Potan Ancient Town

Across Jiangsu and Zhejiang today, every aged small town brands itself an “Ancient Jiangnan Water Town”, vying desperately to draw tourists. Potan, however, stands apart. Like the secret beating heart of time, it lies hidden deep within ancient history, reluctant to lay bare its former glory.

Like all historic towns, Potan rose to prosperity through thriving commerce, which in turn relied on unrivalled transportation access. In ancient China, waterways rather than land routes dominated travel and trade — this dynamic gave birth to countless flourishing water towns south of the Yangtze.

Nestled on the river valley plain of the Yong’an River in mountainous Xianju County, southern Zhejiang, Potan sits at the confluence of four watercourses: Wanzhu Stream, Zhumu Stream, Huangyu Gully and Jiudu Harbour. Downstream, the waterway leads straight to the Jiaojiang River estuary; upstream, mountain trails stretch into western Zhejiang and southern Jiangxi. For this reason, it became a renowned salt merchant hub as early as the Tang Dynasty.

Sea salt, sun-dried along the coast, was shipped upstream by fleets of cargo boats all the way to Potan. From here, porters carried the salt over the Cangling Ancient Path to western Zhejiang and inland provinces. Over centuries, Potan evolved into a vital southern Zhejiang market town, steeped in opulence and lavish revelry throughout the Song, Yuan, Ming and Qing dynasties, its fame echoing across the Jiangnan region.

Yet the completion of the Zhejiang-Jiangxi Railway and the rise of overland travel gradually eroded Potan’s waterborne trading advantage, bringing its golden age to an end. A hundred years of vicissitudes later, Potan faded into obscurity for most people. For more than a decade living in Zhejiang, I had encountered countless towns boasting titles like “Top Ancient Town of Jiangnan”, yet I had never once heard of Potan.

Not long ago, I attended a conference in Xianju and accepted warm invitations from local friends. I followed the winding Yong’an River for half an hour’s journey and finally arrived at ancient Potan. Before visiting, I imagined it to be just another historic township: a handful of old stone bridges, narrow alleyways, weathered courtyard houses, and newly renovated so-called relics designed to catch the jaded eyes of city dwellers.

From across the river upon my arrival, Potan lay half-hidden behind river embankments and woods, seemingly unremarkable at first glance, evoking the poetic line: A distant village bathed in gentle warmth, faint wispy smoke curls above quiet cottages.

Stepping into the town, however, I gasped in awe. Ancient Potan exudes unhurried tranquility, like an elaborate riddle woven by history. You sink deep into its atmosphere yet struggle to decipher its layers, stirring tangled, ineffable emotions reminiscent of the verse: Threads fray yet cannot be cut; untangled, they grow more knotted still.

Potan is a narrow township built parallel to the river. Its banks are lined with exclusive stone cargo docks bearing names tied to faraway regions: Jinhua Dock, Yongkang Dock, Lishui Dock, Dongyang Dock, Anhui Dock and more. The arrangement smacks of merchant factions carving out territorial spheres, testament to fierce competition among regional trade guilds back then. Old fellow villagers meeting on foreign soil would weep at the sight of one another. One can well picture merchants from every corner traveling hundreds of miles, swelling with pride and warmth upon spotting the fluttering banners of their hometown dock — and the crushing loneliness of those who failed to find their district’s landing stage.

Potan features a single main thoroughfare, known as the Dragon-shaped Ancient Street. The road twists and turns for miles, shaped like a soaring flood dragon, flanked by timeworn ancient residences and shops preserved largely as they once stood. Historians and folklore scholars have long debated why the street curves in dragon form instead of following a straight layout. Some argue the town sits north of mountains and south of a river, a yin-dominant locale, and the dragon symbol was built in to balance the lack of yang energy. Others hold that the design embodies the classical aesthetic of “winding paths revealing hidden beauty, sudden vistas breaking through shaded groves”, allowing visitors to savour subtle, graceful charm around every bend. Both sides present compelling arguments, yet neither fully resolves the mystery — no one can truly know the ancient planners’ intentions.

Venturing into the courtyard houses lining the main street, most are worn and dilapidated, yet traces of former inhabitants’ lives remain vivid across floors, walls and roof beams. I cannot help but marvel at this. Perhaps due to its remote mountain location and modest economic development, Potan escaped large-scale demolition during political campaigns and the ravages of modern urbanisation. It retains an exceptionally intact original landscape, its intricate craftsmanship rivalling that of many prominent aristocratic manors, a testament to almost supernatural ancient ingenuity.

For instance, every open courtyard space in these old homes is paved with cobblestones of nearly uniform size, laid into elaborate patterns. Esoteric designs feature the Taiji Yin-Yang Eight Trigrams; refined motifs depict plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo and chrysanthemums; lively layouts showcase birds and beasts; those yearning for wealth embed copper coin patterns, so the residents could gaze upon symbols of prosperity beneath their feet day and night, dreaming of riches even if fortune never arrived. As for carved beams and painted murals on the walls, every household bears master artisans’ work, each expressing its own distinct aesthetic taste.

What captivated me most, however, are the lingering imprints of ordinary life on the walls. The Announcement Hall of the He Clan still displays seventeen imperial examination victory notices plastered high on its walls, recording successes at both provincial and metropolitan levels. One can easily imagine how the He family leveraged scholarly prestige to stand apart amid the town’s mercantile bustle, much like modern urban elites sneering “uncultured” at those they deem beneath them. Inside the deep courtyards of the Chen Clan, a massive horizontal plaque inscribed Renowned among the Lu She School hangs above the main hall gate, marking the master as an eminent scholar of the Lu School of Neo-Confucianism. Centered on the main hall’s rear wall hangs another plaque titled Hall of Kind Legacy, a gift from Qing literatus Zhang Ruizhen, its bold, forceful calligraphy humbling readers lacking scholarly depth.

The building that stirs the richest flights of fancy is the Spring Flower Courtyard, a three-tiered compound once the town’s most prosperous brothel. Though the paint has faded on its lintel sign reading Beauty Outshines Spring Blossoms, its allure still lingers. Ancient merchants would travel away from home for months or years at a time; amid their financial gains, loneliness gnawed at their hearts. Seeking temporary solace in the company of courtesans became a reluctant escape from empty solitude. The courtyard’s slogan once lured restless traveling traders: Its fragrant chambers house famed entertainers, each beauty fairer than spring blooms.

The first courtyard’s cobblestones are inlaid with small copper coin patterns, signalling light entertainment: casual drinking and gentle companionship for modest sums. The second tier features far larger coin motifs, a clear hint that indulgences here came at steeper cost. The innermost courtyard is laid with two giant coin emblems, warning guests that the most coveted companions resided here, requiring extravagant spending without hesitation.

Patrons wealthy enough to splurge freely were often dignitaries and prominent merchants unwilling to be seen entering a brothel in public view. The courtyard’s owner thus built a hidden side gate in the corner of the innermost yard, leading straight to the back lane, catering to clients craving discreet pleasure. Such meticulous attention to guests’ hidden needs borders on astonishing ingenuity.

As leisure tourism flourishes nationwide, Potan seems to be stirring awake from its centuries-long slumber. During my visit, crowds of domestic and foreign tourists wandered the Dragon-shaped Ancient Street, searching for the lingering charm of Tang and Song dynasties preserved within the town’s walls.

I believe Potan Ancient Town will continue to radiate irresistible allure, sustained by its unparalleled ancient heritage.