After Beijing's long, humid summer, autumn arrives almost imperceptibly at first. The air loses some of its weight, the sky opens into clearer blue, and the harsh brightness of summer gives way to a softer, more transparent light. Along the city's avenues and parks, the first yellow leaves begin to appear among the emerald, while the cooler days invite people to reclaim the outdoors – to walk a little farther, sit a little longer and notice the small changes that herald the new season.

For centuries, Chinese poets have found something particular in this transition. "自古逢秋悲寂寥，我言秋日胜春朝" – "Since ancient times, people have lamented autumn's loneliness; I say autumn is better than springtime," wrote Tang Dynasty (AD 618 to 907) poet Liu Yuxi. His words offer a different way of looking at the season – as a time of clarity and renewed life instead of an ending. And perhaps nowhere in the city is that feeling more easily found than beside its waterways.

Along the Liangma River, autumn seems to gather in the afternoon light. Here, sunlight scatters across the ripples, sometimes bright and silver, sometimes softened by the reflections of leaves and sky. The river catches the sky while the yellow-clad willows write their shifting reflections across its surface, and a passing breeze is enough to turn a still image into motion.

As I walk along the riverbank, I cant help but recall another famous Tang Dynasty line, from Wang Bo's Preface to the Pavilion of King Teng: "落霞与孤鹜齐飞，秋水共长天一色" – "The sunset glow flies alongside the solitary wild duck; the autumn waters merge with the vast sky into one color." Centuries and thousands of kilometers away, the image this poem revokes feels remarkably close to what unfolds in front of me.

Wang Wei found a similar stillness in the meeting of autumn and water: "空山新雨后，天气晚来秋" – "After fresh rain on the empty mountains, evening brings the feel of autumn." His poem continues with moonlight among the pines and a clear spring flowing over stones. And although Liangma River is surrounded by one of Beijing's most lively urban districts instead of mountains, the same fascination with light moving across water remains. 

The Liangma River winds through one of Beijing's most vibrant leisure areas, linking the city's commercial and cultural spaces with a six-kilometer waterfront route of bridges, waterways and riverside scenery. During the day, it offers a quieter view of the city: people strolling beside the water, leaves moving overhead and sunlight following the current. 

As for the night, the river takes on an entirely different character. The 2026 Beijing Chaoyang International Light Festival's Consumption Season is now underway, with new light-and-shadow experiences along the waterfront launched on September 24. The river's night cruise has also returned, carrying visitors past illuminated bridges and riverside installations as the lights shimmer across the water. 

By day, it is the autumn sky, the turning leaves and the quiet movement of water. By night, the river becomes a canvas for light. But in both, there is something that Chinese poets have been writing about for centuries: the fleeting beauty of a season, captured for a moment where the sky and water converge.

Editor's note: Zaruhi Poghosyan is a multimedia editor for CGTN Digital. This article is part of China, Soft Focus – a slow journalism series that offers human-centered glimpses into culture, history and everyday life across China through measured pace and intimate storytelling.