Baijianlou in Nanxun: A 600-Year-Old Riverside Community Where the Most Vibrant Old Times of Jiangnan Hide Behind Black Tiles and White Walls

If you visit Nanxun, don't just focus on those grand mansions with "cultural heritage site" plaques. Turn a corner from Zhang Shiming's Former Residence, walk south along the Ditang River, and you'll see rows of black tiles winding along the riverbank—this is Baijianlou, the true essence of Jiangnan. Unpretentious yet steeped in six centuries of history, it feels as if time itself has dissolved into the water. During the Wanli era of the Ming Dynasty, Dong Fen, the Minister of Rites, retired to Nanxun. This lifelong official, noticing how the women of his household were confined by deep courtyards, built a hundred riverside houses along the water. Thoughtfully designed with connected arcades, these buildings sheltered residents from rain and summer sun. Women could open their windows to the leisurely flow of the river, making life less stifling. Today, viewed from across the river, Baijianlou resembles a bluish-gray dragon resting along the water. The arcade pillars, smoothed by generations of hands, have lost their carved patterns to time, leaving only rounded outlines. The most striking features are the stepped gables—some resembling horsebacks, others like staircases—casting golden reflections on the river at sunset. Symmetry was never a priority here. The Zhang family's house extends half a room farther, while the Li family's windows sit three inches lower than their neighbors', each structure adapting to the river's curves. The cobblestone paths meander, widening and narrowing unpredictably, occasionally leading to a stone stairway descending into the water, its cracks cradling patches of moss like dropped green silk. After the Taiping Rebellion destroyed much of Baijianlou, locals painstakingly rebuilt it using salvaged beams and intact bricks. Some window frames now show dark aged wood below and lighter new wood above—like wrinkles on an elder's face revealing resilient new skin. The alleyways always buzz with life. At dawn, grandmothers gather at the stone steps to wash clothes, their wooden beaters startling egrets into flight. By midday, elderly men play chess on stone tables under the arcades, the engraved board lines nearly worn away. When tourists photograph the arcades, vendors selling foxnut cakes cheerfully advise, "Go further inside—the inner pillars are more photogenic!" Evenings are magical. Smoke curls from dormer windows, blending with twilight. A little girl with pigtails leans from a window, watching a sampan glide by as the boatwoman's oar sends duckweed spinning. Though modern cafes and craft shops now dot Baijianlou, they respectfully blend in—even their varnished doors are deliberately darkened to avoid upstaging the ancient architecture. Sipping coffee under the arcade, you might spot dried corn hanging from beams overhead while hearing a grandmother next door teaching her grandson Tang poetry—old and new coexisting harmoniously. If you visit Nanxun, resist rushing through. Sit by the river, watch the water, listen to the oars, and wait for dusk to cloak the stepped gables. You'll realize every brick and beam here isn't some cold relic, but an old friend steeped in six centuries of life, waiting to share its stories—if only you'll stay awhile to listen.