Plaques in various stages of completion lean against the walls of his workshop — some freshly carved, others awaiting layers of lacquer or the delicate application of golden foil.
Xiao explains that his current works have been congratulatory plaques for newly built or renovated ancestral halls.
"They carry blessings for the future, with phrases like 'Ten Thousand Generations of Prosperity'," he elaborates.
Then, there are the virtue plaques.
"These are for honoring living members of the clan — the student who earned a doctorate, the soldier who served with distinction, the elder whose lifelong generosity inspired the village," he explains.
In the days before the Chinese New Year, it has long been a tradition to make their contributions "permanent".
An observation of Xiao's work reveals a physical marathon layered with intellectual artistry that fuses poetry, calligraphy and carving.
"It usually takes more than a week to finish a plaque from scratch," Xiao says.
The most challenging part, he insists, isn't the carving but composing the perfect four-character inscription. "You must understand the family's history, the reason for the honor, and find words that are both timeless and precise for them," he says.
"It requires study, and you can't repeat old phrases."
A prodigy in calligraphy since his youth, Xiao masters styles from the flowing xingshu (semi-cursive script) to the solemn kaishu (regular script).
This gives Xiao irreplaceable value in an age of computer fonts.
"Families come to me for the hand, for the intention," he states.
Even as he upholds tradition, Xiao adapts to combat the elements on outdoor plaques and has developed a "rivet-reinforced" technique to prevent cracking.
Sacred rituals
The broader bian'e culture includes ceremonial hanging rituals and social customs. The journey from Xiao's workshop to its permanent home is a ritualistic crescendo known as guabian (hanging the plaque).
It is an eight-step communal ceremony, which Huang and Xiao both describe as the clan's formal petition.
The plaque will be paraded through the streets and escorted by roaring percussion and curling smoke from firecrackers, symbolizing solemn offerings to ancestors. A climactic, silent moment comes when the plaque is lifted and secured high in the ancestral hall.
"It is the loudest and then the quietest moment," Xiao notes.
"The noise is a public celebration. The silence is when the weight of history and expectation settles onto the wood. Everyone feels it."
Today, the bian'e tradition continues to serve as a social function that binds, honors, and guides locals.
Demand persists, not just locally but also from the global Hakka diaspora seeking tangible links to their roots.
As Xiao buries his head in his wooden works, he expresses an underlying anxiety.
"The craft requires the mind of a poet, the hand of a calligrapher, and the patience of a master joiner, making it a challenge to find successors," Xiao admits.
To date, he's found a little solace in his son and a long-term apprentice who both work with him, blending handcrafting with digital designs as layouts.
He notices that many young people are growing fond of creative cultural items in the form of miniature bian'e.
Huang sees a broader cultural negotiation beyond preserving the wooden boards.
"We are preserving a system of values, a way of seeing family and community. The bian'e culture resembles a textbook and reminds us of things that matter, without preaching," he says.
"It is our family's promise, carved not in stone, but in wood, because wood is alive. So, we hope, is the promise."
Contact the writer at yangfeiyue@chinadaily.com.cn
