Suzhou's magnolias in March are worth a special trip.

The moment you step into the Master of the Nets Garden, a bluish-purple mist captivates your gaze. Over 500 pots of spring orchids cascade along the winding corridor of the Moon to the Wind Pavilion. The sword-like leaves hold up the blossoms, which shimmer among the dark gray tiles, like a shattered Milky Way fallen to earth. The two century-old snow orchids in front of the Dianchun Studio are the most breathtaking. Their jade-like petals, adorned with morning dew, tremble in the breeze, occasionally scattering a few petals that land on the green bricks with a chime-like echo. The incense in the corridor is alive—the fragrance of orchids, mingled with the dampness of moss, is woven into threads by the breeze, sometimes clinging to the sleeves of those leaning on the美人靠 (beautifully carved resting rails), sometimes catching the tassels of someone's camera strap. Despite the crowds, there's no noise; only lenses follow the butterfly-like petals as they tremble, and onlookers hold their breath, forming a transparent cocoon of anticipation. Suddenly, a child points at a flower window and cries out. The old plum's gnarled branches have been stealthily replaced by new vines, and the Boston ivy, dipped in the spring sun, is writing cursive script on the white wall. Red carp in the pond suddenly flick their tails, shattering the reflections of flowers on the water. As the ripples spread, you can almost see the garden's owner from 800 years ago, strolling across the moss, a book in hand, his clothes still carrying the scent of ink.