Qiandao Lake

Listen first. Water slaps softly against the hull of the boat, and somewhere across the bay an engine hums and fades. The air is cooler here than in the city, and it smells of pine and wet stone. All around you, green humps of land rise from the water. There are so many that your eye cannot count them. Each one looks like the top of a hill... and that is exactly what it is.

Welcome to Qiandao Lake, the Thousand Island Lake. It lies in Chun'an County, in the far west of Hangzhou's territory, a couple of hours' drive from the city centre. The name is not poetry. The commonly cited count is more than a thousand islands, scattered across a body of water covering several hundred square kilometres. From above, the shoreline twists like a maze. From the deck of a boat, it feels endless.

Here is the first surprise. This lake is not natural. Before the late 1950s, there was no lake here at all. There was a river valley, the valley of the Xin'an River, with farmland, villages and old county towns. Then engineers built a large hydroelectric dam downstream, near the town of Jiande. As the water rose behind the dam, the valley filled. The hilltops stayed above the surface, and they became the islands you see today.

The Xin'anjiang Dam was one of the first major hydroelectric projects of the new People's Republic of China. It was designed and built largely by Chinese engineers, and it became a point of national pride. It sent electricity to Shanghai, Hangzhou and the growing industries of eastern China. It also helped to control floods on the river system that runs down toward Hangzhou, where the Xin'an joins the Fuchun and then the Qiantang River.

But a lake of this size has a human cost. Hundreds of thousands of people lived in the flooded valley. They had to leave their homes, their fields and the graves of their ancestors. Many moved to new settlements nearby. Others were sent to distant provinces. For older families in this region, the beauty of the water is mixed with memory. When local people talk about the old valley, they often speak of a home that is still down there, under the surface.

And in one case, that is literally true. Deep below the water lies an ancient town called Shicheng, which means Lion City. It took its name from Wushi Mountain, the Five Lion Mountain, that rose behind it. The town was an administrative centre for well over a thousand years. When the valley flooded, Lion City was not demolished. It was simply left behind, and the water closed over its roofs.

For decades, the town was almost forgotten. Then, in the early 2000s, divers and researchers went down to explore it. What they found surprised many people. Because the water is deep, cold and calm, the town survived in remarkable condition. Divers reported city walls, gateways, stone archways and carved decorations still in place. Photographs of the drowned streets spread around the world, and Lion City became one of the strangest landmarks in China... a city that most visitors will never see.

This brings us to the second surprise — the water itself. Qiandao Lake is known across China for its clarity. On a calm day, you can look over the side of the boat and see deep into the green. The lake is carefully protected. Fishing is controlled, development along the shore is limited, and large numbers of fish are released to help keep the water clean. A well-known Chinese bottled water brand draws its water from this area, and many visitors are surprised to learn it.

Those fish matter in the kitchen too. The local speciality is fish head, usually from the large bighead carp that live in the lake. It is often cooked slowly in a rich, milky soup, or braised with chilli and ginger. Restaurants in Qiandaohu town, the main lakeside town, serve it in huge bowls meant for sharing. Locals say the clean water gives the fish a sweet, mild taste with no muddy flavour.

Most visitors explore the lake by boat, stopping at a handful of developed islands. Each island has its own character. Some have viewing platforms at the top, reached by steep stairs or a cable car. From those high points, you can see the islands layered into the distance, each one a little paler than the one before. On a hazy morning, the far islands fade into the sky until you cannot tell where the land ends.

One island connects the lake to an older story. In the Ming dynasty, an official named Hai Rui served as the magistrate of Chun'an County. In Chinese culture, Hai Rui is remembered as a symbol of honesty — a man who refused bribes and criticised even the emperor. A shrine and memorial on the lake honour him. It is a reminder that this county had a long civic history, centuries before the valley became a reservoir.

As you travel between the islands, notice the colours. The lower edges of many islands show a band of bare earth or pale rock. This is the line where the water level rises and falls with the seasons and with the needs of the dam. Above that line, the forest is thick and dark. Below it, the soil is exposed. That simple stripe shows you that this lake is still a working reservoir, managed by human hands every day.

The seasons change the lake's mood. In spring, the hills turn a fresh, bright green, and mist often hangs low over the water in the early morning. Summer brings heat, heavy rain and long, glowing evenings. Autumn is often clear and calm, with sharper views across the islands. In winter, the light is thin and silver, the crowds are smaller, and the lake feels quiet and wide.

So take a moment now, wherever you are standing — on a deck, on a hilltop, or by the shore. Look at the nearest island and imagine it as a hill above a river, with paths, fields and rooftops at its feet. Then look down at the water. Somewhere below, under the green, the old valley is still there. As you leave, listen again to the small sound of water against stone. It carries the story of everything this lake covers.