Chronicles of Qingwa Town: Arrival
I. Gradient colors on the railway tracks
As the train entered the hills of Jiangnan, the green outside the window underwent a subtle transformation. Initially, it was a pale, grayish green, typical of the edge of an industrial zone, interspersed with faded red brick walls of factory buildings. Then, after the third tunnel, dark green mountains suddenly emerged from beneath the clouds, pressing the sky down like a strip of transparent blue silk. Ah Yu pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching how the railway tracks, like water-soaked ropes, meandered through the undulating terrain in damp arcs. Beside her, the canvas bag was open, revealing half a curled-edge copy of "A Chronicle of Ancient Towns in Jiangnan." A ginkgo leaf specimen tucked between the pages trembled gently with the swaying of the carriage, like a butterfly attempting to spread its wings.
"Twenty more minutes until we arrive." Chen Mo, sitting next to me, pushed up his glasses. The tablet on his lap still displayed unfinished architectural drawings, the dense lines on the layers now blurred into a grayish-white mist with the bumpy ride. Sister Lin was twisting back her last lipstick, the mirror reflecting the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. That maple red was her standard work color, but now it clashed sharply with the color of the wild roses flashing past the window. Only Old Zhou was still dozing, a soft snoring coming from his throat, the goji berries in his thermos sinking to the bottom like a few forgotten sparks.
Ah Yu suddenly recalled the scene when she suggested the trip. Chen Mo had just finished his third all-nighter, Lin Jie's workstation was piled high with unopened medical reports, and Lao Zhou was sighing deeply at the smog outside the window. When she slammed a travel agency brochure onto the table in the break room, the sound of the plastic cover startled the sparrows on the windowsill. "Let's go to Qingwa Town," she said at the time, pointing to the photo of the stone bridge shrouded in morning mist on the brochure, "The air there is so cleansing." Now, those hesitations—Chen Mo's project deadlines, Lin Jie's daughter's tutoring classes, Lao Zhou's inability to let go of the flower and bird market—were like sleepers left behind by a passing train, becoming blurry black dots.
As the train's whistle pierced the carriage, Old Zhou jolted awake. His thermos sloshed, and the goji berries in the water swirled. Ah Yu was the first to sling her bag over her shoulder; as the canvas strap brushed against her shoulder, she heard her heart skip a beat. It wasn't nervousness, but a long-dormant excitement, like the tremor of a spring bud breaking through the frozen earth.
II. The Taste Memory of Sunshine
The moment they stepped out of the carriage, the sunlight enveloped everyone in an almost liquid way. It wasn't the fragmented sunlight of the city, cut off by skyscrapers, but rather a continuous cascade pouring down from the sky, carrying the sticky feeling unique to the afternoon, like melted honey applied to bare skin. Ah Yu instinctively took a deep breath, her nostrils immediately filled with a complex aroma: first the slightly fishy smell of sun-warmed earth, then the sweet scent of fresh grass sap, and a faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of some small white flower—which she later learned was the scent of the century-old gardenia tree at the town's entrance.
“This air…” Sister Lin took off her sunglasses, her eyes narrowing to slits, sunlight dancing like fine gold dust on her eyelashes, “It feels like you could drink it.” Chen Mo didn’t speak, but simply stuffed his tablet into his backpack, his fingers unconsciously stroking the camera’s shutter button, his gaze already drawn to the layers of green tiles in the distance. Old Zhou, like a bird returning to its nest, inhaled deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “It smells even better than the soil in my orchid pot.”
The platform was paved with single slabs of bluestone, their edges worn smooth by time, with a few tenacious dandelions sprouting from the cracks. The railway tracks stretched into the distance, disappearing into a dense camphor forest, as if this small town were an isolated island forgotten by time at the end of the tracks. There were no noisy touts, no flashing billboards, only an old man in a blue cloth jacket dozing in a bamboo chair, a bamboo winnowing basket at his feet containing freshly picked cucumbers, still glistening with dew.
Ah Yu's canvas shoes clicked softly on the stone slabs, the sound amplified by the air. She saw her shadow stretched long by the sunlight, her toes pointing directly at the stone arch bridge at the town's entrance. Water flowed beneath the bridge arch, tinkling and gurgling, like someone plucking strings in the shadows. Suddenly, she remembered the photos in the brochure, and now understood that even the finest printing could not replicate the luster of sunlight falling on the blue tiles—a color between peacock blue and black jade, which, illuminated by the afternoon light, shimmered with a warm golden glow.
"Look over there!" Sister Lin suddenly pointed to the waterwheel by the bridge. The old waterwheel was slowly turning, propelled by the water flow, its wooden axle creaking and groaning, and the splashing water droplets refracted into miniature rainbows in the sunlight. Several butterflies chased after the water droplets, one of which suddenly bumped into Old Zhou's collar, causing him to frantically swat it away, eliciting a low chuckle from the dozing old man beside him.
III. The Breathing of Architecture
Crossing the stone arch bridge is like passing through an invisible door of time. The traces of modernity vanish abruptly here, replaced by rows upon rows of wooden buildings. The eaves are high, and perched atop them are stone lions in various poses—some with stone beads in their mouths, others with embroidered balls in their paws. Their surfaces, eroded by wind and rain with grooves of varying depths, only enhance their ancient charm. The walls are mostly mottled white chalk, with some areas revealing the underlying blue bricks. Ferns grow in the cracks between the bricks, their leaves still glistening with morning raindrops.
The stone path forks into two lanes here; the left leads to a bamboo grove, while the right winds its way into a narrow alley. The eaves of the houses on both sides of the alley almost touch, and sunlight can only filter through the gaps, casting intermittent patches of light on the ground. Ah Yu reaches out and touches the wooden wall beside her, feeling the warm texture under her fingertips—the patina left from countless polishing and painting processes, like the skin on an old person's hand, wrinkled yet warm. Faded slogans still remain on the wall, the words blurred to the point that only the words "unity" and "production" remain, half-hidden by ivy vines.
This chapter is not finished, please click the next page to continue reading!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
