Memories of Cornus Bay

The scenery of Cornus Bay has always been charming. When locals of Yangzhou speak of it, there's always a hint of pride in their voices, as if they themselves had shaped this bay with their own hands. In truth, the bay remains as it always was—just a few more cornus trees and pavilions added, and it became a renowned attraction. Visitors are never in short supply. Some wear traditional long gowns, others don Western-style suits, and then there are the laborers in short jackets, sweating profusely as they pass by the bay carrying heavy loads on shoulder poles, occasionally casting a glance inside but never entering. Those who do enter are mostly idlers, or those who fancy themselves as such. They queue up one by one to take photos in front of the stone engraved with the three large characters "Cornus Bay," their faces breaking into smiles, as if failing to do so would render their visit meaningless. The water in the bay is green, but not a vibrant green—rather, it's tinged with murkiness, dotted with floating leaves that gather and scatter with the waves. The cornus trees along the shore, however, stand spirited, their branches stretching diagonally, picturesque in their arrangement. Under these trees, visitors often rest, munching on dry rations they've brought along, crumbs littering the ground with no one bothering to sweep them away. In the pavilions, elderly men often engage in intense games of chess, the battle between the Chu and Han kingdoms unfolding on the board. Spectators gradually form a circle around them, pointing and gesturing but never uttering a word. Occasionally, a brilliant move draws murmurs of admiration, and the players grow even more pleased with themselves, deliberately making their moves louder. This is likely the highlight of their day. Vendors outside the bay peddle snacks and trinkets, their cries rising and falling in waves. An old man selling sugar figurines displays remarkable skill, pulling molten sugar into various shapes. Children gather around, eyes wide with wonder, erupting into cheers with each completed figurine. Parents, unable to resist, reluctantly dig into their pockets to buy one, only to find the sugar creation gnawed into a shapeless mess moments later. Deep within the bay stands a small bridge, crowded with people—some taking photos, others admiring the view, and some simply being pushed along by the flow of the crowd. The water beneath the bridge appears especially deep and mysterious, with fish occasionally leaping out before quickly disappearing without a trace. As dusk falls, the crowd thins. Streetlights along the bay flicker on one by one, casting long reflections on the water's surface. The last few visitors hurry away, leaving only the gentle ripples of the bay and the cornus trees swaying softly in the evening breeze. Tomorrow, the bay will welcome a new wave of visitors, replaying the same lively scenes. Yet the bay itself remains indifferent to it all.