Early morning mist filled the lake, and the air was slightly moist and cool. It's far away from the hustle and bustle, surrounded by mountains on all sides, and the air always carries the fresh scent of grass and trees.
And her three-and-a-half-storey home, built on a slightly higher sloping hillside, is half-hidden between pines and chestnut trees. Push open the wooden double doors and you're greeted by a simple but unique space.
Jiang Yunhe pushed open the door, the door frame made a slight "creak" sound, her drawing room is on the ground floor.
This floor was originally a farmhouse restaurant lobby, and since she bought it over, it has been converted into an integrated living room-kitchen space after some simple repairs.
The whole space is about 60 square metres, with old-fashioned windows with yellowed and cracked edges. Through the gaps, you can see distant mountains floating vaguely in the clouds.
There's a small attic above the ground floor, which is where Yunhe's bedroom is. At night, she didn't like the idea of the hall lights, which go through the doorway, disturbing her son's sleep. So she went up to the attic by herself and kept working on something in a corner of the bedroom, which she also used as a temporary office.
The bedroom in the attic is about thirty to forty square meters, and she'd added a wooden table from somewhere. The table's surface is a bit shiny from years of use, and in the corner there's a stretched-arm LED lamp. The brushes on the table are placed in a staggered manner, and some of the nibs have become sparse due to prolonged use. There's a pile of burlap with last night's unfinished drawings on it, and the lines are delicate but not coloured.
Jiang Yunhe was used to getting up early, and after sending her son Ouyang down the mountain, she went back the same way to the drawing room.When she got home, she lit the stove to make a pot of tea. The village lady had sent this year's new tea, which smelt lovely.
The porridge was still in the pot and she hadn't had time to eat it, so now she served a bowl, blew it to cool and ate a few bites, then began to draw.Her brush moved gently across the paper as if telling a silent story.Today's painting is of an ancient well in the side yard, surrounded by moss.In yesterday's painting, the well was still dry, but today it is filled with fallen leaves scraped from nowhere.
She stops her pen and scrutinizes it, as if she's listening to something.Listening with one ear further, there was only the sound of wind and birdsong outside the window.Facing the lake is an entire window, from which you can have an unobstructed view of Lake Como in the distance, the water sparkling in the sun. Further away, you can just about see the rolling Alps, and on a clear day you can even see the snow on top of the mountains, with the white peaks blending with the blue sky as if they were close at hand.
There's a simple row of pots with some evergreens and a few mint plants sitting under the windowsill.
A wooden easel by the window leaned on the floor, and on the panel was one of her recently completed paintings - Twilight in the Alps. The sun streams in through the glass window, lighting up the floor and walls with a warm golden glow.The studio's interior is simple, practical and cosy.
On one side, there's an open kitchen with wooden counters and a few iron pots, plus a ceramic kettle for making tea on the cooker, which is emitting a faint herbal aroma. Next to the stove, there's a small wooden dining table with some scattered sketches and a few art books casually flipped over.
The fireplace is in the middle of the drawing room. It's got flames that flicker and make a beeping noise, and it makes the room feel warm. In front of the fireplace there's an old armchair that's padded with a soft woolen blanket.
Whenever it was freezing cold, Jiang Yunhe always liked to sit here wrapped in a blanket, holding a cup of hot tea or coffee and quietly looking out the window.
During the day, the studio is really quiet, with only the sounds of nature. You can hear the birds singing in the woods, the wind brushing through the trees, and sometimes a light rain falling, with the raindrops tapping on the window.
Every sound here is like carefully choreographed white noise, healing and relaxing.
Jiang Yunhe often worked in this kind of environment. The sound of the paintbrush sliding on the canvas blended with the symphony of nature outside the window.
She loves the light here, the way it's warm and soft; the sunlight on her canvas makes her feel like she's not painting nature, but being in it.
As evening fell, the Alps gradually took on a golden-red glow from the setting sun, and the lake shone with a soft pinkish-orange light. At this time, Jiang Yunhe would put down the brush, make a cup of tea, and sit by the window quietly watching the sunset in the distance. She felt that such a day, though simple, was a rare luxury.
Most of her friends lived in the city and were used to the bright lights and non-stop action. They always had a half-sceptical, half-joking attitude towards Yunhe's lifestyle on top of Como Mountain.
"You know, I'm afraid those paintings have got the wrong idea." Once, on a video call, my friend Lin Man shook her head with a glass of red wine and said, "The beauty of the Alps, the breeze of Lake Como – that's all just photos. You should see them in real life. They're cold, boring, and full of bugs!"
"But don't say bugs!" Another close friend, Zhou Wen, laughed and said, "And that fireplace burning wood? Are you sure it's not synonymous with romance, but actually with labour? You'll miss the heat in the city when your hands freeze and you have to chop wood every day!"
Yunhe listened and smiled slightly, not rushing to retort. She knew they couldn't understand her choice, just like she couldn't imagine the life of those friends who spent their days squeezing into underground clubs and catching landmark meetings.
Other friends are more direct: "You call this living in seclusion? I think you're just looking for trouble! And if you get sick, how far is the nearest hospital? How stable is the mobile phone signal at the top of the mountain?"
She didn't really have a strong opinion on it, and just said, "I love the slow pace here, and what you don't see is that these kinds of days instead allow me to really quiet down and reconnect with myself."
Some of her friends urged her, "When you've painted enough, come back. I bet you can't stand it for two days at most. It's too quiet, you'll go crazy!"
Yunhe just smiled and didn't argue.
Deep down, she knew that this apparent loneliness was exactly the kind of peace her heart had been longing for.
Every time the first rays of morning sunlight pass through the window and light up the canvas; every time the shimmering lake and the beauty of the mountains spread out; every time the fire in the fireplace rings out with the sound of pages turning, she can feel the fullness and abundance of her heart.
She knew her friends had a point when they were worried. Life at the top of the mountain isn't as convenient as in the city, obviously. Things like real labour, like finding firewood, aren't as romantic. And the damp and cold of winter takes time to get used to.
But for Yunhe, all this hassle has taught her to cherish every moment and to notice the beautiful details that you miss in city life.
Every night, she'd have a cuppa and look at the stars through the window, and she'd remember her mates teasing her and have a good laugh. They just don't get how powerful silence can be, do they?
