xiao quan xi cun

Anshan Ancient Trail

Hiking the Anshan Ancient Trail. From Xiaoquanzixiang to Jianguocun to Anshancun, about 10 kilometers. The small mountain village is very quiet, the villagers are busy picking tea in the tea gardens, cherry blossoms are in full bloom by the stream, and the rapeseed flowers are about to wither, with seeds forming. Azaleas are planted in front of the adobe houses. Drizzle and mist, the cobblestone road is wet and slippery, challenging to walk on, comparable to the effect of a fascia ball. The path is clear, with signs at the forks, not difficult to find. Follow the Xiaoquan stream to the Jin Suo Bridge. There are quite a few tourists during the festival, and nowadays people are everywhere, it's not easy to find deep mountains and old forests. Of course, compared to Hangzhou and Nanjing, these hundred or so people are negligible. The weathered lion faces on the bridge show the erosion of wind and rain. Walking into the mountains, amidst the deep and shallow greens, there are interspersed light purple and red azaleas. The stream babbles along, accompanying us. Where does this clear and lively water originate from, and where does it ultimately flow to? Old friends are also entangled in trivial matters, this rare gathering is filled with laughter and joy. The stream is blocked by the mountain terrain, taking a big turn, with spring's new leaves, flowers on the cliffs, reeds by the river beach, and the rushing stream. Standing on the small bridge, we silently watch, lost in the thick greenery. Resting and drinking water at the entrance of Jianguocun, watching an old man picking tea. Wearing a bamboo hat, carrying a tea basket, with busy hands and a calm face, he has the expression of someone who belongs to the field, who silently takes on everything and makes it all seem natural. In silence and effort, slowly reshaping life and meaning. Perhaps this is the silence that belongs only to farmers. The misty waters stretch far, walking along the green stream, passing Huguoan, standing for a while at the Feilong Waterfall, which is long like white silk, breaking through the green mountains. Seeing many people, we did not stay, but continued uphill. Feilong Station has two wooden chairs with backs, sitting and watching the mountains, a luxurious resting place. It started to rain, wearing a raincoat was too stuffy, but not wearing it risked getting the camera wet, after much deliberation, I put on the raincoat, the camera is more important than me. The wind blows through the new leaves of the treetops, the mist spreads to the mountaintop, standing in front of the star-gazing tower in Jianguocun, trying to make out the contours of the terraced fields in the mist, but failing. The dinner was sumptuous, with chicken soup, pan-fried stream fish, braised pork, stir-fried bacon with bamboo shoots, scallion omelet, and taro dumpling soup. The landlady specially went to the mountains to pick mugwort and made two types of green dumplings, one with pickled vegetable, bamboo shoot, dried tofu, and minced meat filling, and the other with sesame and red bean paste filling, pleasing both sweet and savory lovers, who praised it highly. After dinner, we sang karaoke, drank tea, and cracked sunflower seeds, those who liked to drink continued to urge each other to drink more, the middle-aged sorrows and melancholy turned into a few tears in the wine.

TravelWithTara