A Millennium of Zen Hidden Deep in Jiuxi: A Stroll Through Lian Temple

If the bustling scenes of West Lake belong to Broken Bridge and Leifeng Pagoda, then the tranquility of Hangzhou is mostly hidden in Lian Mountain by the misty trees of Jiuxi. Walking deeper along Jiuxi Road, shedding the clamor of the city, following the faint sound of the stream and the scent of plants upward, a Jiangnan-style temple with black tiles and red walls is nestled among the dense shade—this is the thousand-year-old Lian Temple. Compared to other famous ancient temples, Lian Temple feels more like a low-key hermit. There is no grand mountain gate or crowds of worshippers; what you see are mottled stone steps, courtyard walls covered in moss, and even the sound of wind passing through ancient camphor tree leaves is exceptionally clear. The temple is small but exudes the elegance of Jiangnan everywhere: copper bells hanging under the flying eaves occasionally ring in the wind, bamboo shadows slant beside the halls, sunlight filters through the window lattices onto the offering table inside, and as light and shadow flow, the Zen spirit quietly spreads. The must-see in the temple is the "Fayu Spring." The ancient well is protected by a bluestone fence, and the water is so clear it reflects the surrounding trees. It is said to be as famous as the Tiger Running Spring and was once the place where monks drew water to brew tea. Even now, visitors lean over to look closely, as if they can read the stories of Emperor Lizong of Song, Kangxi, and Qianlong pausing here from the clear spring water—this ancient temple, first built in the Five Dynasties period, has long woven its thousand-year history into every spring, stone, grass, and tree. If you get tired from walking, the temple’s vegetarian restaurant is an excellent place to rest. Order a seasonal vegetarian meal paired with a cup of Longjing tea brewed with Jiuxi mountain spring water. As the tea smoke curls, listen to the monks at the next table chatting softly, watch squirrels leap among the branches outside the window, and the troubles of the world seem to be blown away by the mountain breeze and tea fragrance. Occasionally, you might see a master sweeping the courtyard with calm, unhurried movements, evoking the Zen image of the "Sweeping Monk," where great wisdom hides in the ordinary. When leaving, there’s no need to rush; you might want to walk a bit along the trail behind the temple. The mountain path winds through dense bamboo groves and tea trees, with the stream babbling over the stones. Occasionally, you can see tea pickers wearing bamboo hats moving through. Standing halfway up the mountain and looking back, the red walls of Lian Temple appear faintly among the green trees, like a watercolor painting spreading out. It turns out that true Zen is never found where incense burns thickest, but in the quiet of this ancient mountain temple, in the natural sounds of flowing water and growing plants, waiting for anyone willing to slow down to encounter a long-lost peace.