Chapter Eleven: The Ancient Towns of Southern Anhui

The train arrived at the station just before seven in the morning. Lele shook me awake from my dreams, and I forced my groggy eyes open, still half-asleep. I slung my luggage onto my back and, following behind Haozi and the others, squeezed my way off the train.

The moment I set foot on the platform, the cold air made me shiver uncontrollably. I hurriedly pulled a jacket from my backpack and draped it over my shoulders, but it did little to ward off the chill. To keep warm, I bounced in place, regretting not packing more clothes before leaving home. Now it seemed my only option was to find a shop at the foot of Mount Huangshan and rent a military coat. Seizing the opportunity, Lele teased me mercilessly.

We followed the crowd out of the station and gathered with our tour group and the local guide in the square at the station’s entrance. There were about twenty people in the group, most in their thirties or forties—colleagues from the same company, I guessed, making the most of a weekend to travel together. The group clustered in a lively circle, laughter and jokes bubbling up from the crowd. After a short wait, the guide, seeing everyone had arrived, herded us onto a bus. We had breakfast at a hotel near the station, and after a brief rest, set off for the first stop of our Huangshan journey: the ancient town of Xidi.

“Xidi lies at the southern foot of Mount Huangshan, just forty kilometers from the scenic area. It’s known as ‘the home among peach blossom springs.’ Surrounded by mountains, two streams run past the north and east of the village, merging at Huiyuan Bridge to the south. Ninety-nine high-walled, deep alleys make visitors feel as if they’ve stepped into a maze. The village was founded in the Northern Song dynasty and has a history of nearly 960 years. Hundreds of ancient residences remain, preserving the basic features of Ming and Qing dynasty villages. In 1999, it was listed as a World Cultural Heritage Site...” Sitting on the bus, listening to the guide’s animated introduction, everyone was filled with anticipation for the day’s journey.

I turned to glance at Haozi in the seat beside me. With headphones on, he was lost in his music, nodding along to the rhythm. Xiaofei was leaning against him, dozing, still not fully awake from her dreams the night before.

After a bumpy ride, the bus finally stopped at the parking lot at the entrance to Xidi. Looking out the window, I saw a tall archway standing guard by the frozen river. The guide told us this was the iconic structure of Xidi’s ancient residences, the Hu Wenguang Archway, built during the Wanli reign of the Ming dynasty—commonly known as the Xidi Arch.

The four bold characters carved into the arch—“Prime Minister of Jingfan”—gave off an air of grandeur and solemnity. As soon as we got off the bus, everyone rushed to take photos in front of the arch. After snapping a few shots, I couldn’t help but look up and spot the statue of the Literary Star at the center of the arch, as if silently imparting the sage’s wisdom that all pursuits pale in comparison to the pursuit of knowledge.

Stepping through the village entrance, I was immediately struck by the tranquility of the ancient settlement.

“How wonderful it would be to live here,” Lele said, taking my hand and happily walking down the cobbled path.

“Haha, then you’d be like Tao Yuanming. ‘From my youth I was out of tune with the world, my nature ever fond of hills and mountains. By mistake I fell into the dusty net, and for thirty years was lost within. The caged bird pines for its old woods, the ponded fish yearns for its native stream...’” I found myself reciting Tao Yuanming’s “Returning to the Countryside.”

“‘...At my door, no dust or clamor, in my empty rooms, leisure abounds. Long caged in the bars of the world, at last I return to nature.’ Xiaobei, I never knew you memorized it so well!” Lele’s excitement was palpable, her eyes full of admiration.

“Of course! That’s the result of my daily special training!” I used to slack off and hated memorizing texts, so I often failed my language quizzes and was frequently kept after class by the teacher. Who could have guessed that today my efforts would finally pay off?

The guide explained that Xidi village is shaped like a boat. The cluster of ancient residences is like the cabins, forming the hull; the towering trees and thirteen archways at the village entrance are like the masts and sails; the undulating mountains around are the rolling waves of the sea; and in front of the village, the Moon Lake and the fields that surround it are like a great ship anchored in a tranquil harbor.

Strolling along Xidi’s cobblestone paths, the slightly weathered houses stretched along winding alleys into the distance, like history itself without end. The atmosphere here was steeped in commerce—family-run shops lined the way, beckoning visitors to stop and linger. Stepping into any household felt like stepping back in time. Whether it was a Ming dynasty table or a Qing dynasty chair, each piece of furniture bore the marks of age, each harboring untold stories. I reached out, gently tracing their surfaces, careful not to disturb their silent tales.

We walked and took photos as we went. The stone paths, still damp from the rain, glistened underfoot. Wandering through the narrow, quiet lanes, it felt as if we had arrived not in Anhui, but in a misty town of the Jiangnan region.

Haozi, however, seemed utterly uninterested in the ancient architecture. Listless, he let Xiaofei drag him along, a look of boredom on his face. Only when Xiaofei turned to speak with him did he manage a forced smile.

“Xiaobei, poor Haozi,” Lele whispered, tugging at my sleeve.

“Hm...” I turned and, unable to resist, called out mischievously, “Hey, rat, lost in romantic daydreams? Why do you always look so glum?”

“Argh!” Haozi glared at me, shaking his fist, ready to retort, but Xiaofei yanked him suddenly, and his foot caught in a crack between the cobblestones. He stumbled and nearly fell.

Seeing Haozi’s clumsy misfortune, Lele and I burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Led by the guide, we made our way to the “Peach and Plum Garden.” The Peach and Plum Garden, consisting of a main house and a courtyard, was once the former residence and private school of a Huizhou merchant named Hu Yuanxi. The main building was a three-bay, three-entry, two-story structure. The unique “upstairs well” on the second level filled the house with light and kept the air circulating.

Our guide explained that the carved wooden balcony railings upstairs once allowed young ladies to discreetly observe visiting suitors, so they could silently choose their future husbands.

We continued to follow the guide deeper inside. Between the second and third buildings, whitewashed walls divided the courtyards, with doorways linking them. Above the central door was a horizontal stone plaque inscribed in clerical script: “A Home in Peach Blossom Spring.” On the small door facing the street, three seal-script characters declared, “Peach and Plum Garden,” symbolizing “students everywhere under one’s tutelage.”

Everyone was excitedly exploring, touching and examining everything. Everything seemed new, everything was interesting.

“Come look here!” Xiaofei suddenly waved to us with excitement. Following her voice, we gathered by a small pond. The water was frozen solid from the cold, yet beneath the thick layer of ice, life flourished—a few red goldfish glided leisurely under the ice. For us southerners, this was a marvel we had never seen before.