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When people think of Hakka architecture, they usually think of tulou.But for many Hakka communities, walled houses were ...
10/01/2026

When people think of Hakka architecture, they usually think of tulou.

But for many Hakka communities, walled houses were far more common, and far more varied.

As Hakka people moved south along the ancient Guangdong–Jiangxi route, large numbers of walled houses (围屋) were built across the San Nan region of southern Jiangxi, including Longnan (龙南), Dingnan (定南), Quan Nan (全南), and nearby counties like Anyuan. These areas, clustered along migration paths, are still filled with walled houses today, though few people stop to look.

Guanxi Xinwei (关西新围) in Longnan is one of the most complete examples still standing. Construction began in 1798 and took nearly thirty years to finish. The structure is rectangular, with walls up to one metre thick and watchtowers at each corner, forming a tight defensive system. Inside are 282 rooms arranged in a strict, symmetrical “nine buildings, eighteen halls” layout, designed for collective living.

Beyond defence, the craftsmanship is everywhere. Carved beams, painted brackets, engraved doors and windows, all arranged around a central axis that reflects both social order and feng shui principles.

A Chinese uncle from Henan went to Paris and posted his photos straight from the phone. No filters, no angles, no edits....
09/01/2026

A Chinese uncle from Henan went to Paris and posted his photos straight from the phone. No filters, no angles, no edits.

The internet joked that these photos could instantly cure travel FOMO, and that one uncle had undone a year of French tourism marketing.

When asked about it, he said it was raining that day, he does not know how to edit photos, and Paris is actually very beautiful.

Typing Chinese was once considered nearly impossible.Unlike alphabetic languages, Chinese has no letters, no fixed spell...
09/01/2026

Typing Chinese was once considered nearly impossible.

Unlike alphabetic languages, Chinese has no letters, no fixed spelling system, and tens of thousands of characters. Early Western typewriters worked because every letter could sit neatly under a finger. Chinese simply did not fit that logic.

In the 1940s, writer and linguist Lin Yutang decided to solve the problem differently. Instead of sounds, he broke Chinese characters down by shape. The result was the Mingkwai Typewriter, the first Chinese typewriter to use a keyboard.

It worked in three steps. First, the typist pressed one key to narrow down a group of character shapes. Then a second key refined the search. A small window above the keyboard, which Lin called the “magic eye,” revealed up to eight possible characters. The typist selected the right one with a number key, and the machine printed it.

With this system, the typewriter could access up to 90,000 characters. Skilled users could type around 50 characters a minute. Even beginners could manage about 20.

The machine was brilliant, expensive, and almost impossible to commercialise. Only one prototype was ever built. It passed through corporate labs, military research, and decades of obscurity before resurfacing in a family basement in 2024, when it was finally recognised for what it was.

The Mingkwai was never just a machine. It was part of a much larger question facing 20th-century China: how to modernise without abandoning language, culture, or identity. Long before computers, this was where Chinese computing really began.

If you use AI often, you might have noticed that it feels different lately. It understands subtext better, asks more tho...
08/01/2026

If you use AI often, you might have noticed that it feels different lately. It understands subtext better, asks more thoughtful questions, and sometimes even pushes back instead of simply agreeing. In China, that shift is being shaped by a new group of workers most people did not expect.

Major tech companies are now hiring humanities graduates to train AI. Many of them studied literature, philosophy, or Chinese language at top universities. Their job is to teach judgement, tone, emotional awareness, and how humans actually speak to one another.

At a recent AI humanities training programme in China, students spent weeks talking to AI systems, feeding them context through conversation. They trained AI to catch hints, respond with emotional intelligence, and occasionally say the slightly wrong thing on purpose. A bit of sarcasm, a controlled level of offence, even some light trash talk. As China pushes AI from research into daily use, more young people are stepping into roles like this.

This incense burner takes its shape from a traditional Chaoshan old house.When making it, creator Qimio (曾奇妙) didn’t try...
07/01/2026

This incense burner takes its shape from a traditional Chaoshan old house.

When making it, creator Qimio (曾奇妙) didn’t try to copy a house one-to-one. Instead, they pulled from the details that tend to stay in people’s memories, for example the dark, curved rooftops, walls worn by time, bright ceramic inlays, and hand-painted couplets by the door.

Scaled down, it becomes something you can live with. For people who are away from home, lighting a stick of incense turns into a small, familiar ritual and a way of keeping a piece of where you’re from close by.

Photos via 曾奇妙, Xiaohongshu

Yu Yee Oil did not start as a household staple. It began in Foshan, Guangdong, as a small remedy made by a lantern maker...
07/01/2026

Yu Yee Oil did not start as a household staple. It began in Foshan, Guangdong, as a small remedy made by a lantern maker who found his way into medicine by accident. Over time, the formula shifted, and so did where it went. One rare ingredient came from Malaysia. Later generations crossed the sea, settled elsewhere, and brought the oil with them, almost without realising it.

As Chinese migrants built lives across Southeast Asia, a small tin of Yu Yee Oil became part of the house. It came out for stomach aches, colds, insect bites, small burns. But it was never only about fixing something. It was about familiarity. A smell, a habit, a form of care that made new places feel a little more like home.

番仔楼 (fān zǎi lóu) are a type of residential architecture found mainly in southern Fujian (闽南) and Chaoshan (潮汕). Most we...
06/01/2026

番仔楼 (fān zǎi lóu) are a type of residential architecture found mainly in southern Fujian (闽南) and Chaoshan (潮汕). Most were built from the late Qing dynasty through the Republican era by overseas Chinese (华侨) who had worked or settled in Nanyang (南洋), then returned home to build houses for their families.

The name itself is layered. “番仔” was a local term for people who went abroad, especially those who 下南洋 (migrate to Southeast Asia). These buildings became visible markers of return, success, and an ongoing connection to the wider world.

Architecturally, Fan Zai Lou blend Western elements like arches, columns, balconies, and decorative façades with traditional Minnan (闽南) or Chaoshan layouts. You’ll see Roman-style pillars next to ancestral halls (祠堂), stained glass above wooden beams, and imported cement mixed with local brickwork. They may look foreign at first glance, but they are deeply embedded in local life.

Culturally, Fan Zai Lou tell a larger story about migration. They reflect a cycle that shaped the region for generations: leaving home out of necessity, surviving overseas, then coming back to rebuild roots. Many were not just houses, but symbols of responsibility, built to hold extended families, honor ancestors, and secure future generations.

Today, many Fan Zai Lou are aging or disappearing. But they remain quiet archives of movement, aspiration, and how global histories settled into everyday architecture, long before “globalization” had a name.

06/01/2026

Tag your besties to try this with

06/01/2026

This is what my dreams look like

06/01/2026

The resemblance is crazy 😭

If you’re in Xiamen and want to bring back something that actually carries a place with it, this might be it.In Tong’an ...
05/01/2026

If you’re in Xiamen and want to bring back something that actually carries a place with it, this might be it.

In Tong’an lives Zhuang Wenjia, a third-generation inheritor of the Dragon–Tiger Lantern, a traditional Minnan craft once made to hang outside homes for protection and good fortune. In local dialect, people don’t just “hang” lanterns. They invite them in.

The dragon stands for strength and blessing. The tiger for courage and protection. Together, they’re meant to keep a household steady, safe, and alive with movement.

Each lantern is built the old way: bamboo frame, cotton paper, hand-painted patterns, sealed with oil. Zhuang’s lanterns are known for being especially sturdy, slow to fade, and able to last more than a decade. Many are still hanging years later, passed between families, shipped overseas, kept lit long after festivals end.

05/01/2026

Kpop boy groups gotta watch out

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About RADII

RADII (rā’dē-ī’) is an independent media platform that provides a unique lens on today’s China and its next generation. We cut through the noise to uncover dynamic stories from the inside, spanning culture, creativity, tech and a lot more in between.

Based in China and the United States, and with contributors across the globe, we explore China from all angles. We ask “what is China?” every day, in ways no one has before.