Climbing Yuelu Mountain with an elementary school textbook, I understood the maple forest at dusk at Aiwan Pavilion

Clutching a vague memory of an elementary school textbook 📚, I climbed Yuelu Mountain. I didn’t chase the red maples but went straight to that Aiwan Pavilion ⛩️ The green-tiled eaves soaked in the daylight, and when the wind brushed the bamboo tips, I suddenly recalled how I used to shout out loud in Chinese class, reciting “Stopping the carriage, I love the maple forest at dusk” — it turns out the meaning I didn’t understand back then can only be grasped standing under this vermilion-pillared pavilion: it’s not the brilliance of the maples, but the mountain pavilion, bamboo shadows, and the sound of the wind that together create the lively atmosphere in the poem. Not far from Aiwan Pavilion is Yuelu Academy. Seeing everyone making the same hand gesture puzzled me until I learned they were forming a “heart” shape 😍, so I joined in. Taking the sightseeing bus 🚍 to the mountaintop, I encountered the “Eye of Changsha” standing atop the peak. This observation deck, renewed from the old TV tower, holds the city memories of several generations over 38 years. Taking the 38-second elevator to the 324.5-meter-high observation hall, a 360-degree panoramic view instantly unfolds. Just after touching the thousand-year-old poem at Aiwan Pavilion, I turned to see Changsha’s present life through this “City Eye,” and the connection between past and present suddenly felt real. People often say you have to wait for the maple leaves 🍁 at Yuelu Mountain, but after this trip, I understand: the charm here is never just the scenery. It’s standing at Aiwan Pavilion, suddenly high-fiving the ten-year-old me who memorized the poem; it’s climbing the “Eye of Changsha,” watching the city flow beneath my feet, and suddenly grasping the deep meaning of “dusk” in the poem. It turns out culture is the mystery box of Yuelu Mountain, and opening it reveals a resonance across a thousand years.