Qingdao: A Century of Charm Between Mountains and Sea, A Timeless Scroll of Rising Tides

In late autumn, I came riding the waves to keep an appointment with the mountains and sea of Qingdao. This city is like a pot of aged wine—at first sniff, it feels crisp and refreshing; upon savoring, its richness reveals itself—“mountains and sea intertwined, time as witness.” When the first ray of morning light brushes over the eaves of the Zhanqiao Pier, I know this journey will be an encounter with a century-old charm. A Bay of Azure Sea, A Century-Old Dream Stirred by Seagulls As the "Star of Qingdao" yacht cuts through the waves, flocks of seagulls dance alongside the hull. Their wingbeats seem to overlap with the seagulls soaring over Jiaozhou Bay a hundred years ago. Imagining the late Qing Dynasty, this was once a quiet fishing village. Who would have thought that an encounter between mountains and sea would brew such charm in the folds of time for this city? Arriving at Xiaomai Island, the sunset dyes the sky and sea into orange-red silk. In front of the building adorned with a giant red butterfly bow, tourists crowd the area. I find a rock to sit on, watching the waves crash against the shore, suddenly recalling the ancient saying, “Watching the sea, the mind overflows with the sea’s vastness.” Only now do I truly understand—within this vast sea lies the past and present of Qingdao. Old Streets and Alleys, Time Whispering Between Bricks and Tiles At the corner of Daxue Road and Yushan Road, the splash of vermilion on the wall is Qingdao’s artistic totem. Standing beneath the wall, I watch sunlight dance on the street signs “Daxue Road” and “Yushan Road,” and for a moment, I glimpse a Republican-era woman in a qipao, holding an oil-paper umbrella, walking out from the shadows of German-style old buildings. In front of the “Chic Grocery Store” on the street corner, a pink KAWS sculpture contrasts amusingly with signs reading “Eat Gala” and “Play Dou Di Zhu.” This collision of trendy and vintage perfectly captures Qingdao’s soul—“inclusive and embracing, thus elegant.” Strolling along Huangxian Road, the pomegranate tree leaves fall thickly outside Lao She’s former residence. I seem to hear the pen of "Rickshaw Boy" gliding over paper, and memories of Qingdao take root between the lines. Persimmon Red and Maple Yellow, Poetic Blank Spaces in the Mountains Leaving the city toward Laoshan, in late autumn at Beijiushui, persimmon trees hang orange-red lanterns from their branches, spreading the meaning of “good luck” through the mountains. I follow the winding path upward, watching red leaves carpet the bluestone slabs, distant mountains like ink wash, forests dyed in layers. “No rain on the mountain walk, only the green dampens clothes,” Wang Wei’s poem takes shape here; every breath is a whisper between grass, trees, and the breeze. Reaching the mountaintop, the flying eaves of Chaoge Pavilion sketch graceful curves against the blue sky. From the pavilion, Qingdao’s red tiles, green trees, blue sea, and sky come into full view. At that moment, the grandeur of mountains and sea blends with the elegance of the pavilion, revealing why this city captivates poets and artists alike. A Century of Charm, The Lingering Taste of a Beer As dusk falls, I sit at an outdoor stall on Beer Street. A mug of draft beer with dense foam, one sip bursts malt’s rich aroma on my tongue. At the neighboring table, an elder speaks Qingdao dialect, chatting about the seagulls at Zhanqiao Pier, the fallen leaves of Badaguan, and the lively beer festival. Suddenly, I understand—Qingdao’s charm is hidden in every tide rise and fall at Zhanqiao, in every brick and tile of German architecture, in every red leaf on Laoshan, and in the bold yet delicate character of its people. “Time loses its voice, only stones can speak,” and Qingdao’s mountains, sea, old streets, and everyday life all tell a story of a century-spanning romantic encounter. When the last star’s light falls into my beer glass, I know this meeting with Qingdao has already left a deep mark in my heart. For the rest of my life, whenever I think of that sea, those streets, those people, the crispness of beer will rise on my lips, and the gentleness of mountains and sea will ripple in my heart—this is Qingdao, a timeless scroll that lingers in memory.