Nanxun: Retrieving Jiangnan Fragments in Flowing Time

Nanxun: Retrieving Jiangnan Fragments in Flowing Time As the high-speed train entered the misty rain of Huzhou, I suddenly understood the metaphor of "ink wash Jiangnan" – not a meticulous and detailed painting, but a semi-wet ink mark smudged on rice paper. The beauty of Nanxun lies in its resemblance to a jar of Huadiao wine sealed for a hundred years. The initial taste is light, but a careful sip will intoxicate you with the lingering charm of the soft Wu dialect. [The Epic in the Brick Seams] In the early morning, the Hundred Houses still float in a thin mist, and the bluestone slabs are shiny with dew. Under the arcade, an old woman is stacking newly steamed Dingsheng cakes into a bamboo basket, and the fragrance of osmanthus is carried over by the steam. I stepped on the 400m-long Ming and Qing architectural complex, watching the carved gatehouses looming in the morning mist – the hollowed-out bat patterns and swastika grids were originally the wealth codes hidden in the brick carvings by the "Four Elephants and Eight Bulls." The most wonderful thing is the patio of Zhang Shiming's former residence. Looking up, you can see the French-imported colored glass standing side by side with the Chinese wooden beams. The sunlight cuts in obliquely, weaving a carpet of Chinese and Western styles on the ground. [The Theater in the Deep Water] The city river is the main artery of Nanxun, and the awning boats are the flowing punctuation marks. The boatwoman wears a blue floral cloth scarf, and with a light touch of the bamboo pole, the stern sways with fine golden light. "This bridge is called 'Qingfeng' (Clear Wind), and that alley is named 'Mingyue' (Bright Moon)," her Wu dialect is as soft as freshly peeled water caltrop, "When the lanterns light up at night, the bridge arches will cut the moonlight into pieces and scatter it on the bow." Sure enough, as dusk fell, the lanterns of the Hundred Houses lit up one after another, and the orange-red halo was kneaded into the river. Floating with the waves were not only the reflections, but also the lingering notes of the Pingtan artists from the teahouse, entwined in the sound of the oars. [The Morning and Evening Line on the Tip of the Tongue] The everyday atmosphere of Nanxun is hidden in the three meals of the day and the four seasons. In front of the "Double Topping Noodles" stall in the early market, the owner's wrists flutter, and the fried fish sizzles in the oil pan. The braised pork has just the right amount of fat and lean meat. The toppings are placed on the thin noodles, with yellow bamboo shoots, red chili oil, and white scallions, like a miniature ink painting. In the afternoon, I sneaked into the "Wild Water Chestnut" tea and snack shop. The freshly made orange cakes lay trembling in the bamboo sieve. Taking a bite, the sweetness melted on the tip of my tongue, mixed with the sound of the pipa floating from the old teahouse across the street, and I tasted a bit of the mood of *Six Records of a Floating Life*. At dusk, I sat by the river and drank smoked bean tea, watching the silhouette of the cormorants returning to their nests across the purplish-red sky, and suddenly understood why the ancients said "stealing half a day of leisure from a busy life" – the time at this moment was originally brewed with the fragrance of tea and the sound of oars. When I left, it was late spring, and the ancient town gradually became a light ink painting outside the car window. I suddenly remembered the carved windows of the Jiayetang Library. In the warm wooden patterns that had been smoothed by the years, there might still be a silhouette of a silk merchant reading by the window in the early morning. Nanxun is not a scenic spot for people to check in, but an ocean of time to sink into. When you reach out and touch those mottled brick walls, what your fingertips touch is the body temperature of Jiangnan.