm yellow light filters through the bamboo strips, casting scattered spots of light on the walls, like a handful of crushed stars scattered about.

If you want to find a quiet place, a tea set has long been arranged under the wisteria trellis in the courtyard. Local cloud mist tea brews in a celadon gaiwan; the moment boiling water is poured in, the tea leaves unfold like fluttering butterflies. Looking up, intertwined vines stretch overhead, and moonlight leaks through the leaves, falling into the tea cup and rippling silver light in circles. Occasionally, fireflies carrying little lanterns fly through the flowers, their flickering light seeming to guide you or unwilling to disturb this quiet whisper.

Later at night, why not go to the terrace for a look? The wind blows from the valley, carrying the freshness of grass and trees. As it brushes past your hair, it feels as if you can hear the ancient town’s stories spanning thousands of years, quietly told to you by the wind. Here, time is no longer a ticking clock, but the moonlight at the eaves, the fragrance of tea in the cup, and every gentle moment you embrace with this land.

Post by KHLOE HARRISON | Nov 4, 2025