The hometown of Lu Xun, discovering childhood memories

Ink-wash stained Jiangnan soul—A travelogue of Shaoxing

The early morning in Shaoxing is awakened by the sound of oars on black-awning boats. The bluestone paths glisten with the faint light of last night’s rain, and the weeping willows by the Eight-Character Bridge gently brush the water’s surface, breaking their reflections into flowing rice paper. This ancient city, built over 2,500 years ago, is structured by water, connected by bridges, and animated by culture. Amid the mingling scents of yellow wine and ink, it unfolds an everlasting scroll of Jiangnan.

1. Deep in the ancient alleys, the folds of history
Stepping into Lu Xun’s hometown, time suddenly folds. The wooden window frames of Sanwei Study let in fragmented light and shadow, and the desk carved with the character “early” makes one almost hear young Lu Xun’s footsteps running to fetch medicine for his father. Beneath the mud walls of Baicao Garden, the soapberry trees remain lush, but in the crickets’ melodies, it’s hard to find the mischievous figure of young Lu Xun pulling out polygonum root. Moving to Cangqiao Straight Street, the old coal stove simmers a ceramic pot of fennel beans with a “gurgling” sound, and the stinky tofu vendor ladles a spoonful of spicy sauce, turning Lu Xun’s metaphor of “black jade” and “white jade” into reality.

In front of the pink walls of Shen Garden, the ink of Lu You and Tang Wan’s “Phoenix Hairpin” poem is mottled. The tragic story of the spring waves and startled swan becomes even more poignant as the crabapple blossoms fall to mud. At the Lanting winding stream where cups floated, Wang Xizhi’s carefree brushstrokes after drinking wine have transformed into an everlasting ink fragrance in the stele forest, and even the bamboo waves seem to chant the magnanimity of “Those who look at the present from the future will see it as we see the past.”

2. On the water’s surface, flowing poetry
Riding a black-awning boat through East Lake, the boatman’s skill of rowing with one foot perfectly embodies the city’s survival philosophy—responding to twists and turns with flexibility. The cliffs reflect in the emerald water, as if stepping into the Tang poetry painting “Mirror Lake Maiden.” Arriving at the ancient fiber path, the thirty-six-hole Moon Bridge lies like a rainbow resting on the waves, and the grooves worn by ropes on the bluestone still tell the grand scene of a thousand sails competing in the canal era.

The Eight-Character Bridge at dusk is full of everyday life. An old woman pounds laundry on the riverside steps, cooking smoke rises gently behind the horse-head walls, and the sweet aroma of “Taidiao” wine drifts from the tavern. This three-dimensional bridge, built in the Song Dynasty, has three stairways leading in three directions, weaving the bustling scenes of the market into the unique space-time fabric of the water town.

3. Flavors on the tongue, the aging of time
In front of the curved counter of Xianheng Hotel, the long gown of the Kong Yiji bronze statue is always tinged with the salty aroma of fennel beans. Warming a pot of twenty-year-old aged Huadiao wine, the amber liquid slides down the throat, stirring not only the playful irony of “Is it too much? Not at all,” but also an immersive visit into the literary universe of “Kong Yiji.”

At the sauce garden drying yard in Anchang Ancient Town, a hundred thousand ceramic jars are brewing the magic of time. The dark brown sauce slowly contracts in the spring sun, eventually solidifying into the soul-stirring black gloss of braised pork with preserved vegetables. Meanwhile, in the newly opened steamers at Wangjiang Tower, the hollow steamed buns are as fluffy as clouds, and the dough soaked with meat juice carries the old flavor guarded by three generations.

4. Bridge shadows and string songs, the unceasing cultural vein
In the night of the hometown of the Sage of Calligraphy, the bell of Jie Zhu Lecture Temple resonates with the ripples of the Ink Pool. The legend of Wang Xizhi accidentally swallowing a pearl has long turned into the silhouette of an old man selling fans on the Tishan Bridge. Under the kerosene lamp in Cai Yuanpei’s former residence, one can still see the trembling pen tip as he wrote “History of Chinese Ethics,” weaving the idea of “freedom of thought and inclusiveness” into the fabric of the ancient city.

Walking through this city with 167 museums, every step treads on fragments of civilization. From Dayu’s flood control axe marks to Qiu Jin’s martyrdom at Xuantingkou, from Xu Wei’s ink-splashed grapes to Lu Xun’s thrown dagger, the layers of history always surge with the courage to pioneer.

On the day of leaving Shaoxing, fine rain falls again. Standing at the head of the Eight-Character Bridge looking back, the black-awning boat carrying jars of yellow wine passes through the bridge’s arch, and the ripples spreading out are the perfect illustration of “clear skies, gentle breeze” from the Preface to the Orchid Pavilion. This ancient city at 30° north latitude turns the water’s vitality, the bridge’s steadfastness, and the sharpness of culture into a unique memory—the most authentic Jiangnan has never been in tourists’ cameras, but in the untamed essence of everyday life flowing through ordinary alleys.