We packed our bags with handmade beads, paper flowers from Tong Cao (通草) stems, and postcards printed with cloud patterns. Then we boarded the train from Nanjing to Hangzhou for the annual Hanfu Festival at the National Silk Museum.
At the market, we spread our items on a shared table. A girl from Sichuan gave us a sachet of dried osmanthus. We handed her a postcard. Another visitor, wearing a Song-style beizi, admired our hairpin. She swapped it for a piece of jade-colored silk ribbon. No receipts. No prices. Just nods and the quiet weight of small objects made by hand.
Inside the museum, we pressed our noses to glass. A woman’s robe from the Huang Sheng tomb—pleats still crisp, peony embroidery faded but readable. A wooden comb with missing teeth from the Zhao Boyun (赵伯澐) site. We wondered who last touched it.
Outside, we chased costumed performers across the courtyard. A man in Tang armor pointed his spear at a friend’s camera. A woman in Ming court dress laughed while adjusting her phoenix crown. She showed us how to hold our sleeves for photos.
By evening, our bags felt lighter. But we had new ribbons, a clay figurine, and a crumpled paper with someone’s WeChat ID. The best souvenirs come from open palms, not store counters.
