At the end of the school day, some family homes feel more like community centres: classmates and neighbours bustling in and out, sharing in homework, hobbies, art projects, and food; practicing music, preparing impromptu dinners, concocting magical potions, all the while regaling with stories of the day's adventures.

The Mahamudra Meditation Center sits atop a secluded mountain, about an hour from Kathmandu. It can be reached on foot or by an off-road vehicle during dry weather conditions. The center is a brainchild of a Chogyal Rinpoche, a young Tibetan Buddhist master, torchbearer of an esoteric lineage of Buddhism that dates back to the 12th century. He believes that the time has come for the common people to have access to the knowledge that was hitherto safeguarded by the Tibetan Masters. He envisions a place of learning where people can access not only esoteric wisdom, but also where even the architecture and natural surroundings radiate a sense of spirituality.

In architecture, the effect of color is rarely neutral. It has the power to calm or energize, to expand or compress space, to unify or divide. Far from solely being a decorative layer, color is a tool that architects, interior designers, and designers use to structure atmosphere and perception. Alongside light, material, and proportion, it is one of the most precise instruments available for guiding spatial experience. When treated deliberately, it becomes a system — one that allows designers to articulate relationships between spaces, establish moods, and create continuity across various scales.

In the early 15th century, the town of Huanghuazhen under Changping Prefecture was bustling with the construction of the Great Wall. Near the Xishuiyu area, in an unnamed valley, people carved out a terrace halfway up the mountain and hauled countless rough-hewn yellow stones there. It is speculated that a wall was intended to enclose the valley, but for some unknown reason, the project was abandoned, leaving the yellow stones scattered in a long mound. Over the centuries, many chestnut trees were planted in this area. People lived and worked under the dense shade, and every autumn, the valleys within a hundred li were covered with fluffy chestnut husks. In 2019, when we arrived, a construction team was stationed on the terrace. They had set up three or four makeshift sheds, with building materials and equipment strewn all over. Amidst the disorder, dozens of old chestnut trees still thrived. The largest required three people to encircle it.