In Nanjing, Check into a Slow Groove Poem

At 1 a.m., the drumbeats in my headphones haven't stopped, yet Nanjing's night has quieted down like a cup of cold brew. Pushing open the door of "Journey Healing Lodge," warmth wrapped in coffee aroma rushes over—the butler guy says "Herbal tea's on the table, brew it yourself." The room's walls are thick enough to mute the hustle of the Qinhuai River, but the moonlight outside the window knows its place, slanting perfectly into the bathtub. Some travel like commandos ticking off checklists, but I'd rather sprawl before the projector screen nibbling duck blood vermicelli soup. After all, the subway's just 350 meters away, and luggage can be stored here till the end of time. Turns out the soul's charger is a nightlight that never goes off in a homestay.