Chapter 88: A Hidden World

Since I was already in Hangzhou, I thought I might as well take a trip to Suzhou. Setting out by car in the morning, my main aim was to visit the gardens—after all, I already own two Chinese-style villas, and if I came across any exquisite details, I could always renovate accordingly.

At nine, I arrived in the city and headed straight to the Humble Administrator’s Garden, the foremost of the four famous gardens. I bought a ticket—no need for a guide—and wandered leisurely.

As I turned a corner by the stream, the shape unfolded like a fan. Beneath the pavilion flowed a slender stream, while behind it rose a small hill topped with a bamboo hat-shaped kiosk. Inside, the fan-shaped open window borrowed the view of verdant bamboo; sitting by the window, one could glimpse the small pavilion atop the hill behind, and each shift in perspective revealed a different scene.

The Hall of Eighteen Mandalas is best for viewing the treasured camellias atop Baozhu Mountain in early spring; the Hall of Thirty-Six Mandarin Ducks is perfect in summer, where mandarin ducks glide among the lotuses. The Lotus Breeze Pavilion is a summer haven for admiring lotuses; the Awaiting Frost Pavilion is favored for autumn views; the Pavilion of Snow Fragrance and Cloud Gathering is ideal for winter or early spring plum blossom appreciation.

One could say the scenery borrows from the changing seasons, gathering their splendor and adding elegance to the garden.

The ancients truly were remarkable!

There are structures resembling boats, such as Fragrant Isle, Little Canglang Waterside Pavilion, East Half Pavilion, Mountain Viewing Tower, Reflection Tower, Floating Emerald Pavilion, Listening Pavilion, Pagoda Shadow Pavilion, and many more—an array of exquisite buildings concentrated in the central and western areas, some by the water’s edge, others nestled in the hills, gazing across the banks.

Each is not only a prime spot for viewing the landscape, but also a part of the scenery itself. Pathways connect the towers and pavilions, and long corridors link them together.

Especially the corridors, which serve as transitional spaces. Not only do they express the interplay of solid and void and a sense of rhythm in the architecture, but they also segment space, modulate the density of the garden, and play a major role in landscaping. Thanks to these, the static garden reveals a dynamic beauty.

The zigzag corridor across the water, with its white walls, blue tiles, and latticed windows, winds its way, so that walking within feels like entering a painting. On the bridge, a corridor crosses the water—the Little Flying Rainbow—graceful and lively.

The Flying Rainbow overlooks the Qin River, mist drifting and strings faintly playing.

Xia Hu, seeing the ornamental rocks scattered about, asked curiously, “Boss, what kind of stones are these?”

“Huangshan stones and Taihu stones,” Zhuang Chen replied casually. His master had once been fond of strange stones, so he knew a little about them. In his view, another highlight of the Humble Administrator’s Garden lay in its rockeries.

Ancient garden-makers prized shifting perspectives and hidden realms—the ultimate goal was harmony between man and nature. They loved to incorporate mountains and waters, complementing and contrasting each other, forming two major schools of rockery: Taihu stone and Huangshan stone.

The former is delicate and translucent, exquisitely crafted, presenting the gentle, graceful beauty of femininity. The latter is rugged and angular, ancient and unadorned, often forming precipitous cliffs and dramatic walls, embodying the bold, powerful beauty of masculinity.

The Taihu stone rockery before me was petite and agile, its essence distilled in craftsmanship. One could traverse and climb it—it was a concentrated example of Taihu stone artistry.

Looking at the Huangshan stone rockery south of the Far Fragrance Hall, it rose high and mighty, ancient and unrefined. One could walk through its caves or follow the path to its pinnacle, where a platform offered a lofty view of the garden.

Nearby, the Pagoda Shadow Pavilion was surrounded by banks of Huangshan stone, encircling the waters and scenery. Unlike the spirit of Taihu stone, the ancient austerity of Huangshan stone complemented the dynamic water, creating a unique harmony.

Of course, Zhuang Chen didn't really understand all these technicalities—he simply thought it looked beautiful. Living here, with its clear mountains and flowing waters, brimming with vitality—how could one not live a few years longer?

There was still time, so I went to see the Lion Grove. As the only surviving stone garden, the rockery here was the very heart of the place, known as the Kingdom of Rockeries. The myriad shapes of Taihu stones in the garden, as the name suggests, resemble a pride of lions, though on closer inspection, they become nothing in particular.

Legend has it the rockery holds nine routes and twenty-one entrances. The three of us wandered through, twisting and turning, rising and falling, narrow paths nearly leading us astray.

There were waterfalls and springs, with Taihu stones stacked thrice in the mountain stream, overlooking a pool below. Water flowed through the stones, cascading down in three tiers of waterfall. Beside the falls stood the Pavilion of Listening to the Waves; from within, one could gaze at the mountain and emerald waters, listen to the rushing sound—a mountain stream brought to life.

Across the pond, a stone slab bridge bent in several places, with a pavilion of flying eaves and upturned corners in the middle, reflecting the green waters and willows along the bank—the Pavilion at the Lake’s Heart.

The corridor led to the south of the Hall of Standing Snow, transforming into a double corridor, with several hexagonal and moon-shaped open windows, framing the external scenery like paintings set in the windows.

Due to rockery maintenance, climbing was forbidden. Behind the rockery lay a pool, crossed by a stone bridge. Ancient trees sprawled across the mountain, their reflections in the water, exuding a wild, natural charm.

Ancient gardeners not only borrowed real scenery and the four seasons, but also composed poems to the moon, invited the wind, joining me in enhancing the garden’s elegance. The variety of latticed windows, each unique, along with doors in myriad shapes, brought the art of borrowed scenery to its zenith.

Bleak and serene, simply decorated, with bamboo, banana plants, and trees everywhere. There was even a pavilion dedicated to viewing bamboo, with walls built only halfway up and windows installed above, half wall, half window. Looking through the rows of half-windows, the courtyard outside was filled with emerald bamboo—a delight to the eye.

Here, I truly understood what “artistic conception” meant. Though the courtyard was small, it was surrounded by corridors and low walls, with numerous doorways and windows, openness on all sides, scenery to borrow everywhere. The space seemed to expand endlessly, bringing quiet joy to life.

Through the window, one could see stone bamboo, forming natural scrolls of art.

Especially in the southwest corner, where a vertical rock wall slanted outward, extending dynamically like a cliff. It wasn’t simply jutting out horizontally, but rather drawn forth by Taihu stone, looking utterly natural and full of delight.

Xia Long, whose aesthetic sense was clearly superior to Xia Hu’s, sighed in admiration, “Boss, look—ancient people possessed extraordinary wisdom. Even a tiny courtyard boasts a waterfall!”

Zhuang Chen felt a surge of respect as well. Using rockeries to channel water from roof eaves, rainwater flowed into the pool, evoking the idea of a waterfall. In the southeast corner, a rockery was fitted with a small trough behind the stones to catch rainwater, which trickled down through the gaps, forming a miniature waterfall.

He let out a long sigh, recalling his two mansions worth over a hundred million. Ah…

Comparisons…

Are infuriating!

Those ancient local tycoons, with their sprawling compounds—shut the doors and they were emperors of their own realm. Keeping house slaves, all kinds of maids and concubines, gardeners and matronly caretakers.

Silken screens awaiting the moon, spring melodies played on zither; red sleeves adding fragrance as they read by night.

The flowers remain behind the green curtain, the fragrance added by red sleeves—always lamenting the brevity of spring and length of longing.

Even the small courtyard has its moon, even the little garden has its flowers.

A glance to the left reveals a red-sleeved beauty; a command to the right brings a young maid.

Grab any one at random,

A fierce bout of action,

Never mind the details—

Just get on with it!