Strolling through Meizhu｜Encountering the Everyday Life and Poetry of Xinchang's Ancient Village

Leaving Shengzhou, as the journey continued, the noise of the city gradually faded away. The scenery along the road transformed from the sharp edges of tall buildings to the vastness of fields. Just as I was somewhat dazed, I saw a patch of darkened white walls and black tiles marked by the passage of time, quietly resting in the afternoon light. This was Meizhu. I wandered in casually. The path beneath my feet was smooth stone slabs, worn warm and glossy like jade by countless generations of footsteps. In the ancient village, there were still some old houses with mottled walls revealing varying shades of yellow clay beneath, like a faded ancient painting. The beams supporting the eaves, the "ox legs" and diagonal braces, were carved with intricate patterns; though covered in dust and faded gold paint, their lines remained lively, as if the craftsman's lingering spirit still hovered there. Suddenly, a line from an ancient poem came to mind. A Tang dynasty poem says: "The path ends where white clouds cease, spring lasts with the green creek. Sometimes fallen flowers arrive, drifting far with the flowing fragrance." Though there were no white clouds or green creeks before my eyes, the quietness and contentment, the slow passage of time, were connected. Isn't this ancient village of Meizhu just such a "green creek"? It carries the ordinary, trivial everyday life, quietly flowing without regard for the outside world's noise and haste. Those fallen flowers are the village's daily dawns and dusks, stories passed down through generations; they quietly fall, merge into the water, and become the distant and fragrant breath of the flowing stream itself.