Spring was always full of life. College life was truly wonderful.
The sun shone brightly today, and spring was at its finest.
The Bund's bustle was beyond doubt. Traffic flowed endlessly here year-round, and crowds surged through the streets. Many visitors from elsewhere came to take photos and check in, while others painted from life.
Huangpu Park was China's first public garden, encapsulating Shanghai's history since the opening of its port.
To the north lay Suzhou Creek, along with Waibaidu Bridge, the crossing between the HP and HK districts. Located where Suzhou Creek flowed into the Huangpu River, it was China's first fully steel riveted bridge and the only remaining bridge with unequal-height truss structures.
To the east was the Huangpu River, beneath whose waters lay who knew how many grand ambitions and soaring aspirations, how much blood and tears.
To the west stood the Bund's collection of international architecture. Compared to the invasions it represented and had endured, that title sounded rather fresh and refined...
Nan Xiang was painting from life in the park. She had set up her easel, arranged her brushes and paints, and sat on the folding chair she had brought herself.
She was beautiful, and she knew how to dress herself as well. Her long hair flowed around her shoulders, and she wore a white dress with canvas shoes, looking youthful and lovely. With the early spring breeze lifting her hair and fluttering the hem of her skirt, she seemed even more fresh and ethereal.
Sitting there quietly and peacefully as she painted, she became another sight in the park. Men and women passing by could not help but turn their eyes toward her.
Naturally, she enjoyed that attention. It proved her beauty and her appeal.
Yet she had her troubles too.
She tilted her