A crape myrtle secret realm hidden in Taizhou Taoyuan! Its blooming season holds centuries of Jiangnan stories.

Hidden in Taizhou's Taoyuan lies the secret wonderland of crape myrtles! Centuries of Jiangnan stories lie hidden within their blooming season.

When visiting Taizhou, I always feel the urge to find a less bustling spot. The crape myrtles of Taoyuan perfectly meet this expectation. Rather than a deliberately thronged sea of ​​blossoms, they meander along quaint corridors. Pinks resemble crushed sunset clouds, purples resemble ink-soaked silk. A breeze sends petals scattering across the bluestone slabs, creating a fragrant path for visitors.

It's said that "crape myrtles bloom for a hundred days," but in Taoyuan, these flowers are no longer simply ornamental; they seem to carry the thread of history. During the Ming Dynasty, Taizhou produced a great scholar named Kong Shangren. He lived nearby for three years, and between writing his poem "Peach Blossom Fan," he likely spent many hours strolling through this crape myrtle-filled courtyard. Imagine, on a summer night hundreds of years ago, he might have sat on the stone bench where we rest today, watching the crape myrtles reflected in the moonlight. His pen captured not only the love and hate between Li Xiangjun and Hou Fangyu, but also the flower's character. After all, crape myrtles, also known as "hundred-day reds," bloom for a long time and are resistant to heat, much like the characters in "Peach Blossom Fan" who uphold their integrity amidst turbulent times.


Walking deeper along the path among the flowers, you'll come across a waterside pavilion called "Ouhuazhou." Beside the pavilion, the crape myrtles are in full bloom, their branches almost reaching the surface of the water. Unlike other crape myrtles, the trees here are free of cluttered markings. Instead, a small wooden sign hangs discreetly, proclaiming, "Ancient crape myrtles transplanted here during the Chongzhen reign of the Ming Dynasty." It turns out that among these flowers are several "old veterans" transplanted from the old city. While not the original plants Kong Shangren saw, they retain the air of centuries of tradition, their lush branches and leaves seem to be guarding the tranquility of this peach orchard for their ancestors.

When you're tired of strolling, you can sit for a while at a teahouse by the waterside pavilion, order a cup of local Green Yangchun tea, and watch the shadows of crape myrtles sway in the water outside the window. Occasionally, you'll hear the tour guide's stories: When Kong Shangren wrote "Peach Blossom Fan," he often met with literati from Taizhou in Taoyuan. While they discussed poetry and lyrics, a freshly picked crape myrtle might be placed next to their teacups. Now, sitting in the same place, drinking the same tea, and gazing at similar flowers, it feels like a conversation across time and space with the literati of centuries ago. This feeling is far more moving than simply admiring the sea of ​​flowers.

Many people who come to Taoyuan focus on the spring peach blossoms, but they don't realize that the crape myrtles in late summer and early autumn hold many surprises. It lacks the delicateness of peach blossoms, blooming passionately and calmly, much like the city of Taizhou: unassuming yet profound. Before leaving, I couldn't help but break off a petal and tuck it into my notebook. Not because I wanted to take anything with me, but simply because I felt it was a good memory—after all, within this flower lies the writings of Kong Shangren, the gentleness of Jiangnan, and the romance of Taizhou that we stumbled upon.

Post by Mr. Laverna Moen | Sep 13, 2025