Every Chinese architecture enthusiast likely knows of Foguang Temple. While many temples bear its name—even one on London’s Oxford Street—when “Foguang Temple” is spoken of in architectural circles, it’s the ancient sanctuary on Mount Wutai, Shanxi.

The story of its discovery is legendary. In the early 20th century, Japanese scholars, confident in their cultural knowledge, claimed no Tang-era wooden structures remained in China, pointing to Tōshōdai-ji in Japan as the last of its kind. This assertion stung deeply in China, then reeling from cultural upheaval. Determined to prove them wrong, Chinese architects Liang Sicheng and Lin Huiyin embarked on grueling journeys, seeking an elusive Tang treasure on their own soil.

Their hopes were renewed when a Dunhuang mural revealed a mountain temple marked “Great Foguang Temple.” They set off once more, through rugged paths, and finally arrived. Liang recorded the moment: “The temple stood serene at dusk; our belief in China’s Tang legacy was affirmed.”

Last October, I arrived at Foguang Temple at twilight. Facing west, the ancient hall was bathed in golden light. As figures emerged from shadow, calm and timeless, I imagined Liang and Lin seeing the same scene, the same enduring peace, ninety years before.