SongMoon Homestay and Bookhouse

Brief

On the tranquil shores of Yunnan’s Lugu Lake, a retreat named SongMoon has quietly taken shape. Designed by architect Yi Ping (Founder of YID), the project grows naturally from the mountainside: a bookhouse perched atop the hill with stone as its foundation and timber as its frame, where wide windows draw in clouds, pines, and lake views; a homestay rooted at the mountain’s foot, echoing the architectural traditions of the Mosuo culture and blending seamlessly with the landscape.

Built with stone sourced from the mountain, reclaimed timber, and roofs covered in cypress bark, the project reflects a wisdom born from place—rugged yet resilient. It is not an imposition on nature, but a humble response, dissolving the boundary between indoors and outdoors. Guests find themselves sheltered yet still immersed in the landscape. With light, shadow, and local materials, architect Yi Ping aspires to create not just a place to stay, but a spiritual sanctuary. SongMoon is more than accommodation—it is a journey of healing in communion with nature.

Project Overview

Amid the mountains surrounding Lugu Lake in Lijiang, Yunnan, SongMoon Homestay and Bookhouse has been completed. This is not simply a lodging space, but also a story between a father and daughter (Qi Qi, owner of this property), a practice of coexisting with the land, and an exploration of natural healing through architecture.

The Hilltop Bookhouse: A Whisper with Nature

Initially, the owner, Qi Qi, intended only to build a homestay at the foot of the mountain. But when Yi Ping first stood on the mountaintop plateau, he knew the site called for a building that could converse with the heavens and earth.

The wooden house emerges from the slope, its roof gently inclined toward the lake, with eaves lowered as if listening to the valley’s echoes. Built with stone at the base and timber above, it is heavy and rooted below, yet light and expansive above. The double eaves mediate inside and out: the lower eaves droop like a shield, while the upper rise to frame a horizontal clerestory, letting sunlight and birds pass freely, giving the building a sense of breath.

Inside, expansive glazing opens fully to the lake and mountains; in the courtyard, a pine tree is planted beneath the sky, like a needle stitching together time and nature. Stone’s gravity and wood’s warmth meet the changing seasons, anchoring the building in the earth while letting it hover like a passing cloud.

Local Construction: A Dialogue with the Mountain

The first challenge of construction was a broken mountain road, dormant for years. For three months, Qi Qi’s father led workers to carve and level the seven-kilometer path before the rains arrived. When monsoons cut the road into ravines, workers camped at the summit, living as temporary mountain residences.

Stone came directly from the mountain, repurposed from roadwork debris, preserving the land’s texture. Timber was reclaimed from old buildings stored by the owner’s father, radiating a gentle patina. Roofs and doors were layered with thick cypress bark, hand-laid for resilience, turning rainfall into a softened murmur rather than a harsh strike.

Here, locality is not a design strategy but a philosophy of survival. Building is not the imposition of ideas but a quiet unfolding in harmony with the mountain—embracing wind, enduring rain, carrying the weight of stone, and the memory of wood—until the house becomes part of the mountain itself.

At the mountain’s foot, the three-story homestay draws from Mosuo cultural traditions. A stone base grounds the structure, while earth-toned walls merge with the slope. Yi Ping reinterpreted its relationship with nature, creating semi-open “gray spaces”—beneath eaves, along corridors, terraces, and thresholds—blurring boundaries between inside and out, ensuring the architecture belongs to the mountain rather than standing against it.

Natural Healing: A Sanctuary for the Soul

SongMoon’s interiors are calm and understated. Rough stone walls, dark brick floors, solid wood furniture, and linen textiles create an authentic tactility. The building extends the mountain’s gentle presence, inviting both people and nature to cross its threshold.

Light filters through lattices, casting shifting shadows that mark the passage of time. Bedrooms open fully to the mountain, where views seep indoors. On the verandas, two chairs and a tea table form a quiet stage for dialogue with the landscape. Beneath pitched roofs, timber frames stretch rhythmically; an iron fireplace and generous glazing merge ruggedness with tenderness.

Materials and colors converse: timber lines frame walls with lightness, lending clarity and rhythm. Yet the greatest generosity is reserved for the landscape—sitting by the window, one is already embraced by mountain and lake.

The Designer’s Vision

For Yi Ping, SongMoon is more than a homestay—it is the spiritual crafting of a destination. His vision is to use local materials, light, and spatial rhythm to foster a genuine dialogue between people and nature.

“With the language of architecture, I seek faith within nature; with light and material, I create an authentic experience, so space can be tangible to the human soul.”

Conclusion

SongMoon Homestay and Bookhouse is not an act of conquest over nature, but a humble response. It follows the mountain’s contours, carries memory, and embraces the scenery. Here, architecture is no longer a barrier, but a medium for communion between humans and the world around them.

As the wind stirs the pines and sunlight glides across the long windows, stone, wood, and lake blend seamlessly. SongMoon stands as the mountain’s gentlest presence, offering travelers a temporary home where they may encounter the healing power of nature and the stillness of the soul.