This low-key, treasure-like small city is so good, I really want it to become popular

## Shaoxing: A City of Water and Poetry In the misty rain corridor of Jiangnan, Shaoxing holds up an oil-paper umbrella on its own. This ancient city with a history of 2,500 years has turned time into rice wine and history into the sound of sculling oars on a black-awning boat. At dawn, the stone slabs by the Eight Character Bridge have just been kissed awake by the dew. Standing on the Southern Song Dynasty stone arch bridge, the white-walled and black-tiled houses on both sides are reflected in the mirror-like water. Occasionally, a boatman wearing a black felt hat poles by, stirring up a river of stars and moonlight. This is the oldest existing overpass system, where seven streets and alleys converge, but there is no hustle and bustle, only the fragrance of Longjing tea wafting from the old teahouse. The white walls of Shen Garden hide China's most tragic love code. Lu You and Tang Wan's calligraphy of "Phoenix Hairpin" is still fresh, and the weeping willows by the Calabash Pond have turned green for eight hundred years. The afternoon sun shines through the carved window lattices, writing mottled verses on the blue brick floor, and visitors can't help but lighten their footsteps, for fear of disturbing the lovesickness in the Song Dynasty lyrics. The twilight of Cangqiao Straight Street is the most intoxicating. Stepping on the Ming Dynasty stone road and passing through shops with wine flags, the mellow aroma of Kuaijishan Shaoxing wine tempts pedestrians to stop. Warm a bowl of 20-year-old vintage, listen to the old man tell the story of King Goujian of Yue in Shaoxing dialect while eating aniseed-flavored broad beans. The red lanterns under the eaves light up one after another, dyeing the entire street crimson like in an ancient painting. When mooring at East Lake at night, the moonlight drapes the hundred-foot cliffs in silver gauze. These rock walls left over from the Han Dynasty quarries have been transformed into natural ink paintings in the sound of oars and the light of lanterns. At the moment when the black-awning boat passes through Taogong Cave, the tinkling sound of water seeping from the rock crevices is like the sound of a zither left behind by the Jin people. Shaoxing has pickled all the romantic figures into the years: Wang Xizhi's Goose Pond is still waiting for its owner to return, the Sanwei Study of Lu Xun's former residence retains the "early" character carved by the teenager, and the sword of Qiu Jin's former residence is still humming in its scabbard. Every ripple here is rippling with allusions, and every blue brick is engraved with articles. While other ancient cities are busy selling hustle and bustle, Shaoxing still maintains the aloofness and composure of a literati. It doesn't need to speak, the water of Jian Lake, the bamboo of Lanting, and the Taidiao wine of Xianheng Hotel have already expressed its thousands of years of elegance.