Beijing is a place worth visiting. I went there once and I want to go again.

**At the end of February, Beijing is getting warmer** The end of February in Beijing is the whisper between winter and spring. The withered shadows on the branches are still chilly, but the wind has brought the faint itch of willow buds. The spring couplets at the entrance of the alley have faded their bright red, but have taken on a bit of laziness from being warmed by the sun. The capital city at this moment is like a cup of jasmine tea that is just the right temperature, not too hot but with a long aftertaste. **Under the Forbidden City wall, picking up mottled golden sun** Avoid the morning chill and enter the Forbidden City in the warm light of noon. The white marble railings in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony were slightly shiny from the sun, and when pigeons flew by, the tips of their wings were touched by the golden light of the glazed tiles. Walk slowly along the red walls of the East Six Palaces, watching the slanting light and shadows combing through history between the centuries-old brick cracks. Occasionally, sparrows peck at the remaining snow in the corners of the wall - that is the last bit of white this winter. Holding a cup of almond tea in the teahouse next to the Wenhua Hall, the dense and warm fragrance made even the beasts on the roof narrow their eyes. **The ripples of Houhai Lake shattered half of the clear sky** The ice in Shichahai had melted by seven points already, leaving only a few thin sheets of ice floating like mica on the blue glass-like water. Rent an old-fashioned bicycle, ride along the willows by the lake, and watch the old men casting their fishing rods through the reflected city walls. Suddenly, I saw a small boat pushing through the spring water. The boat girl was humming a little tune while fishing for aquatic plants. The sound of the oars broke up the sparkling sunlight like copper coins. The cafe on the shore has set up rattan chairs. It is even more lazy and comfortable to sit and watch the wild ducks leaving long water marks while sipping donkey rolls. **Guozijian Street, eating fresh spring food in the shadow of ancient locust trees** There are fewer pilgrims outside the Lama Temple, but the old wisteria branches on the corner of Guozijian Street are full of bulging buds. I went into "Sanyuan Meiyuan" and ordered a cheese and dried fruit cup. The soft milk aroma hit the crispy pine nuts. I looked up and saw sparrows jumping between the eaves and brackets of the Confucius Temple. The owner of the bookstore next door was drying rice paper under the eaves. The wind blew across the wet ink marks of "Spring Breeze", and the air was mixed with the burnt aroma of fried sausage. I bought a candied haws. The hawthorns were wrapped in shiny sugar and tasted sour when I bit into them, just like the weather which was half warm but still chilly. **Osen Runway, chasing a ray of early spring** In the Olympic Forest Park on the North Fifth Ring Road, some people actually changed into light clothes and went jogging. The reeds in the marsh are still swaying with last year's dry ears of reed, but the black swans have begun to build nests with branches. Children feed koi on the pier, and the orange-red fish stir up a pond of lively cloud shadows. The biggest surprise was the Magnolia grandiflora, a flower bud as small as a brush tip bloomed on a sunny branch, and one could smell a very faint fragrance if one got close - it turned out that this city, which was like a steel jungle, also hid a cautious tenderness. When I left Beijing, the setting sun was dyeing the glass curtain wall of the CCTV building red. The taxi driver turned on the radio, and the sound of Beijing opera drums mixed with the sound of horns during the evening rush hour. I remember the rabbit figurine with a missing corner that I found at Panjiayuan, the white mist exhaled by the crowd when the show "Tea House" ended at the Capital Theatre, and the bowl of soy milk in Nanluoguxiang that almost made me choke and cry. Beijing at the end of February is like an old Beijinger wrapped in a gray cotton-padded jacket but with a pocket full of stories. It does not need snowflake icing to decorate, but has its own rough, warm sweetness.