"Since our founding in 1998, our principle has been to excavate, protect, pass on, and promote the culture of the Li and Miao ethnic groups," says Deng Daoshun, a manager with the preserve's marketing center.
It explains my curiosity that the whole place is not a constructed exhibit but has been built around existing ethnic villages.
"After the park was established, some elders chose to move to the neighboring village for peace and quiet," Deng reveals.
"Others, whose roots were here, have stayed."
He emphasizes that all ancestral homes have been preserved, becoming Binglanggu's living heart.
The arrangement has created a unique symbiosis, in which former residents often return as cultural practitioners and quietly engage with travelers.
In the cool shade of a traditional boat-shaped house, its arched roof fashioned from wood and thatch, Huang Xi, a woman in her 30s, weaves rattan with practiced ease.
"This was originally my home," she says, her fingers moving with unconscious skill.
"Now, I come back here to work."
Her craft unfolds at an unhurried pace. A single large basket can take months to complete, beginning with foraging vines deep in the hills.
As I watch visitors pause before her, pointing and asking about her craft, I feel her presence transforming the site into a living dialogue.
The park has now provided practitioners like Huang with a stipend, lodging, and meals, anchoring heritage to livelihood.
"We've moved beyond static displays, and now have over 300 interactive activities daily," Deng emphasizes.
This shift toward experience is also felt by international guests.
"Many join the dances or ask how to play the nose flute," he observes.
The three faces of Hainan have given me a good taste of its commitment to service, pleasure and preservation.
From time to time, the sheer enthusiasm of my shuttle guide on Wuzhizhou Island and the unreserved smile of local residents at Binglanggu come back to me.
They give me confidence that deeper, more resonant discoveries are still waiting.
