Passing by the Jinshazhou Bridge at night, I saw a neighborhood below that has yet to undergo full urban renewal. This unpolished edge of the city, sitting right beside Huawei’s Guangdong headquarters, has become a peaceful sanctuary for local residents under the bridge.

Here, the Pearl River splits southward into two streams, its water twinkling with the shimmering reflections of city lights. Looking far into the ink-black night, the bright lights of Metro Line 5 gleamed through the darkness as the train slowly crossed the iron bridge from west to east—like a vessel journeying toward an unknown realm of light.

Climbing the steps onto the bridge’s pedestrian path, the quiet night below was instantly shattered by the roar of the traffic above. Vehicles zoomed by on both sides, rushing back and forth among the towering skyscrapers of Jinshazhou.

At this moment, Jinshazhou hardly felt like Guangzhou anymore. So I turned back toward Liwan Lake, seeking the familiar pulse of the old city. It was already late. The park was quiet, left only to a few elderly locals cooling off in the night air, and small bridges outlined in brilliant, colorful lights.

Nearby, the ancient village of Pantang has grown increasingly artistic through time and renovation. The trendy hot spots that swarm with visitors by day were still brightly lit, yet bathed in serene silence—broken only by stray cats rustling through the shadows, hushed whispers floating from somewhere unseen, and the faint, gentle trickle of flowing water.

Beside Lizhiwan (Lychee Bay), the Wenchang Pagoda stood in solemn silence in the night. Red lanterns hanging from the trees seemed to spill into the water, shattering the narrow river into ripples of shimmering red. Next to the village ancestral hall, several dragon boats lay moored along the bank, banners snapping loudly in the cool midnight breeze. Dragon Boat Festival is still days away, yet a subtle, surging energy is already quiet but palpable across these midnight waters.