Kaiping's Watchtowers - diaolou in Mandarin - rise over the western reaches of the Pearl River Delta. Built between the late-19^th and early-20^th centuries, by Kaiping émigrés returning from overseas, the towers exhibit a harmony of Chinese and Western elements rarely matched today. From imposing military structures to opulent castles in the clouds, they are as diverse as the dreams of émigrés' returning home.

"Some say Kaiping's Watchtowers are symbols of decadence and waste," says Ms. Zhou, assistant director of Kaiping's largest watchtower cluster, Majianglong. "That's wrong. Kaiping's émigrés suffered a lot and struggled hard. The watchtowers are their history and culture and each one has a story to tell."

The stories are harrowing and heartening, and Kaiping is now telling them to the world. For years, government leaders petitioned Unesco and academics published findings while locals spoke with journalists and overseas descendents stormed the blogosphere. In June 2007, their efforts paid off when two watchtower clusters, Majianglong and Zili Village became the first Unesco World Heritage sites in Southern China's manufacturing-intensive Guangdong Province.

Although the Pearl River Delta is largely a hive of activity, home to some 60 million people and twenty percent of China's GDP, west of Jiangmen the Kaiping road leaves the factories behind, tunneling west through a low mountain range and descending silent foothills to a broad flood plain.

At the confluence of the Tan and Cang rivers, bustling Kaiping sprawls over a series of islets and channels thronged with old, wooden boats. Though no towers stand in the city anymore, their gothic spires, Byzantine domed roofs and castle-like battlements soar over nearly every surrounding village and town.

At the tiny village of Gu Juan Bei Zha, 34-year old Xie Chunzhi is returns home from the booming city of Shenzhen every Chinese new year. Like so many young Chinese families from the countryside, he and his wife work in the city while his parents raise their son in the ancestral village.

Their village has two towers, one now used for storing hay, and an old villa which Xie unlocks. Inside, an old photograph of the owner, who returned from Canada to build this home in the 1920's, looks out over a roomful of dusty, hand-carved wooden furniture. His slick, pomaded hair jars with its' surroundings, chaff sieves, rain-darkened walls.and millstone built into floor.

From the fourth floor patio, Xie looks down at the village's smooth, paved road and says, "The returnees built that road; they linked our village to the outside world. They came back and built schools."

Troubled times drove Kaiping's émigrés overseas. As the Qing Dynasty (1644-1914) declined in the mid-19^th century, uprising and rebellion, combined with mounting population pressure, spurred Kaiping natives to seek work in Southeast Asia and the Americas. Departing from nearby ports in Hong Kong and Macau, they hoped to return one day.

"Most émigrés had lost their land; they had no other choice," says Situ Family Library director, Situ Liang. "Why else would they go dig mines and build railroads so far from home?" Conditions for émigrés overseas were often dire, but of the survivors, many returned with their dreams to buy land, build a home and find a wife still intact.

In a sense, the dream lives on today. "I hope to retire here," says Xie. "We pretty much all do. I've been in Shenzhen for fifteen years but I still prefer Kaiping." From the patio, the village looks like an island in a rice-paddy sea, linked to other islands by dry, earthen embankments and smooth returnee-built roads.

But Kaiping's road was rough. As the Qing fell, émigrés returned to build a new China. They found chaos and unrest, exacerbated by opium addiction and gambling. Exposed on the flood plain, a typhoon had decimated Kaiping in 1908, driving destitute villagers to banditry. Desperate outlaws targeted rich returnees and crime soared. But in 1923, villagers posted in an old Qing watchtower foiled a kidnapping attempt and galvanized Kaiping residents into a watchtower building boom. Villages and families built towers for communal defense while the wealthy turned towers into dream homes, incorporating styles and materials gleaned overseas.

On a hilltop, surrounded by graves, the five-storey, reinforced-concrete Unesco heritage listed Fang Clan Watchtower stands alone. Built to defend the region, its' balconies, domed roof and spire conceal a deadly grace. Deep loopholes peer out from thick walls, once equipped with a searchlight, guns, generator and siren, all shipped back by family members overseas.

The martial tower overlooks Zili Village, whose name zili roughly means ‘do-it-yourself.' Fittingly, the villagers continue building new tourist paths through the site today. "Becoming a World Heritage site is a source of pride," says resident Li Qiuyang. "Nobody ever came to visit before. Now, we're fixing the place up and creating new jobs." Enterprising residents offer tourists home-style meals inside their watchtower and villa kitchens.

Sandwiched between Baizu Mountain and the Tan River, Majianglong's towers and villas poke out through lush bamboo thickets and banana tree groves. "Thank goodness for these towers," says a middle-aged woman and homeowner surnamed Hu. "Thank goodness Kaiping's Watchtower Office helped us fix-up our village. I renovated my home and they picked up the tab!" Kaiping's local government has been instrumental in promoting preservation and tourism. On the stone edifices of Majianglong's homes, old propaganda slogans in block red Chinese fade in the elements as development redraws party lines.

On Sunday, villagers come to market in Chikan Town, where three-story, colonial-style row houses line Chikan's narrow lanes. Their square columns vault residential balconies out over street-level storefronts. In Chikan's Situ Family Library, elderly director Situ Liang sits with his grandson. Scholarly, in a wool cap and oversized spectacles, he's responsible for promoting local culture and liaising with Situ Clan members around the world. Across the street, on the Tan's banks, he's erected a memorial to the Seven Martyrs of the South Tower.

"We must learn history, not hatred," he says. "History teaches us to work together for a better future. We must seek out improvement for all."

It's a tough lesson for the Situ Clan. In June 1945, seven of their young men rushed down the Tan to defend the strategic South Tower from advancing Japanese forces. Under heavy fire, they fought for seven days and nights, exhausting all supplies. They were captured, tried in their own library, executed, dismembered, hung from banyan trees where the memorial stands today, and cast in the river.

"Hatred won't help," says Liang, who, with contributions from family members, is now expanding the memorial's poetry garden. "We cannot allow grudges of the past to hurt us today. We must find a way to move forward for peace."

Wu Dongjiu, widow of Situ Yao, is the last remaining survivor in Chikan. Her village is near the South Tower, which is still pockmarked with bomb blasts. "We have to help young people understand the chaos of war," she says, "to understand how hard it's been just to reach today. This good life came from those hard times."