Nestled in the fertile Chengdu Plain, Meishan (formerly known as Meizhou) carries a historical weight disproportionate to its modest size. This prefecture-level city, just 60 kilometers south of Chengdu, has been a silent witness to China’s dramatic transformations—from being the hometown of the legendary Song Dynasty poet Su Shi (Su Dongpo) to becoming an unexpected player in contemporary debates about cultural preservation versus modernization.
No discussion of Meishan is complete without Su Shi (1037-1101), the polymath whose poetry, calligraphy, and gastronomic innovations (including the famous Dongpo pork) made him China’s original Renaissance man. His former residence, now the San Su Ci (Three Su Temple), attracts scholars and tourists alike. But beyond the tourist brochures lies a provocative question: In an era of TikTok and AI-generated art, does Su Dongpo’s humanistic legacy still resonate?
Recent protests against the demolition of historic neighborhoods in Meishan’s Dongpo District suggest locals believe it does. When developers attempted to replace a Ming-era courtyard house with a shopping mall in 2022, residents organized poetry recitals in the doomed structure—a distinctly Chinese form of resistance blending cultural pride with quiet defiance.
Meishan’s bamboo forests, particularly in Hongya County, once inspired classical landscape paintings. Today, they symbolize China’s environmental paradox. The city sits at the frontline of two competing national priorities:
Carbon Neutrality Pledges: Sichuan’s hydropower fuels Meishan’s new role as a hub for EV battery production. Contemporary Amperex Technology (CATL) operates a massive facility here, drawing water from the Min River—the same waters that once irrigated Su Dongpo’s childhood gardens.
Biodiversity Crisis: The rare Qiongzhu bamboo (unique to Sichuan) faces habitat loss. Satellite imagery shows forest cover shrinking by 8% since 2015, even as the government plants symbolic "carbon sink" bamboo groves near highways.
A 2023 study by Sichuan University revealed disturbing data: The Yangtze finless porpoise, occasionally spotted near Meishan’s riverbanks a decade ago, has disappeared entirely from this stretch of the Yangtze tributary.
Centuries ago, Meishan’s Chuanzhu Ancient Road connected the Tea Horse Caravans to Tibet. Today, its logistics parks serve the China-Europe freight trains carrying lithium to Germany. This shift encapsulates China’s geopolitical evolution:
Local officials proudly note that Meishan’s export volume grew 240% from 2019-2023, though few mention that 73% comes from a single German-owned battery component factory—a vulnerability in an era of supply chain decoupling.
Su Dongpo’s namesake dish—slow-braised pork belly—has become an unlikely diplomatic tool. During the 2022 U.S.-China climate talks in Chengdu, negotiators dined on a "low-carbon version" using lab-grown pork from Meishan’s Yikun Agricultural Tech Zone. The symbolism was deliberate: tradition meeting innovation.
Yet behind the culinary diplomacy lies tension. Small pork farms around Meishan are disappearing, consolidated into industrial CAFOs (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) to meet national food security targets. The last traditional lianpeng (smokehouse) in Qingshen County closed in 2021, its owner now working at a synthetic flavoring plant.
Though technically in neighboring Leshan, Mount Emei’s Buddhist presence profoundly influences Meishan. Pilgrims passing through have sustained local artisan traditions—from handmade incense to vegetarian zhacai pickles. But recent developments reveal contradictions:
A 2024 incident went viral when Meishan’s Dongpo Academy replaced human calligraphy teachers with AR tutorials—prompting elderly practitioners to host underground ink-washing ceremonies in protest.
Meishan’s irrigation systems, inspired by the nearby Dujiangyan, once made it the "Land of Abundance." Now, over 60% of its water feeds industrial parks. The Tongshan Reservoir project (completed 2023) displaced 8,000 farmers to secure water for semiconductor factories—a trade-off echoing globally from Arizona to Taiwan.
During 2022’s record drought, viral videos showed Meishan’s elderly performing qiuguo (rain-praying rituals) beside dried-up fish ponds now repurposed as solar farms. The juxtaposition—ancient rites against photovoltaic panels—became a metaphor for China’s developmental dilemmas.
Meishan’s demographic story mirrors rural China’s upheaval:
The Meishan Youth Innovation Hub (backed by Alibaba) trains returnees in livestream sales techniques. Yet classrooms reveal generational scars: children raised by grandparents struggle with "re-parenting" by returned migrant parents—a social experiment with no precedent.
Last year’s excavation of a Warring States period tomb in Pengshan District made headlines for its jade artifacts. Less reported was the government’s swift incorporation of the findings into the "Chinese Civilization Origins Project"—a scholarly initiative with clear nationalist overtones.
Independent archaeologists note wryly that the tomb’s ge (dagger-axe) weapons resemble those from Chu Kingdom (modern Hubei), complicating simplistic "Sichuan-centric" narratives. Such academic debates carry unexpected weight as China renegotiates its historical identity amid U.S.-China tensions.
Meishan’s Qingcheng Mountain ceramic tradition, dating to the Han Dynasty, now supplies 3D-printed porcelain for SpaceX’s lunar project through a partnership with Chengdu’s Haojing Space Tech. The kilns that once made tribute ware for emperors today fire silica-based rocket nozzle components—a poetic full circle.
Yet walk the backstreets near Dongpo Square, and you’ll find the last master potter, Lao Zhang, teaching neighborhood kids to shape clay ducks between playing Honor of Kings on their phones. His workshop’s survival—subsidized by a German ceramics collector—hints at the fragile balance between heritage and inevitability.