In Xinchang, there's an old charm waiting for you to cherish.

Today, the sky is exceptionally thoughtful. When I stepped into Xinchang Ancient Town, it was the gentlest time of the afternoon. The sunlight fell softly, like someone's tender gaze, resting on the weathered doors marked by time. The breeze carried hints of water and earth, neither too cool nor too warm—just perfect for slowing down, so much so that every step felt like a quiet greeting to the old street: "How are you?" Xinchang was quieter than I imagined. There was no hustle and bustle, only the silence left behind by time. This place was once an important commercial hub connecting southeastern Shanghai to Zhejiang. Since the Song Dynasty, it thrived as a renowned "land of fish and rice" in Shanghai. Today, it resembles an aging diva, shedding her glamorous makeup and speaking only through the stories etched in her wrinkles. The gray-white horsehead wall at the alley entrance stood solemnly under the blue sky. I looked up and saw clouds swirling, reminiscent of a poem written and erased, leaving only a faint trace of memory. I paused in front of an old house; its dark wooden door, polished smooth by countless hands, exuded a warm luster. Suddenly, I recalled the sound of the old wooden door at my grandmother's house when I was a child—the creak that marked the beginning of spring. At this moment, I seemed to hear Xinchang speaking to me, in its silent way... Under many yellowed and aged window frames, I took a few photos with painted door gods in the background. The vivid brushstrokes reminded me of childhood temple fairs and sugar paintings. My smile, always tinged with a bit of childlike innocence, captured the essence of a journey where I reconciled with myself. Travelers often think they are on the road, but in truth, we are walking through the depths of memory. Xinchang didn't make me exclaim in awe; it quietly opened the drawer of memories, allowing me to pick up long-forgotten pieces of myself. I found myself appreciating the reflection of the river, mirroring a version of me that was no longer hurried, no longer trying to please others. As the sunset descended, I looked back at the alley... It didn't call out to me, but it knew that perhaps one day, I would return, carried by the wind.