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A sudden breaking sound and a harsh horn woke me on a rainy afternoon last month after a seven-hour ride in an Iveco from Simao to Menglian, in southwest China's Yunnan Province. But the fresh, warm air with the fragrance of the earth floating in through the window and the bright leaves on the trees lining the roads -- both of which are rare in the wintry North China where I am from -- immediately sobered me up and compensated for the sleep distraction. Nestled in the southwestern corner of Yunnan Province and bordering Myanmar, the tranquil small town with picturesque landscapes and agreeable weather is so far not a hot tourism destination compared with its bustling neighbor -- Xishuangbanna, about 100 kilometers away. Fountain of Music The rain had stopped. The mini-bus parked at the entrance of a dark blue stone path that zigzagged to the top of a hill, from where faint music originated. Tracing the melody, I quickly climbed to the hilltop and found a fantastic ancient structure. Looking through its impressive gate, I caught sight of a grandiose palace with a triple-layer black roof, tall red pillars, golden floor and a two-story building hidden behind a small but beautiful garden. Along the spacious corridor, I finally found the source of the music -- three old men were playing instruments I'd never seen before. Several young women, sitting beside the old players, were busy painting small drums in yellow and red. Just before I was ready to step onto the stairway to discover more surprises on the upper floor, a clear voice stopped me: "Please take off your shoes before you enter the house." With the polite warning, a beautiful woman among the painters stood up and volunteered to be my guide. According to the woman, Zheng Jing, the buildings, called Tusi Palace by locals, were first built in 1406 in the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). They were used as an administration center for Tusi, a hereditary post appointed by the central governments in the Yuan (1271-1368), Ming and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties. Altogether 28 generations of Tusi, all of them Dai people, had lived and governed there. The palace covering over 10,000 square meters included a hall for discussing official business, several rooms for the headman and his three wives, a few offices for high-rank officials, a big granary, kitchen, small jail and cottages for servants. Tusi Palace in Menglian was one of the best reserved among the 18 in the province and was turned into a museum in 1985. Only then did I discover the graceful woman in her 40s was the curator of the museum and it was no wonder her insight was so deep. She had been working there for more than 10 years. The town of Menglian, which is about 800-years-old, is now the county seat of the Menglian Dai, Lahu and Wa Autonomous County. It was a political, business and cultural centre for Dai people over the years. Its old name was Nayun, which means "an inner city" to the Dai people. "Taking off shoes before entering the house is a long tradition of the Dai people," Zheng explained. The ancient town is ignored by tourism but attracts many cultural and ethnic experts because of its well-preserved overall layout, records of the Tusi governmental system and many original ethnic buildings of the Dai, Lahu and Wa people, she said. "Although a lot of methods have been used to preserve ethnic cultural relics after recognizing their precious value, some arts are still gradually dying," Zheng said. She again led me to the three old musicians. Zheng said they were from a Meng'an village in the county, from which villagers had been playing music exclusively for the Tusi families for centuries. The instruments they played only had Dai names and few people in the village could now play them. Ai Luo, already 62, who was playing one of the instruments, told me in putonghua (Mandarin Chinese) that the three men had been playing together since childhood. But they had to stop to learn how to plant crops after 1949. Now, invited by Zheng, they have the chance to perform in the palace and each of them is paid 200 yuan (US$24) per month. Zheng extended the invitation as she found some ancient music scores were disappearing. She wants the museum to be a platform where visitors can get to know the precious folk music and other arts in a bid to better protect it. "But most of the time we are the only ones here since the visitors and tourists are still rare in the county," Zheng said. "You are the only visitor today." But the lack of numbers does not deter the musicians. "The performance itself is enough to make us happy," Ai said. Dai Dressing Intoxicated in their music, I didn't notice dusk had fallen. Standing on the second floor, I had a bird's eye view of the whole town, which is enclosed by a lush forest. Tinged by the sunset and reflecting from a river nearby, the town looked spectacular and peaceful. Three housing sections were clearly observed in the center of town. The area nearest to Tusi Palace was called "upper city" and had been exclusively set aside for the large family of the Tusi. The remaining two, located further away, were for local officials, Zheng said, pointing at the homes near the river. The river is called Nanlei by locals, which means "chasing husband." It rambles through the town and is regarded as a mother river by Dai people for the blessing of pregnancy. Not far away from the bottom housing area, a large village caught my eye. Zheng said it was the one with the best-preserved Dai areas and the best Dai food was served there. That was enough for me and my rumbling stomach. After bidding farewell to Zheng I walked towards the village, following the kitchen smoke as it curled into the sky. The hunger subsided, however, once I was standing in front of the amazing village. There were so many wonderful Dai houses that were all in an integrated style -- two stories, black roofs and walls, little windows and a tiny veranda. They looked breath-taking as a whole. I met a woman dressed in a purple Dai frock on a village path and asked whether I could take a picture of her. The woman waved her hands and giggled at me, saying she could only do it if I was also dressed in Dai clothes. It was agreed and I eventually got changed into a green Dai suit, a half-sleeve tight-fitting jacket and a long skirt with a silver band around the waist. While talking, the woman told me her name was Miye Hanbao and she was 42. She had two children, both in their 20s. Her daughter was working in Thailand and her son was planting crops with his father in the village. After taking pictures, I changed back into my clothes and waited for her to charge a fee for the use of the Dai clothes -- which I have encountered dozens of times at other places. But she didn't ask and when I mentioned paying she waved her hands again. I insisted on getting her address so I could send her some of the pictures, the only way I could repay her hospitality.