Fuzhou: A City of Fireworks and Poetry

In Fuzhou, time seems to slow down, and every breeze carries a story, drifting from the cobblestone streets of Sanfang Qixiang. In the morning, the mist lingers on the treetops, like a veil draped over the city. The uncle's pot of ding bian hu on the street corner is steaming hot, ladling out the warmth of life. The rice paste is soft and glutinous, the seafood is fresh, and the seaweed is light. With one bite, the fireworks of Fuzhou warm your heart. In the ancient alleys, the old wooden doors creak open, and the elderly sit on the doorstep, chatting about family matters. Time has weathered the walls, but it has also strengthened the bonds of neighborly affection. In the afternoon, the generous sunlight spills over the surface of West Lake, breaking into a sea of golden light. The boats cut through the calm water, rippling the reflections of the willows on the shore. Not far away, the former residence of Yan Fu stands silently, as if you can see the figure of the gentleman busy enlightening the people in the past. The wind of history blows the seeds of thought, crossing a century without extinguishing. When night falls, the neon lights on both sides of the Minjiang River light up, dyeing the river into colorful ribbons. The Liberation Bridge spans across it, with vehicles and pedestrians coming and going in a hurry. The vitality and leisure of this city blend in the dim lights. In the night market, the fresh aroma of fish ball soup, the sweet and glutinous taro paste, and the sweet and sour lychee meat tantalize the taste buds, each bite is a deep confession of love from Fuzhou to the taste buds. Fuzhou, you are the old dream hidden in the ancient alleys, the new chapter stirred by the waves of the Minjiang River. I am intoxicated by your ordinary yet romantic daily life, and I am attached to the never-ending scenery of this world of fireworks.