Of all the places to visit in Shanghai, Yuyuan Market promised the most contrast: centuries-old pavilions wrapped in the clamor of modern tourism. I had marked it early in my itinerary, curious to see how history and commerce now share the same roofline.

The place traces its roots to the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644), when Shanghai was still a modest walled town surrounded by creeks and rice paddies. What we now call the Yuyuan Market once coiled around the edges of a private retreat, the Yu Garden, commissioned in 1559 by Pan Yunduan, a high-ranking official who wished to create a haven of serenity for his aging father, a retired minister.

Designed in the classical Jiangnan style, the garden took nearly two decades to complete and was once one of the most elaborate in the region. As dynasties rose and fell, the area morphed into a buzzing marketplace. By the late Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) era, it had become one of the city's most storied commercial centers.

Today, the garden stands walled like a jewel box, but around it, time has unspooled wildly. The surrounding paths, once a network of quiet pavilions and merchants' quarters, have transformed into Shanghai's most baroque fever dream: the Yuyuan Market.

The roofs are the first thing I notice. Upturned eaves curl like black lacquered sea waves, stacked one over the other in impossible tiers. Every building looks as though it belongs in a scroll painting. 

I become one with the crowds of people pouring through narrow walkways, passing fortune shops, jade sellers, steaming soup stalls and kitschy souvenir dens. Silver artisans hunch over their tools, coaxing delicate patterns into rings. A nearby seller welcomes me to try beautifully woven silk scarves in her stall.

At one storefront, I pause to watch a woman working behind a pane of spotless glass. There's something grounding about watching food being made from scratch. Her hands move rhythmically over a mound of dough – folding, rolling, pressing with practiced grace. I catch her eye; her smile is easy, genuine, and somehow makes the moment linger.

Beside her, another worker tends to a tray of steaming dumplings. Dumplings sound good right now. They smell good, too. A local couple tells me to try the pork ones, and that's exactly what I go for, taking a seat by a window that frames a curved-roof pavilion like a still from an old film.

The dumplings, a set of six, are gone faster than I'd like, and suddenly I'm scanning the lanes again. Word is, the hand-pulled noodle soup here is worth the hunt. So I head back into the crowd, appetite rekindled.

Tucked into a side alley, I find the diner glowing with red lanterns and warm steam. The wooden interior gives off an aged comfort – every surface burnished from years of use, corners steeped in quiet conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. I order a bowl of savory, rich beef noodles and, as an afterthought, glutinous rice persimmon-shaped mochis. To this day, I can't tell if it was their taste or the atmosphere that made them unforgettable. Excited, I get two more for a friend.

Refueled, I venture out to explore some more. Unexpectedly, just beyond the ornamental roofs and dumpling stalls, I find myself at the entrance of a place that reads: Chocolate Museum. Inside, life-sized animals sculpted entirely from chocolate stand under bright spotlights – a full cocoa zoo! Further in, down the spiral staircase, glass cases reveal intricate chocolate renderings of flowers, artworks and even classical busts. Lock me here in case of an apocalypse.

By the time I leave, my wallet is lighter, but my heart's full and the bag's heavier. 

The sky is already softening into dusk.

I won't get to see the market lit up at night, not this time. But I know I'll be back. Shanghai always leaves room for a return.

*This article is part of China, Soft Focus – a slow journalism series that offers textured, human-centered glimpses into culture, history, and everyday life across China through measured pace and intimate storytelling.

Catch up on the first two articles in the series to follow the full journey:

'Lonely Bikes' Beijing – A reflection in stillness

1933 Old Millfun, Shanghai: Art Deco maze meets urban hauntings