Late November in Taiyuan

❄️Late November in Taiyuan, the wind is crisp and cold, and the air carries a dry clarity. Its architecture is not very modern but exudes a quiet weight and order, making the whole city feel like an old book spread open in the wind, its words unspoken yet deeply moving. Yingze Park, the slanting dusk light falls gently on the lake surface, the water calm, and the ginkgo leaves have all fallen. As night falls, the entire street lights up. Neat, restrained, with a warm glow full of ceremony, the lights stretch straight ahead like a state guest avenue. I walk against the flow of people, my trench coat billowing in the wind, shadows of passersby flickering in the light along the street. Zhonglou Street, old buildings gently restored, with blue bricks and gray tiles hiding a whole vein of trendy life. There are independent cafes serving hand-brewed coffee, vintage shops selling Shanxi old cloth shoes, and workshops turning polished lacquerware into modern jewelry. It’s quiet here, not noisy, but full of details everywhere, like a small alley in SoHo where culture and life are perfectly balanced. On the way, I visited Wang Family Courtyard, underfoot are blue bricks from a hundred years ago, and above are layers of overlapping eaves, like stepping into a three-dimensional genealogy of Shanxi merchants. Few people are around, and in the spacious courtyard, only footsteps echo. At that moment, I suddenly understood “a home is for shelter, a courtyard carries the way” — this is not a mansion but a kind of aristocratic restrained aesthetic of life. It’s very much like those manor houses hidden in the countryside, silent yet powerful. The final stop was Pingyao. At night, the city walls are outlined by lights. Walking into South Street, lanterns sway, and the old ticket office’s lintel still hangs copper bells that jingle with the wind, as if from the Qing Dynasty. I suddenly felt that Shanxi is not earth, but depth; not old, but mellow — the whole street is like a jar of century-old wine and vinegar, and when opened, the wind itself is fragrant. 🔚 This trip passed through the seams of history and modernity. Taiyuan is far more international, artistic, and like a city you’d want to write letters to than I imagined. It is not loud, yet it has its own voice; not flashy, yet tall enough.