Coming to Leshan, I must recommend Jinjiang Jiazhou Hotel for a comfortable journey

## "Docking at Jiazhou at Night" As dusk fell, I stood in front of Jinjiang Jiazhou Hotel with my suitcase. This building, covered in brown tiles, had been soaking in Leshan's humid air for years. Its exterior walls had developed some mottled water stains, making it look like an intentionally aged antique. The receptionist was a young woman with delicate features and a professional smile. The golden "Jiazhou" characters on the room card she handed me were slightly peeling off, reminding me of the weathering folds on the Leshan Giant Buddha. "The river-view room overlooks the Min River," she said as the muffled sound of a ferry horn came through the window, like a sigh rising from the depths of the water. The elevator lobby displayed a 2018 "Four-Star Hotel" bronze plaque with oxidized, blackened corners. The elevator emitted a slight hum during operation, unexpectedly reminding me of a similar experience at an old hotel in Chongqing last year. The corridor carpet featured that dark red vine pattern popular in the 1990s, yet felt surprisingly soft underfoot—clearly recently replaced. Upon opening the door, I first noticed the curtains—heavy, dark gold velvet that released fine dust particles when drawn. The so-called river view was merely a tributary of the Min River, now gleaming with an oily sheen as two or three sand barges slowly passed by. Across the river, LED advertisements from newly built residential complexes glared brightly, repeatedly projecting words like "livable" and "ecological" onto the water's surface. In the bathroom, the white tiles were polished to a shine, though the mold in the grout revealed the room's age. The towels were fluffy and white but carried a faint bleach smell. Most interesting was the vintage-style telephone—a plastic handset designed to look like an old rotary phone that turned out to be push-button when picked up. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of mahjong. The noise came from somewhere downstairs, mixed with laughter in Sichuan dialect. It was only 1 AM—I remembered there was indeed a teahouse across from the hotel that operated all night. The sound wasn't annoying; rather, it conveyed a genuine sense of local life, more authentic than any deliberately created "home away from home" atmosphere. Breakfast was served in "Jiazhou Pavilion" on the second floor. The serving area featured Leshan specialties like tofu pudding and qiao jiao beef, alongside the standard chain hotel fare of fried eggs and sausages. An elderly chef prepared dan dan noodles on the spot—the red oil spreading in the porcelain bowl looked far more appealing than the artificial fountain outside the window. During checkout, the front desk was now staffed by an older man discussing the weather in Leshan dialect with a cleaning lady. As he took my room card, I noticed chili seeds stuck in his fingernails—he must have just finished breakfast. This detail suddenly brought the entire hotel to life, revealing that behind the deliberately maintained facade, the city's everyday atmosphere couldn't be concealed. As I walked through the revolving door, I heard the cleaning lady tapping her mop against the marble floor while humming a Sichuan opera tune. Last night's mahjong game apparently hadn't ended yet.