In the middle of downtown Kunming lies 翠湖 (might as well be translated to the ‘Green’ Lake?) — a small, quiet lake locals call “the eye of the city.”
Around 1940s when Japanese troops pushed deep into China, our top universities — Peking University, Tsinghua, and Nankai — merged and moved south to Kunming, forming the National Southwest Associated University (西南联大). Among its students was the writer 汪曾祺.
He later wrote about 翠湖 with the same tone that runs through much of his work: humorous, subtle, warm. His essays recall a city that, despite the war, still had tea houses humming, professors shuffling past with stacks of books, students renting cramped rooms, neighbors chatting in the alleys. Like though life must be tough then during war, people still found small ways to live well.
Standing by 翠湖 now, I sort of can believe how its beauty comforted, or even temporarily distracted people from the harsh reality. Even in the worst moments, there are places and people who sweetens up the situation and halt the bitterness of life.