Terraced fields extend high up the slopes surrounding Cuandixia, but these days thickets of blue-gray scrub brush have reclaimed most of the former farmland. The industry in this 500-year-old Ming Dynasty hamlet is tourism now, and every few steps a freshly-painted wooden sign announces another “rural tourism household” offering food and lodging to visitors: Ancient Castle Inn, Prosperity Inn, Cool Breeze Inn. There are 73 traditional courtyard homes in the village, and nearly 40 are inns.

The place is dominated by the monochromatic tones of dirt and rock, accented here and there with spots of red — a ribbon, a lantern, or faded writing on a wall, reminiscent of a less distant past (use Mao Zedong thought to arm our minds!). Warm afternoon light rakes across the textured surfaces of Cuandixia, deepening their cracks and crevices until the village seems like a jigsaw puzzle of bricks, tiles, and stones — a million tiny pieces assembled with infinite patience and care.

Around five o’clock I make my way up to a rocky overlook surrounded by towering peaks with enigmatic names like Fierce Tiger in the Mountain, Divine Turtle Whistling to the Sky, Auspicious Bats. The sun hangs just above the ridgeline, projecting a jagged silhouette onto the opposite wall of the valley. Below, in shadow, the village spreads out in a fan shape across the southern base of Dragon Head Mountain. The rooms of each siheyuan dwelling are arranged along the four sides of a square courtyard, and each courtyard, viewed from above, is a living island in a gray sea of roof tiles and stone. Residents move in and out of view as they cook, clean, and go about their lives. The wind picks up and the sun sinks behind a mountain crest. I stand and start back down the hillside.

Back at the Auspicious Inn, I watch two little girls pedal a red bicycle in tight circles around the courtyard. The older one eyes me with a shy smile and calls out “hello!” The other, shiny red boots dangling on either side of the bike and arms wrapped tightly around her big sister’s waist, echoes with her own shrill “helloooo!” The eaves above trace a perimeter around this square in the patchwork of life in Cuandixia.