🌿 At the foot of Xuanweng Mountain, I visited the Jin Temple alone. Summer trees cast shade, cicadas chirp like needles. Walking past the Water Mirror, the dense shade of ancient locust trees sifted through the golden hues. Stone lions guarded the vermilion gates, as if smiling at the thousand-year-old passersby.
🌊 By the Nanlao Spring, a coolness penetrates my bones. The spring's mouth spews jade, its water as clear as an icy string. Scooping up a handful of the three-thousand-year-old, ageless water, it washes away the summer heat. I imagine the graceful dance of Lady Liu, seated in a jar, calming the water.
🐉 In front of the Holy Mother Hall, eight dragons coiled around the pillars, their glares splitting the clouds. A Song Dynasty sculpture of a maid lowers her brow, ready to speak. Leaning against a Zhou cypress, listening to the wind rustle through the pine trees, I hear the imperial inscriptions on Tang Dynasty steles and the immortal poet's chant: "The water in the Jin Temple flows like jasper," echoing between the beams.
💫 A solitary figure traverses the flying beams, watching the duckweed gather and disperse in the fish pond. A garden that gathers Zhou cypresses, Tang locust trees, and Song dynasty palaces. Only the sounds of cicadas and flowing water accompany me as I tap into the marks of time.