A Trip to Baotu Spring

     On May 21, 2013, the weather in Jinan was getting hotter and hotter. After dusting off the mall, I went to visit Baotu Spring.

    On the north bank of the western end of Luoyuan Street, amidst a vast expanse of lush greenery, stands an ancient-style gate tower. In the center of the gate tower are three powerful and elegant characters: Baotu Spring—the imperial calligraphy of Emperor Qianlong, which awes every visitor.

    A girl with a slender, willow-like figure stood at the ticket booth, her delicately arched eyebrows exuding a touch of classical charm, her eyes sparkling with a smile. Her white blouse couldn't conceal the vibrancy of her youthful body; the beautiful scenery of Baotu Spring began right at the ticket booth.

    Upon entering, a pool of clear water immediately brings a refreshing coolness. Then, a large expanse of poinsettias, their leaves adorned with dewdrops, greets you, filling your eyes with brightness. A few steps east, two stone-paved paths make you hesitate: one leads east to Cangyuan Garden, where Li Panlong, the leader of the Later Seven Masters of the Ming Dynasty, studied—a truly scenic spot; the other leads north to Baotu Spring. I decide to go north, leaving Cangyuan Garden to remain a distant, cherished memory.

    Take a few steps and you'll arrive at Fengxi, the most scenic spot in the park. Moon Island, artificial hills, winding bridges, and springs stretching into the depths of the green trees... I seem to see the historical vicissitudes of the Yangtze River, where "a thousand-foot iron chain sank to the bottom of the river"; I also see Lady White Snake and Xu Xian passionately entwined on the Broken Bridge of West Lake; and I hear the evening songs of fishing boats echoing in my ears...

    Turning around, you see a long corridor made of stone pillars, winding in a zigzag pattern along the riverbank. Years of vines have climbed all over the stone pillars, providing a cool and shady spot.

    On the north side of the road, a bridge stands facing the winding bridge over Fengxi. Since it is beside Fengxi, it should be called Fengqiao (Maple Bridge). The poem "Mooring at Maple Bridge at Night" echoed in my mind, suddenly stirring up a sense of nostalgia.

    Walking west along the riverbank, a rich, sweet, and fragrant aroma of water suddenly wafted over, like the most wonderful scent in the world. A few steps away, an antique-style archway stood before me, inscribed with the words "Grotto-Heaven and Blessed Land." Turning to the side, the world-famous Baotu Spring's three streams suddenly appeared before me, like a beautiful woman just emerged from a bath, her wet hair flowing as she smiled at me.

    Standing on Laihe Bridge, I saw three water columns leaping and surging, steam rising from them. My heart raced with excitement. The gushing water and the rushing sound made me feel as if I were standing on the banks of the Yellow River watching Hukou Waterfall, or on the banks of the Yangtze River watching the Three Gorges' rapids. Who says Baotu Spring is merely beautiful and charming? Who says Jinan lacks grandeur? The clear, cool water seemed to have a bottomless depth, yet also appeared unfathomable. The rectangular stone corridor encloses the soul of Jinan.

    The increasingly strong, fragrant aroma of the water made me reluctant to leave. I looked around: to the south, through the windows of the pavilion overlooking the pond, were carved the calligraphy of famous Jinan calligraphers. If you love calligraphy, standing there, the beauty of thousands of years of traditional Chinese culture can overwhelm you for half a day. If you're lucky, you can even hear the melodious sounds of Beijing opera drifting from the Baixue Tower. Peking opera, calligraphy, and couplets have paved the way for Jinan's civilization over two thousand five or six hundred years. To the west, the Guanlan Pavilion stands overlooking the water. It is said to have been built in the Ming Dynasty (1461 AD). Its simple and elegant structure reflects the life of the people of Jinan. From here, you can see the most beautiful aspect of Baotu Spring. In front of the pavilion, in the water, stands a stone tablet with the powerful and vigorous characters "Baotu Spring," a calligraphy style that seems unparalleled. I wonder what kind of strength and spirit Hu Zanzong of the Ming Dynasty used. The "First Spring" calligraphy by Wang Zhonglin of the Qing Dynasty has made all the world admire Baotu Spring. Looking north, the majestic Luoyuan Hall, built by Zeng Gong during the Song Dynasty, stands tall, reminding us of his achievements in eliminating powerful clans and implementing new policies. During his three years in office, the people of Jinan lived in peace and stability, and Baotu Spring became famous throughout the world. Standing before Luoyuan Hall, how can one not feel a surge of hope: that another Zeng Gong will emerge in this era, leading Jinan to be among the first in the country to embrace freedom and democracy, and allowing the people of Jinan to be among the first in China to enjoy the most prosperous and peaceful life?

    Beside Baotu Spring, on Laihe Bridge, I saw a Jinan floating on the water, wet and glistening; a Jinan as classical and beautiful as Xi Shi; a Jinan ethereal, simple, and poetically dwelling.

    Baotu Spring is a unique gift from heaven to the world, and an ancient imprint left by history on Jinan.

    Reluctantly leaving Baotu Spring, I walked towards the north side of the park, where a small square led in two directions: to the west lay the Eying Temple, ancient and serene, a reflection of Jinan's more than two thousand years of history. To the west of the temple was a quiet, sparsely populated area, where the clear, bubbling waters of Baotu Spring flowed leisurely northward along a pine-wood boardwalk—a place surely for love. Suitable for tender moments, and also for passionate encounters. Love forged by Baotu Spring is destined to last forever. Don't believe me? Just look at the three gushing streams of Baotu Spring! Just then, a couple who seemed to be from the south walked towards that spot; the man was tall and handsome, the woman graceful and alluring, her hips swaying like a captivating nocturne…

    I looked up at the sky, and beneath the white clouds, two cormorants flew north towards Daming Lake.

    To the east, the seal pool meanders gracefully. A solitary seal swims lazily. A few steps further, and you'll reach the Li Qingzhao Memorial Hall. Since Li Qingzhao's time, Jinan has been a haven for poetry. As I walk, springs like Jinxi Spring, Shuyu Spring, Mapao Spring, Woniu Spring, Huanghua Spring, Liuxu Spring, Dengzhou Spring, Wuyou Spring, Dukang Spring, and Baiyun Spring flash by. Like childhood playmates, they are both familiar and new.

    To the west of Baotu Spring lies Wanzhu Garden, once the residence of Zhang Huaizhi, a warlord of the Beiyang Army. The garden is a complex of courtyards within courtyards. Zhang Huaizhi spent ten years painstakingly building this mansion, yet he never lived there, spending his final years in the Tianjin Concession. Wandering through the garden, I realized that there is nothing one cannot let go of.

    Having traveled extensively throughout China's famous mountains and rivers, I've come to a realization: a beautiful landscape has three essential elements: first, stunning scenery; second, rich cultural heritage; and third, a close connection to oneself. Having lived by Baotu Spring for over fifty years, Baotu Spring feels as intimate and familiar as a maternal uncle…

    In my childhood, Baotu Spring was like a shy, demure young lady, hiding in a narrow, old alley. The street was called Baotu Spring Front Street. Small shops and residences lined both sides, their bustling figures weaving a vibrant tapestry of everyday life; the street was paved with bluestone slabs, smoothed and worn by time. To the east was Shanshui Gully, where floods could wash people away during heavy rains; to the west was Weiping Street, leading to Yinhu Pond. Huaqiangzi Street nestled close to Baotu Spring, holding a different kind of charm.

    Back then, the ticket office at the entrance of Baotu Spring was simple and rustic, like a sentry post. Entering, you'd see a stone arch bridge. Beyond the bridge, a large gate was tightly closed; inside was the waterworks, and you could hear the rumbling of water.

    I remember my father catching a crab for me at Jinxiquan Spring; I remember drinking a bellyful of water from Mapaoquan Spring, which caused me to vomit and leave a faint taste of moss in my mouth; I remember sneaking into Baotuquan Spring without a ticket and being chased by four or five ticket sellers; I remember playfully jumping across the river in Baotuquan Spring and falling in, getting completely soaked...

    Now, in the blink of an eye, I am in my eighties. Having traversed countless mountains and rivers, I calmly return to Baotu Spring and truly realize how quickly time flies.

    As I left Baotu Spring, a thought came to mind: to find a rainy day, hold an oil-paper umbrella, and see the hazy beauty of Baotu Spring in the rain; to find a moonlit night, bring a bottle of Moutai, and see the imaginative beauty of Baotu Spring in its intoxication; to find a snowy day, wrap myself in a military overcoat, and see the serene beauty of Baotu Spring in the snow.