Wusheng: A Thousand-Year-Old Water-Ink Painting

When the morning mist drifts over the Jialing River, the eaves of the ancient city of Wusheng awaken from a water-ink painting. The white walls and gray-tiled roofs of ancient houses perch on the riverbank, their upturned eaves piercing the milky-white clouds and mist, like a goddess's hairpin left behind in the mortal world. Stilted houses are immersed in shimmering waves, moss on the stone steps soaked in the moisture of a thousand years, and every carved window lattice hides half a Tang poem left unwritten. When the river breeze rolls up the misty veil, the sound of oars ripples from the hazy distance. The boatman's bamboo pole breaks the mirror-like surface of the water, startling egrets that fly past the red maples on both banks. Vermilion pillars appear and disappear in the mist, like the unfinished strokes of cinnabar ink in a celestial painting. The aroma of covered bowl tea drifts from old tea houses, intertwining with the river mist. A girl with an oiled-paper umbrella walks along the bluestone road, her embroidered shoes shattering the reflections of clouds and sky in the puddles. As dusk deepens over the river, thousands of lights illuminate a world of glazed beauty. Lanterns behind the misty curtain glow with a warm orange hue, and the light spilling from carved doorways falls into the river, transforming into a flowing galaxy. At this moment, Wusheng is a Penglai wonderland nestled among the Bashan and Shushui mountains and rivers, a vintage romance preserved by time, and a poetic dwelling for a fleeting half-day.