The courtyard is a gentle tune softly hummed by Boxin Yun She.

The courtyard is a gentle tune softly hummed by Boxin Yun She. It is not neat or fully visible at a glance, but carries a shy hesitation, layer upon layer, leading you to explore. At the entrance, there is always a screen wall or a cluster of bamboo, perfectly blocking the full view of the garden, leaving only the sound of the wind and bamboo, and a hint of refreshing coolness as the prelude to the invitation. Beneath your feet are colorful pebbles, polished shiny by Lijiang’s rain, arranged into simple Naxi patterns. They are not as solemn as stone slabs; stepping on them produces a subtle, pleasant rustling sound, like the earth whispering to you. The path is winding, never straight to the destination. It takes you around an old post climbing with roses, through a moon gate, or leads you to pause briefly at a corner where a celadon water jar is placed. Inside the jar grow a few lotus leaves and two or three red carp, moving slowly as if in meditation. Water is the heartbeat of this courtyard. It may come from a small spring bubbling out from between stones, forming a shallow stream less than a palm’s width. The streambed is paved with smooth pebbles, and as water flows over them, it produces a clear, string-like sound. The stream meanders whimsically through the courtyard, sometimes hidden under a patch of foxtail grass, sometimes emerging from beneath a small stone arch bridge. It does not seek grandeur, only cherishes the continuous vitality and clear sound that can wash away the dust of the world. Plants are casually planted, without deliberate rows. An old osmanthus tree with a canopy like a cover, in autumn its fragrance is an invisible yet omnipresent mist. In a corner, there may lean a pomegranate tree, its May blossoms bright red, soaked in sunlight, fierce yet softened by the plain white wall, giving a touch of classical gentleness. More are unknown ferns and orchids, placed in tile jars, stone mortars, or old wooden posts, growing lushly on their own, breathing the purest air. Here, every step is a scene, every frame worthy of a painting. You can sit on the beauty-resting bench in the corridor and watch how the sunlight stretches and shortens the shadows of flowers and trees inch by inch. Or you can do nothing but listen—listen to the wind through bamboo tips, the spring flowing over stones, the brief chirp of an unknown bird in the dense shade, then return to silence. The courtyard uses all its elements to build a small, self-sufficient universe, firmly keeping the rush of the outside world beyond its walls. It does not urge you, only quietly unfolds itself, waiting for your gaze and footsteps to slow down, and slow down again, until they resonate with its breath.