Up close, Hongyadong is almost too much—layer after layer of golden light pouring off wooden balconies, like the whole thing's been dipped in molten amber. It’s bright, theatrical, unapologetically over the top.

But there’s something underneath all that glow—a scaffolding of history, of grit, of the city that was here long before the tourists showed up with their phones. At night, the yellow hits hard. It dazzles, sure. But it also clings—like the place doesn’t want to be forgotten.