Rain had fallen incessantly for several weekends straight, keeping me away from Xuanwu Lake for quite some time. Returning at last, I found the lotus blossoms nearing the end of their show. Fragrant, delicate blooms were now hard to come by, replaced by tall lotus seed pods standing erect across the water. Fortunately, the realm of emerald leaves remained—layer upon layer, completely carpeting the surface of the lake.

A piece of local Nanjing lore goes: “Xuanwu Lake sells lotus leaves, not roots; Mochou Lake sells lotus roots, not leaves.” Before the era of wrapping paper and plastic bags prior to the 1980s, these abundant lotus leaves were the most reliable packaging for street vendors—and a centuries-old official business for Xuanwu Lake. Times have changed; today, the leaves serve as impromptu “sun-shield masks” for young people. Few are sold, and fewer still buy them. Yet thanks to this shift, the lake’s vast canopy of green remains untamed and intact.

Along the shore, the fluffy ducklings that had followed their mother through the spring water have shed their youthful naive awkwardness, gliding gracefully and leisurely among the lotus leaves. A standing promotional sign for the “Su Chao” (Jiangsu Super League) serves as a reminder of the fervent street talk that swept the city last year; yet under the wild carnival of this year’s World Cup, it seems to have quietly faded from casual after-dinner conversations.

Seasons turn, and the world moves on. The pulse of time shifts rapidly and without a sound—leaving only the gentle lake breeze and this boundless stretch of emerald green, enduring just as they always have.