Constructions on the house began in 1989 and were completed in 1992. It was designed and built by my aunt Tianfen herself, a lady from a new generation of independent women in a post-reformist China. The house was a sort of utopia she had created with her own two hands.

This utopia had a rooftop farm with pigpens, motel-styled rooms, teahouses, prostitutes, karaoke rooms, nightclubs, restaurants, parking lots, and more.
For a certain time, business was booming.
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But unfortunately, two years later, a motorcycle accident took her life and utopia away, at the edge of a cliff, next to this very same house.
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Time went on, the house continued to be run by my grandmother, and it kept going for over a decade up until my grandfather's death.

The story and memories of this house are intertwined with various experiences and changes in my life: all those vacations and adventures in this temple that served as a refuge.

Until I grew up and bit by bit began to understand and reinterpret the meaning of this sanctuary in the eyes of my grandmother, my cousins, and the women who worked there: the city's rumors, each of these people, the house's life chronology, and each emotional changes have altogether given rise to different works.

Thirty years later, the house has weathered storms, earthquakes, and even the government itself. It still stands majestically overlooking the city, rebellious like my aunt, always out of step with the world, but true and courageous.