𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐮 Yangzhou·Slender West Lake

📍𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐮 Yangzhou·Slender West Lake 🍃 Before the morning mist has fully lifted, the painted boats on Slender West Lake are already gliding on the water, like a willow leaf drifting into a light ink landscape painting. No one would criticize the "slenderness" here—the river, with its three parts of open space, winds gently, breaking the reflection of the White Pagoda into ripples, while the round hole of the Fishing Platform frames the flying eaves of Chunbo Pavilion. Within these precise measures lies the most exquisite calculation of Jiangnan. Walking along the long dike lined with spring willows, the branches hang low, almost brushing the moss on the bluestone slabs. The boatwoman in a blue cloth shirt rows her boat, and the soft Wu dialect mixed with the sound of water drifts over: "This bridge is called the Twenty-Four Bridge, and the magnolia carvings on the railings are three hundred years old." As her words fall, a white bird passes through the bridge’s arch, the water droplets flicked from its wingtips splashing onto the budding Qiong flowers on the shore. The Fishing Platform is the most wonderful framing spot. Standing before the stone platform, to the left the White Pagoda looks like a brush dipped in clouds, to the right the Five Pavilion Bridge floats like a lotus on water, and when you turn around, the red windows of Chunbo Pavilion perfectly frame the distant green hills. Girls dressed in Hanfu hold round fans to take photos, their skirts sweeping over the blue bricks engraved with "Moon Cave Gate," as if they have stepped out of a Ming or Qing dynasty painting album. Lunch must be had at the lakeside thatched cottage. Crystal pork knuckles reflect the greenery outside the window, the sour aroma of vinegar-braised mandarin fish mingles with the freshness of lotus leaves. Sitting by the window, watching painted boats carrying tourists pass under the bridge, the boatwoman’s singing floats along the ripples, startling a few white egrets that skim past the pointed top of the White Pagoda. The willow dike at dusk is the gentlest. The setting sun dyes the lake amber, the shadows of the willow branches flicker into fine gold on the ground. Someone sits on the stone steps peeling water caltrops, tossing the shells into the water, creating ripples. An old man selling Yangzhou Eight Eccentrics painting albums packs up his stall, saying, "The beauty of Slender West Lake must be savored slowly, like the mist on this lake, it cannot be rushed." Looking back when leaving, the silhouette of the Five Pavilion Bridge is soaked in twilight, the bridge’s arch like a ring enclosing the last ray of light. The scent of tea from Fuchun Teahouse drifts in the wind, mingling with the sweetness of evening osmanthus. Suddenly, you understand the phrase "Traveling to Yangzhou in the misty March"—the beauty here is never bold or heavy, but like the ripples on the lake, spreading circle by circle into the heart, leaving faint yet unforgettable traces.