Roaming Wangcheng

Jinggang Ancient Town. Sunlight filters through the dense leaves of the camphor trees, casting dappled shadows on the dark eaves and the grass between the tiles sways in the wind. The old wooden railings bear traces of rainwater. From fifteen meters away, I see the carved window lattice glistening with cobwebs. At exactly 8:20, a beam of light climbs to the second floor, hitting the glass window and then refracting onto my hiking shoes on the bluestone path under the archway I just passed. The shoelaces are a bit loose. Squinting against the backlight, I see people opening grocery stores, cement shops, delivering gas, and cleaning the streets. They sit on stone steps and small bamboo chairs, speaking in their hometown dialects about local anecdotes, occasionally bursting into laughter. A yellow dog lazily lies at its owner's feet. The newly built horsehead walls, though displayed under the same blue sky, lack the ancient charm of Xidi, Hongcun, Jixi, Wuyuan, Chun'an, and Fuliang. They resemble a fresh, bright young bride, glancing flirtatiously at a fragrant, delicate white orchid. The water in the Reed Flower Well is clear and bright. Looking back, it was once turbulent, rolling up white waves like flying reed flowers. The riverbanks were once covered with reeds. As the sun sets, the red tide surges, giving the place its name. On the bank stands a huge stone with red calligraphy inscribed with the 'Jinggang Ode.' Even without reading it, one can sense its harmonious rhythm and ornate diction. Yet, it feels like a waste of public resources, blocking my view of the once turbulent river. A wooden table, a few wooden stools, and two bowls of spicy noodles with red oil. A newly acquainted man named Hou proudly says that the Hou family of Jinggang has a long and illustrious history. The street-facing houses are uniformly turned into shops below and residences above, all with red doors and carved beams. What they sell is not mentioned, but the poor seem to have forgotten Mr. Du's lesson about the bones of the frozen dead. Every household hangs large red lanterns, and black-edged yellow wine flags flutter. On this Friday morning, though there are no noisy tourists, the place still exudes a self-appreciating charm, like a courtesan in a brothel. Walking and wandering, I encounter farmers with straw hats carrying manure buckets, women skillfully dissecting eels, butchers with toothpicks in their mouths and bare chests, women scrubbing iron pots and splashing water in the street, and old women chewing betel nuts with blue scarves on their heads. This is the real life of the market. Entering the cobblestone street is like truly entering Jinggang, stepping into old houses that, though renovated, still exude a sense of antiquity. The incense at Guanyin Temple is still burning strong, and the legend of the Water God Yang Si is still told by the elders. Li Wanshun's dried tofu, with its seven meticulous processes, is fragrant and sweet. Entering the back hall, the scent of wood and beans is refreshing. The walls of Jinji Iron Shop are still black, with sparks flying and the sound of hammering echoing. The blacksmith's clothes are soaked with sweat, and in casual conversation, he laments that his craft has no successors. The river embankment is swept by a strong wind, and looking at the flowing water, one recalls the fierce battles between the Taiping and Xiang armies, with corpses floating on the river. Today, the warships still display their flags, but the banks are lined with willows, green grass, and couples singing and laughing. A few meaningful steps lead to Hongtai Fang, a place with a 300-year history of romance, now named the Ancient Brothel Culture and Art Museum. The couplets at the entrance are well-crafted, enough to make visitors' imaginations run wild. Under the scorching sun, I step into a small shop and order a cup of Liuhe tea, a mixture of sesame, soybeans, ginger, salt, tea leaves, and water, which is cool and refreshing. A few cups of sour plum juice also help to relieve the heat. The shop owner's daughter tells local legends and interesting stories, making for a pleasant chat. Jinggang Ancient Town, blessed by the Xiang River and the Reed River, has produced many famous people, including revolutionary pioneers, heroes, scholars, and skilled artisans. Li Wanshun's dried tofu, Liang Hongfa's cloth umbrellas, and Yu Shaolong's original woodwork are all renowned. The sound of reading in the ancient academy has not ceased for a hundred years. Yang Guangxing's granary is no longer visible. The applause at the Eight Yuan Hall's opera stage is continuous, the sweet wine from the distillery is pure and fragrant, and the bell of the Fuxing Tower has not rung. Passing by the Cai Family Wharf, there are still wooden boats moored at night. Walking again and again, the South Gate embankment faces the ancient town of Tongguan across the river. Turning left, one sees the simple land temple behind the bustling facade, guarding the dilapidated reality swept by the winds and rains of history. An old man with a face full of wrinkles stands alone in the dark, like a statue.