Yingze

The lake on that autumn night remained there forever, until even its shadow could no longer be found...

Shadows of Yingze

I have dreamed of Yingze many times, though I visited only once. That single visit was enough to remain with me ever since.

It was during the National Day holiday. In this northern city, already touched by desolation, I urgently wanted to find somewhere that might put me at ease. Yet it was not the city that was desolate, but my heart; the place I sought was not somewhere to stay, but somewhere to find myself. Alone among a group of people, in a strange city and air to which I was unaccustomed, I seemed entirely out of place.

Those were days of disappointment. The teachers and friends traveling with us kindly said that we should not take it too much to heart and ought to go relax. I was unwilling to concede. I believed that somewhere within the busy city I could still find a patch of unspoiled ground, and that it would tell me secrets I had never known.

The path ran between willows whose leaves had begun to yellow. They seemed secluded in the night, while summer insects called out the first thin notes of autumn from deep within the quiet grass. Following the narrow path and brushing aside a branch, I came upon a small pavilion. Inside stood one square stone table and two stone stools. A lamp and a flask of moonlight would have completed it. I did not intend to linger. I was merely one person detached from the crowd, wanting to see the garden, and in any case I had no friend with whom to warm a cup of wine.

Beyond the bamboo came the faint sound of water. In the dry north, the company of a park was already a blessing; running water was a surprise. The stream glittered with reflected neon from distant towers. No moonlight could be seen among the lamps of the pavilions. A moonless night should have remained gloomy, yet after I rounded the pavilion, everything suddenly opened into light.

There was a lake, set like a jewel in the center of the city. I walked along the embankment. Two or three solitary figures drifted with the water toward the arched bridge. Pacing with my hands behind my back, I felt as though the entire lake belonged to me. Darkness enclosed it on every side, and only the center of the water held light. Thin, somber clouds covered the sky above; there was not a single star. Below, one dim figure stood, absorbed in thoughts unknown.

On a night like this, the mind can fly anywhere. It can go everywhere, or nowhere at all. With the lake pausing beside me, I did not need to fear becoming lost, because I too had become part of it.

I crossed a small hill to visit the pavilions, lingering within the winding corridors. Moonlight gradually poured out and rested on the highest story. Specks of flowers gathered along the twisting paths like the curious eyes of plants. They seemed determined to defy autumn, deliberately waiting until summer's end to bloom. Or perhaps they were stars that had fallen into the grass, each one a small pearl.

A clear breeze carried their fragrance, and the midnight wind tilted the shadows of the trees. Then I saw my companions and no longer hid as they approached. "Can you hear it?" I asked. They were puzzled and teased me for sounding like a poet. I did not make out what they said. I heard only the fragrance of the flowers.

What was that fragrance like? I can no longer remember. But whenever I dream of returning to Yingze, I cannot forget those shadows.

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First published at the Fengqing Inn archive. This version contains only light editorial corrections.