Across China: Golden vines and winter's craft shape the soul of Ningxia wine in NW China

Wu Zhibing (R) and his workmates press down the soil at a vineyard in Qingtongxia, a key subregion of wine production in northwest China's Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, Nov. 19, 2025. (Xinhua/Xie Jianwen)

YINCHUAN, Dec. 4 (Xinhua) -- In a quiet, cold winter dawn at the east foot of Helan Mountain, a widely-regarded "golden zone" for grape cultivation in northwest China, Wu Zhibing's shovel rose and fell with measured certainty, with each thud pressing loose earth into a firm seal.

Behind him, rows of grapevines stood upright, tied to the supporting wires, their withered golden leaves trembling in the pale air. At first glance, it might seem like neglect, yet it is not. It is a calculated gamble against the region's punishing cold, a new winter ritual shaping the soul of the vintage.

Machines overturned the soil to lay the "garment," and workers quickly pressed down the soil over the plants' lower sections, just like zipping up a coat for the vines, said Li Zhuangyan, technical office director of the wine industry development service center at Qingtongxia, a key subregion of wine production in Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region.

"It seals in warmth and moisture, so the vines can 'have a good sleep' without being dried out by the wind," Wu said.

For decades, vineyards across northern China relied on traditional winter survival technique of burying vines completely. It meant heavy pruning, bending each cane to the ground, and covering it entirely with soil to safeguard the plant from subzero temperatures. It worked, but at a staggering labor cost.

In recent years, a growing share of the 600,000 mu (40,000 hectares) of vineyards lining the Helan Mountain's east foot have been exploring and promoting an innovative way of burying only the nutrient-bearing canes while leaving the fruiting canes unpruned.

Science and economics have been steering the shift. The new method for overwintering reduces labor costs by around 30 percent, according to Li.

The fruiting canes endure the winter's wind and snow, which naturally eliminates pests and diseases. The upright rows also act as natural windbreaks, helping curb erosion from the region's fierce northern gusts. By spring, these canes dry into brittle strands that snap off easily, returning to the soil as organic matter.

In Qingtongxia, more than 5,300 mu of vineyard are using the method this winter, and the area is expected to expand to 10,000 mu next year. The government is accelerating adoption with subsidies of 100 yuan (about 14 U.S. dollars) per mu. According to Li Qiang, head of technical services at the Ningxia Helan Mountain east foot wine industry park management committee, roughly 40 percent of Ningxia's vineyards have adopted the method this season.

This technical improvement is doing more than protecting vines, but subtly redefining the region's winter landscape. What was once a barren expanse of brown now glows gold, furthering Ningxia's ambitions to blend wine production with tourism.

"Especially vines over five years old, they turn completely golden in winter and look stunning," said Jin Jiarui, owner of Xiban Winery near a mountain pass. "We even had guests visit recently just to see them."

Yet for workers like 55-year-old Wu from Tongle Village, the work remains steady and cyclical. He has spent over 20 days pruning, tying, and now partially burying vines this winter. "By March next year, we'll be back to uncover the vines, then tying shoots, pruning buds and weeding... we're used to this," he said.

His family's livelihood, like that of many others here, is rooted in these vineyards. Ningxia's wine industry provides some 130,000 jobs annually, with stable incomes totaling about 1.22 billion yuan.

The ultimate reward, however, lies in the wine itself. Standing at the edge of his vineyard, Jin looked toward the once-wild Gobi Desert and reflected on what the cold would bestow. "Grapes that grow under this kind of stress develop unique flavors," he said. "How could the wine they produce not be mellow?"

By midday, the winter sun cast a soft sheen across the slumbering vineyards, a faint glow that brushed both the soil and the mountain. Everything here seemed suspended, waiting. The overwintering technique is as much a test of patience as it is of agricultural ingenuity. It is a slow conversation between vine and climate, between people and land.

And when the first breeze of spring slips through the foothills, the old vines, tempered by wind and honed by cold, will send out tender yet unyielding buds, carrying the promise of a harvest shaped, quite literally, by winter's chill.

"It's a brewing of terroir and time," Jin said. "Chinese wine culture and its vintners are the same. You must endure solitude, withstand frost and have resilience." ■

This photo taken on Nov. 19, 2025 shows a machine overturning the soil at a vineyard in Qingtongxia, a key subregion of wine production in northwest China's Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region. (Xinhua/Xie Jianwen)