A Chinese cultural guardian holds heritage in his hands

HANGZHOU, June 20 (Xinhua) -- During the Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368), Ke Jiusi, a scholar and art connoisseur from the quiet hills of Xianju County in Zhejiang Province, east China, earned renown for his discerning eye and deep reverence for cultural relics.

Serving as a trusted official at the imperial court, he catalogued, preserved and protected priceless works of art, laying foundations for China's enduring tradition of cultural preservation. More than seven centuries later, in the same land that once nurtured Ke's passion for heritage, another guardian carries that torch forward.

For over 30 years, Wu Jianjiang, now 57, has worked as a restorer in Tianshi Township, rural Xianju, dedicating his life to breathing new life into broken relics, repairing faded paintings, and weathered manuscripts with precision, patience, and quiet devotion.

Yet three decades ago, Wu nearly walked a very different path.

In the 1980s, amid a nationwide martial arts fervor, 16-year-old Wu left home, drifting between schools and training centers, determined to master the discipline.

By 27, he had built a name for himself. Years of practice had paid off, and he was offered a position in the city as a martial arts instructor, an opportunity many from mountain villages could only dream of.

Yet a quiet crossroads emerged.

"The years I spent studying martial arts gradually drew me closer to traditional culture," Wu recalled. "I realized that back in my hometown, unlike martial arts, the preservation of cultural relics was a neglected tradition that needed urgent attention."

At the time, few in rural China understood cultural restoration. For Wu, choosing that path meant walking away from years of hard-earned success and returning to the countryside, with no promise he would ever leave again. "When I told people I wanted to go back to my hometown and work on restoring cultural relics, some relatives and friends tried to talk me out of it," Wu said.

After all, a chance to leave the mountains often came only once.

The more Wu immersed himself in rural life, the more he noticed what was absent. While martial arts flourished in schools and festivals, other traditions -- calligraphy, painting, and artifact restoration -- remained overlooked.

"Why should cultural heritage only thrive in big cities?" He posed the question. "If we want culture to truly endure, it must live in the villages too, where so much of it began."

Wu drew quiet strength from his father. Though untrained in the arts, his father always supported Wu's curiosity and purpose. "He didn't really understand the field, but he trusted me. That gave me the confidence I needed."

So he stepped, without hesitation, into an entirely unfamiliar world.

Through a friend, Wu met Qian Lixin, a master of painting and calligraphy at the renowned Xiling Seal Engravers' Society, the oldest arts union in China and one of China's most important traditional stone seal engraving associations. Qian accepted him as his last formal disciple, opening the door to a centuries-old craft.

From novice to mentor, Wu immersed himself in years of study and hands-on practice. Nearly three decades later, he is now a recognized name in the field.

Over the years, he has restored more than 300 works, ranging from Ming and Qing dynasty (1368-1911) paintings to rare modern calligraphy and ancient manuscripts. Under his hands, the scars left by time and neglect are carefully mended; each artifact brought back to life with reverence.

Mounting and restoring ancient paintings demand not only technical mastery but also the ability to adapt with the times.

Wu understood early on that preserving this tradition required more than solitary dedication -- it needed education, innovation, and connection to the community. In 2014, he founded a mounting and restoration institute in Tianshi Township, the very place where his journey began.

"It wasn't just sentiment," Wu said. "Tianshi is my ancestral home. It has beautiful scenery and deep cultural roots." The community welcomed his return with quiet pride, viewing his efforts as a bridge to the region's artistic legacy and an inspiration to the younger generation.

Three years later, the institute expanded into a full-fledged academy, with growing missions in training, preservation, and public engagement. To date, more than 1,300 students have trained under Wu. They range in age from teenagers to elders in their seventies, and many come from abroad.

In April, a group of 25 international students majoring in Chinese studies at Zhejiang University, hailing from over ten countries, including Italy, Australia, and the Netherlands, visited Wu's academy.

Inside the workshop, Wu demonstrated the intricate steps of mounting and restoring Chinese paintings, from preparing the paper to applying paste with calm precision. Each movement carried a rhythm that left visitors in quiet awe.

Through hands-on exchange, a centuries-old Chinese tradition revealed its quiet strength to the world.

"In a time of mass production, what moved me most is the Chinese artisan's deep respect for materials and his extraordinary patience with time," said Federico, a student from Italy. "That's the kind of human spirit we're missing in the industrial age."

Walking through the academy, visitors encountered a wall lined with before-and-after images of restored paintings. Each frame tells a story -- not just of pigment and paper, but of time reclaimed. Wu remembers every piece. For each, he can recount its origin, its damage, and the choices made during restoration with the clarity of someone who has lived beside them.

"In some of the older scrolls, we can still see traces left by earlier restorers, subtle patches, new backings, brushwork slightly different in hand," Wu said. "It's like having a quiet conversation across time."

To Wu, restoration is more than a craft. It's a responsibility -- a handover of history and a dialogue with ancestors. It is about repairing what was broken, preserving what was fading, and passing forward what once seemed lost.

"Traditional culture must be carried forward by someone," Wu said. "It can't remain only a memory. It must become a living craft for the next generation." ■