Missing this guesthouse means missing Xinchang

Upon seeing a road sign that reads "Trudging through Snow," it signifies that Trudging through Snow Nine Miles is still 9 miles away. The owner of the guesthouse, Zhang Zhan, once talked about this coincidence— "Trudging through Snow" coincides with the imagery of "searching for plum blossoms in the snow, living a hermit's life away from the world," while "Nine Miles" is also an imagery, suggesting a path leading to a secluded and quiet place. The combination of the two not only conveys elegance but also a sense of detachment from worldly affairs. Later, it was discovered that the distance from Trudging through Snow village to the guesthouse is exactly 9 miles. Next to the guesthouse is a clear stream. The stream is a great prop and one of the reasons why Zhang Zhan chose to open a guesthouse here; it creates a unique microclimate. When I met Zhang Zhan, Trudging through Snow Nine Miles only had 3 rooms, but now there are 7. He has reserved most of the space for the public areas. We stayed in a three-bedroom building across from the main building, separated by an outdoor swimming pool. The ground floor is a public area, with two guest rooms upstairs, plus one more room independently situated aside, unaffected by the activities in the public area. The floor is very clean, so we simply took off our shoes outside the door to enjoy the freedom of being barefoot. The next day, we found that the couple next door also left their shoes at the door, perhaps thinking it was a rule. In the corner, there's a walnut round table. On the table, a mushroom lamp and a plum blossom-shaped small porcelain dish filled with blueberries, this writable little corner has a bit of the writing space of the country woman writer Austen. Apart from breakfast, meals at Trudging through Snow Nine Miles need to be reserved in advance. The host will ask, "We will have some Sichuan dishes, is that okay?" "Mildly spicy or medium spicy?" "What should be the proportion of spicy dishes?" Sichuanese sister-in-law's instinct is to cook Sichuan cuisine, and now she has taught the aunt, who also occasionally whips up a sauce or makes a chopped chili fish head. None of the breakfast items are reheated from frozen. The freshly pan-fried pumpkin cakes are crispy and hot, and the soup dumplings are hand-rolled and wrapped on the spot. The treasure of the guesthouse is a small Samoyed named Xiao Xue. Xiao Xue can lead the way, understands human commands, and is not overly affectionate with people. Watching it happily greet and send off guests without ever rubbing against them. We ran joyfully by the stream, and Ruyi, who was also afraid of dogs, followed along, calling out, "Xiao Xue, slow down," and when turning her head, she called, "Xiao Xue, let's go back." A child, a dog, isn't that the most touching scene in the countryside?