ZHENGZHOU, China — On a film set that resembles the medieval castle of a Chinese lord, Zhu Jian is busy disrupting the world’s second-largest movie industry.

The 69-year-old actor is playing the patriarch of a wealthy family celebrating his birthday with a lavish banquet. But unbeknownst to either of them, the servant in the scene is his biological granddaughter.

A second twist: Zhu is not filming for cinema screens.

“Grandma’s Moon” is a micro drama, composed of vertically shot, minute-long episodes featuring frequent plot turns designed to keep millions of viewers hooked to their cellphone screens — and paying for more.

“They don’t go to the cinema anymore,” said Zhu of his audience, which he described as largely composed of middle-aged workers and pensioners. “It’s so convenient to hold a mobile phone and watch something anytime you want.”

China’s $5 billion a year micro drama industry is booming, according to Reuters’ interviews with 10 people in the sector and four scholars and media analysts.

The short-format videos are an increasingly potent competitor to China’s film industry, some experts say, which is second in size only to Hollywood and dominated by state-owned China Film Group. And the trend is already spreading to the United States, in a rare instance of Chinese cultural exports finding traction in the West.

Three major China-backed, micro-drama apps were downloaded 30 million times across both Apple’s App Store and Google Play in the first quarter of 2024, grossing $71 million internationally, according to analytics company Appfigures.

“The audience only has that much attention. So obviously, the more time they spend in short videos, the less time they have for TV or other longer-format shows,” said Ashley Dudarenok, founder of a Hong Kong-based marketing consultancy.

The leader in the space is Kuaishou, an app that accounted for 60% of the top 50 Chinese micro dramas last year, according to media analytics consultancy Endata.

Kuaishou vice president Chen Yiyi said at a media conference in January that the app featured 68 titles that notched more than 300 million views last year, with four of them watched over a billion times.

Some 94 million people — more than the population of Germany — watched more than 10 episodes a day on Kuaishou, she said. Reuters was not able to independently verify the data.

Initial episodes on such apps are often free, but to complete a micro drama like “Grandma’s Moon,” which has 64 clips, audiences may pay tens of yuan.

Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok that is owned by internet technology firm Bytedance, is also popular with micro drama fans.

Alongside other major Chinese social media apps like Instagram-like Xiaohongshu and YouTube competitor Bilibili, it has announced plans to make more.

In the United States, micro drama platform ReelShort, whose parent company is backed by Chinese tech giants Tencent and Baidu, has recently outranked Netflix in terms of downloads on Apple’s U.S. app store, according to market researcher Sensor Tower.

“China discovered this audience first,” said Layla Cao, a Chinese producer based in Los Angeles. “Hollywood hasn’t realized that yet, but all the China-based companies are already feeding the content.”

‘Low-brow and vulgar’

Many popular micro dramas, including “Grandma’s Moon,” have narratives that revolve around revenge or Cinderella-like rags-to-riches journeys.

Tales of how circumstances at birth are deterministic and can only be changed by near-miracles have struck a chord with viewers at a time when upward mobility in China is low and youth unemployment high.

The micro dramas often “show people who one day are lower class and the next day become upper class — you get so rich that you get to humiliate those who used to humiliate you,” said a 26-year-old screenwriter known by her pen name of Camille Rao.

Rao recently left her poorly paid job as a junior producer in the traditional film industry for what she described as the more dynamic and less hierarchical world of micro dramas. She now writes and adapts scripts for the U.S. market.

“Social mobility is actually very difficult now. Many people perceive this as a social reality,” said Xu Ting, associate professor of Chinese language and literature at Jiangnan University.

This has fueled interest in stories about billionaires and wealthy families, she added: “Everyone desires power and wealth, so it is normal for these type of stories to be popular.”

In the U.S. market, by contrast, fantasy stories about werewolves and vampires are particularly popular, several creators told Reuters.

The boom in micro dramas in China has brought scrutiny from the Communist Party.

Between late 2022 and early 2023, the National Radio and Television Administration regulator said it organized a “special rectification campaign” during which it removed 25,300 micro dramas, totaling close to 1.4 million episodes, due to their “pornographic, bloody, violent, low-brow and vulgar content.”

As Chinese leader Xi Jinping promotes values such as loyalty to the Communist Party and heteronormative marriages, the state-owned China Women’s News outlet in April complained that some micro dramas “portray unequal and twisted marriage and family relationships as a common phenomenon” and “deviate from mainstream social values.”

In June, the government began requiring some creators to register micro dramas with NRTA. The regulator didn’t respond to Reuters’ questions for this story.

Key to the commercial success of these films are plot twists that keep people paying as they scroll while commuting or in line at a grocery store. Episodes often end with a hook — such as a boyfriend walking in on his partner with another man — and viewers have to pay for the next episode to find out what happened.

“The plot of these micro dramas is exaggerated,” said Zhu, the actor. “It has plot reversals, it’s nonsensical, so it catches people’s attention and a large audience wants to see them.”

Zhu is a lover of cinema and an avid fan of Ingrid Bergman in “Casablanca.” Like many of his colleagues in micro dramas, he thinks the genre has limited artistic value. “I see it as fast food: a longer drama is a kind of sumptuous meal, and a micro drama is fast food.”

But its dedicated viewers disagree. Huang Siyi, a 28-year-old customer service agent, said she enjoyed watching romantic micro dramas because “the acting is good and the male and female leads are good-looking.”

“It’s easy to be obsessed with micro dramas,” she said.

Explosive growth

Vertical filming and distribution through social media apps mean micro dramas can be made with small overhead costs. Budgets for such films range from between $28,000 and $280,000, according to market researcher iResearch.

In the central Chinese city of Zhengzhou, “Grandma’s Moon” is being made with a compressed budget and timeline. When Reuters visited the set in July, the filming day stretched until 2 a.m. The crew then moved to a new location and began shooting again at 7 a.m.

The show was shot in just six days, and Zhu, a muscular man with a wide smile and boundless energy, says he plays table tennis after hours to keep up with the young crew on set.

“We’d need to take two to three years to distribute one traditional TV series of film, but we only need three months to distribute a micro drama, saving us a lot of time,” said Zhou Yi, a showrunner at Chinese gaming giant NetEase, which also makes micro dramas.

As micro dramas gain in popularity, actors’ salaries have also grown. Leading roles used to pay $280 a day, said Zhu, adding that main actors in big productions can now make more than double the rate, though extras earn as little as $17 daily.

A retired railway employee who started acting in the 1970s in a theater troupe attached to the unit where he worked, Zhu now lives off his pension and occasional acting gigs.

Many Chinese micro drama producers have their eye on Western markets, where cultural exports from China have often struggled. NetEase last year started making productions for the U.S. that it distributes via an app called LoveShots; the made-for-export films aren’t typically available in China.

Micro dramas designed for the West are often made by production and acting crews in Los Angeles and shot on location. The scripts, which are in English, may also revolve around themes of wealth, cheating partners and miracles.

One of the latest micro dramas on LoveShots is about a woman who, after years of being paralyzed, miraculously regains her ability to move — and walks in on her husband cheating on her.
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Los Angeles — It’s a three-peat for “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.”

The Tim Burton legacy sequel to his 1988 horror comedy topped the North American box office charts for the third straight weekend with $26 million in ticket sales, according to studio estimates Sunday.

It edged out the animated new release “Transformers: One,” which brought in $25 million. The Optimus Prime origin story from Paramount Pictures features the voices of Chris Hemsworth, Brian Tyree Henry and Scarlett Johansson.

“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” a Warner Bros. release with Michael Keaton and Winona Ryder returning as stars, has earned more than $226 million domestically in its three weeks after a monster opening of $110 million — the third best of the year — and a second weekend of $51.6 million.

Third place went to the James McAvoy horror “Speak No Evil,” which came in at $5.9 million in its second week for a total of $21.5 million.

On the whole, the box office was in a quiet phase that is expected to break when ” Joker: Folie à Deux ” dances its way onto the big screen on Oct. 4.

The year’s second-highest grosser ” Deadpool & Wolverine ” remained in the top 5 in its ninth weekend with another $3.9 million and a domestic total of $627 million. Only Pixar’s “Inside Out 2” has earned more.

The Demi Moore-starring, Coralie Fargeat-directed body horror “The Substance,” which made a splash at the Cannes Film Festival, brought in $3.1 million on limited screens in its first weekend for the sixth spot.

The Daily Wire movie “Am I Racist?” — in which conservative columnist Matt Walsh goes undercover as a “DEI trainee” — stayed in the top 10 after a fourth place finish last week, earning $2.9 million for seventh place and a two-week total of $9 million.

Estimated ticket sales for Friday through Sunday at U.S. and Canadian theaters, according to Comscore. Final domestic figures will be released Monday.

1. “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” $26 million.

2. “Transformers One,” $25 million.

3. “Speak No Evil,” $5.9 million.

4. “Never Let Go,” $4.5 million.

5. “Deadpool & Wolverine,” $3.9 million.

6. “The Substance,” $3.1 million.

7. “Am I Racist?” $2.5 million.

8. “Reagan,” $1.7 million.

9. “JUNG KOOK: I AM STILL,” $1.4 million.

10. “Alien Romulus,” $1.3 million.
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SANBAGAWA, Japan — Benmou Suzuki’s dilapidated 420-year-old temple, located deep in the forest near a tiny Japanese mountain village, hardly looks like prized real estate.

Yet the monk was recently approached by two men, who said they were real estate brokers and wanted to know if he was interested in selling.

He suspects they weren’t really interested in the ornate building at the trailhead of a sacred mountain, but the special tax status that comes with running a religious property.

“There are people out there who want a temple, even a mountain temple like this. In fact, considering the value of the religious corporation status, this temple could fetch quite a lot of money,” said 52-year-old Suzuki.

As Japan’s population falls and interest in religion declines, there are fewer people to contribute to the upkeep of the country’s numerous temples and shrines. Suzuki’s Mikaboyama temple, for example, is located in Sanbagawa — an area a three-hour drive from Tokyo with only 500 residents and which also has three other Buddhist temples, one Shinto shrine and a church.

A surge in religious properties coming up for sale has Japanese authorities worried that prospective buyers are not interested in them for heavenly purposes. Rather they fear many are out to dodge taxes or possibly even launder money.

“It’s already a sense of crisis for us and the religious community,” said an official at Japan’s Agency for Cultural Affairs, which oversees religious sites.

Cases of temple or shrine properties being extensively repurposed have triggered public outrage. In Osaka, a temple sold in 2020 was later razed and dozens of graves were relocated to make way for a property development. In Kyoto, a case about a temple that was demolished and turned into a parking lot made headlines this year.

Owning a temple, shrine or church recognized as a religious corporation in Japan can confer sizeable tax benefits. Businesses under such corporations that offer religious services such as funerals do not have to pay taxes while other non-religious businesses also enjoy preferential tax rates. A wide range of undertakings are allowed from restaurants to hair salons to hotels.

Japan had about 180,000 religious sites with corporation status as end-2023, according to the agency’s data. The number of so-called inactive corporations — such as those with no religious events for more than a year — jumped by a third to more than 4,400.

When monks or priests die without a successor, the overseeing religious group will usually appoint someone to take over or voluntarily relinquish the site’s corporation status.

However, there are around 7,000 religious sites that operate independently of these groups and are considered easy to acquire, according to the agency and specialist brokers.

The cultural affairs agency said it has stepped up efforts to dissolve the corporation status of inactive religious sites to stop them from being targeted by dubious buyers.

And when big earthquakes hit, often damaging temples and shrines, agency officials visit religious groups in those areas, warning them about falling prey to such buyers.

Last year, 17 religious corporations were voluntarily dissolved and six were ordered to dissolve. The agency said the number would increase this year and next year as it ratchets up scrutiny.

It might seem easier for Japan to change its laws to more strictly control the criteria for purchasing religious sites. But the agency said the government is wary about amending laws related to religion as that could be seen as impinging on religious freedom which is guaranteed by Japan’s constitution.

Reuters checks of six websites specializing in brokering the sale of religious properties showed hundreds on the market. Most are only obliquely described online with brokers saying sellers prefer to conduct sales as privately as possible.

Osaka-based broker Takao Yamamoto told Reuters interest is surging. A religious corporation license alone can fetch 30 million yen ($210,000), he adds. Some religious sites, especially those with profitable graveyards, are advertised for millions of dollars.

“Anyone can buy independent sites as long as you have money…even foreigners can buy them. Recently, a lot of Chinese people are trying to buy them,” Yamamoto said.

For his part, Suzuki says he has no intention to sell Mikaboyama temple and is working on ideas to raise funds to maintain it. “Temples are places for local people to gather and forge connections. We just can’t get rid of them,” he said. 
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KAWARAMACHI, Japan — Time seems to stop here. 

Women sit in a small circle, quietly, painstakingly stitching patterns on balls the size of an orange, a stitch at a time. 

At the center of the circle is Eiko Araki, a master of the Sanuki Kagari Temari, a Japanese traditional craft passed down for more than 1,000 years on the southwestern island of Shikoku. 

Each ball — known as a “temari” ball — is a work of art, with colorful geometric patterns carrying poetic names like “firefly flowers” and “layered stars.” A temari ball takes weeks or months to finish. Some cost hundreds of dollars (tens of thousands of yen), although others are much cheaper. 

These kaleidoscopic balls aren’t for throwing or kicking around. They’re destined to be heirlooms, carrying prayers for health and goodness. They might be treasured like a painting or piece of sculpture in a Western home. 

The concept behind temari is an elegant otherworldliness, an impractical beauty that is also very labor-intensive to create. 

“Out of nothing, something this beautiful is born, bringing joy,” said Araki. “I want it to be remembered there are beautiful things in this world that can only be made by hand.” 

Natural materials 

The region where temari originated was good for growing cotton, warm with little rainfall, and the spherical creations continue to be made out of the humble material. 

At Araki’s studio, which also serves as head office for temari’s preservation society, there are 140 hues of cotton thread, including delicate pinks and blues, as well as more vivid colors and all the subtle gradations in between. 

The women dye them by hand, using plants, flowers and other natural ingredients, including cochineal, which is a bug living in cacti that produces a red dye. The deeper shade of indigo is dyed again and again to turn just about black. Yellow and blue are combined to form gorgeous greens. Soy juice is added to deepen the tints, a dash of organic protein. 

Outside the studio, loops of cotton thread, in various tones of yellow today, hang outside in the shade to dry. 

Creating and embroidering the balls 

The arduous process starts with making the basic ball mold on which the stitching is done. Rice husks that are cooked then dried are placed in a piece of cotton, then wound with thread, over and over, until, almost magically, a ball appears in your hands. 

Then the stitching begins. 

The balls are surprisingly hard, so each stitch requires a concentrated, almost painful, push. The motifs must be precise and even. 

Each ball has lines to guide the stitching — one that goes around it like the equator, and others that zigzag to the top and bottom. 

Appealing to a new generation 

These days, temari is getting some new recognition, among Japanese and foreigners as well. Caroline Kennedy took lessons in the ball-making when she was United States ambassador to Japan a decade ago. 

Yoshie Nakamura, who promotes Japanese handcrafted art in her duty-free shop at Tokyo’s Haneda airport, says she features temari there because of its intricate and delicate designs. 

“Temari that might have been everyday in a faraway era is now being used for interior decoration,” she said. 

“I really feel each Sanuki Kagari Temari speaks of a special, one-and-only existence in the world.” 

Araki has come up with newer designs that feel both modern and historical. She is trying to make the balls more accessible to everyday life — for instance, as Christmas tree ornaments. A strap with a dangling miniature ball, though quite hard to make because of its size, is affordable at about 1,500 yen ($10) each. 

Another of Araki’s inventions is a cluster of pastel balls that opens and closes with tiny magnets. Fill it with sweet-smelling herbs for a kind of aromatic diffuser. 

A tradition passed down through generations 

Araki, a graceful woman who talks very slowly, her head cocked to one side as though always in thought, often travels to Tokyo to teach. But mostly she works and gives lessons in her studio, an abandoned kindergarten with faded blue paint and big windows with tired wooden frames. 

She started out as a metalwork artist. Her husband’s parents were temari masters who worked hard to resurrect the artform when it was declining in the modern age, at risk of dying out. 

They were stoic people, rarely bestowing praise and instead always scolding her, she remembers. It’s a tough-love approach that’s common in the handing down of many Japanese traditional arts, from Kabuki acting to hogaku music, that demand lifetimes of selfless devotion. 

Today, only several dozen people, all women, can make the temari balls to traditional standards. 

“The most challenging aspect is nurturing successors. It typically takes over 10 years to train them, so you need people who are willing to continue the craft for a very long time,” Araki said. 

“When people start to feel joy along with the hardship that comes with making temari, they tend to keep going.” 
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PHNOM PENH, CAMBODIA — Nhem Liza made her first visit to the National Museum of Cambodia after learning about the August return from the United States of dozens of looted Cambodian artifacts, including important Hindu and Buddhist masterpieces dating from the ninth to 14th centuries.

“Those artifacts are amazing,” said 15-year-old Nhem, a 10th grade Phnom Penh high school student.

The return of the statues — viewed as divine or containing the souls of ancestors — has given younger Cambodians like Nhem an opportunity to embrace the country’s cultural heritage and history.

“I am excited to see these artifacts our government is trying to get back,” she told VOA on September 16 after viewing some of objects now on display at the museum.

Cambodia has worked for years to identify and secure the return of culturally and historically important relics from private collections and museums overseas, many of which were lost to the country because of war, theft and the illegal artifact trade.

Cambodia faced continuous civil unrest from the mid-1960s until the early 1990s and archeological sites from the ancient Khmer Empire, such as Angkor Wat and Koh Ker, suffered serious damage and widespread looting, Cambodian officials told VOA Khmer.

In August, Cambodia celebrated the return of 70 items from museums and private collections overseas, including 14 from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The objects include priceless stone statues such as one depicting a mythical warrior from the Hindu epic Mahabharata. There are also statues of Hindu deities Shiva and Parvati, and one of the Hindu god Ardhanarishvara from the ancient capital of Koh Ker, according to Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts.

Presiding over the return ceremony, Prime Minister Hun Manet said the 70 returned objects symbolically reunited the Cambodian people with their “ancestral souls,” adding that the government will continue working to bring more artifacts home.

From 1996 to July of this year, 1,098 artifacts had been returned to Cambodia — 571 from private collections and 527 from foreign institutions and governments, Hun said.

“It is the soul of our nation,” Doeun Sokun Aly, 18, told VOA at the museum. “The heroes of our country built those artifacts for the younger generation to know about those antiques. … I will visit museums more to see more artifacts.”

National Museum Director Chhay Visoth told VOA the display is meant to stir new interest from Cambodians, especially younger Cambodians.

“Recently, we have seen a surprising increase of Cambodian visitors to the museum, especially youth,” he said by phone this week.

The authorities, he said, are now planning to conduct a “mobile exhibition” to display the artifacts at museums in provinces such as Siem Reap, Battambang and Pursat, in the northwestern part of the country.

Chhay said the museum also hopes the display will send a message to private collectors and museums overseas that “those artifacts are greatly important” and “not for beautifying gardens, kitchens, living rooms, residents or offices of the rich.”

“For Cambodians, they are meaningful indeed. Those artifacts are the souls of Khmer ancestors,” he said.

Chhay added that the museum is already planning to expand its display area to accommodate more returned artifacts.

Over the years, Cambodia has received dozens of statues from the families of wealthy collectors, such as George Lindemann, a U.S. businessman and philanthropist who died in 2018.

In 2021, after three years of negotiations, the family of the late British art collector Douglas Latchford agreed to return more than 100 Cambodian artifacts, according to the government.

Latchford, who co-authored three books on Cambodian art and antiques, died in 2020 facing accusations that he had illegally trafficked the artifacts to his homes in Bangkok and London.

In November 2019, federal prosecutors in New York charged Latchford with falsifying the provenance, invoices and shipping documents to transport valuable Khmer-era relics to private collections, museums and auction houses around the world.

Other cultural objects that have found their way back to Cambodia went through processes including voluntary returns, negotiations, seizures and legal proceedings.

The United States has helped secure the return of well over 150 antiques to Cambodia so far, Wesley Holzer, a U.S. Embassy spokesperson in Phnom Penh said.

“The United States is proud of its longstanding contributions to preserving and restoring Cambodia’s cultural heritage,” he told VOA in an email, adding that Cambodia is the first country in Southeast Asia to establish a bilateral property repatriation memorandum of understanding with the U.S.

“Through this MOU, the United States and Cambodia have trained heritage professionals, prevented pillaging of antiquities, and facilitated the return of looted artifacts. This agreement also makes it illegal to import certain Cambodian archeological and ethnological material into the United States,” he added.

Bradley Gordon, a lawyer representing Cambodian government, said there were “many more” that his team are searching for.

“To be clear, Cambodia does not want to empty out museums around the world, but wants many important and precious national treasures to come home.   Cambodia also is open to long-term loans which they are exploring with a number of museums,” he added.

A member of Gordon’s restitution team, Cambodian researcher Kunthea Chhoun, said getting the artifacts back is not easy.

“We need to investigate and collect testimonies from looters, villagers and brokers.  It takes a great amount of patience and many interviews.   We have used different approaches to get back our artifacts and it has taken many years,” she told VOA in a September 20 email. 
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KARACHI, Pakistan — Stained glass windows, a sweeping staircase and embellished interiors make Mohatta Palace a gem in Karachi, a Pakistani megacity of 20 million people. Peacocks roam the lawn and the sounds of construction and traffic melt away as visitors enter the grounds.

The pink stone balustrades, domes and parapets look like they’ve been plucked from the northern Indian state of Rajasthan, a relic of a time when Muslims and Hindus lived side by side in the port city.

But magnificence is no guarantee of survival in a city where land is scarce and development is rampant. Demolition, encroachment, neglect, piecemeal conservation laws and vandalism are eroding signs of Karachi’s past.

The building’s trustees have fended off an attempt to turn it into a dental college, but there’s still a decadeslong lawsuit in which heirs of a former owner are trying to take control of the land. It sat empty for almost two decades before formally opening as a museum in 1999.

The palace sits on prime real estate in the desirable neighborhood of Old Clifton, among mansions, businesses and upmarket restaurants.

The land under buildings like the Mohatta Palace is widely coveted, said palace lawyer Faisal Siddiqi. “It shows that greed is more important than heritage.”

Karachi’s population grows by around 2% every year and with dozens of communities and cultures competing for space there’s little effort to protect the city’s historic sites.

For most Pakistanis, the palace is the closest they’ll get to the architectural splendor of India’s Rajasthan, because travel restrictions and hostile bureaucracies largely keep people in either country from crossing the border for leisure, study or work.

Karachi’s multicultural past makes it harder to find champions for preservation than in a city like Lahore, with its strong connection to the Muslim-dominated Mughal Empire, said Heba Hashmi, a heritage manager and maritime archaeologist.

“The scale of organic local community support needed to prioritize government investment in the preservation effort is nearly impossible to garner in a city as socially fragmented as Karachi,” she said. 

Mohatta Palace is a symbol of that diversity. Hindu entrepreneur Shivratan Mohatta had it built in the 1920s because he wanted a coastal residence for his ailing wife to benefit from the Arabian Sea breeze. Hundreds of donkey carts carried the distinctively colored pink stone from Jodhpur, now across the border in India.

He left after partition in 1947, when India and Pakistan were carved from the former British Empire as independent nations, and for a time the palace was occupied by the Foreign Ministry.

Next, it passed into the hands of Pakistani political royalty as the home of Fatima Jinnah, the younger sister of Pakistan’s first leader and a powerful politician in her own right.

After her death, the authorities gave the building to her sister Shirin, but Shirin’s passing in 1980 sparked a court fight between people saying they were her relatives, and a court ordered the building sealed.

The darkened and empty palace, with its overgrown gardens and padlocked gates, caught people’s imagination. Rumors spread of spirits and supernatural happenings.

Someone who heard the stories as a young girl was Nasreen Askari, now the museum’s director.

“As a child I used to rush past,” she said. “I was told it was a bhoot (ghost) bungalow and warned, don’t go there.”

Visitor Ahmed Tariq had heard a lot about the palace’s architecture and history. “I’m from Bahawalpur (in Punjab, India) where we have the Noor Mahal palace, so I wanted to look at this one. It’s well-maintained, there’s a lot of detail and effort in the presentations. It’s been a good experience.”

But the money to maintain the palace isn’t coming from admission fees.

General admission is 30 rupees, or 10 U.S. cents, and it’s free for students, children and seniors. On a sweltering afternoon, the palace drew just a trickle of visitors.

It’s open Tuesday to Sunday but closes on public holidays; even the 11 a.m.-6 p.m. hours are not conducive for a late-night city like Karachi.

The palace is rented out for corporate and charitable events. Local media report that residents grumble about traffic and noise levels.

But the palace doesn’t welcome all attention, even if it could help carve out a space for the building in modern Pakistan.

Rumors about ghosts still spread by TikTok, pulling in influencers looking for spooky stories. But the palace bans filming inside, and briefly banned TikTokers.

“It is not the attention the trustees wanted,” said Askari. “That’s what happens when you have anything of consequence or unusual. It catches the eye.”

A sign on the gates also prohibits fashion shoots, weddings and filming for commercials.

“We could make so much money, but the floodgates would open,” said Askari. “There would be non-stop weddings and no space for visitors or events, so much cleaning up as well.”

Hashmi, the archaeologist, said there is often a strong sense of territorialism around the sites that have been preserved.

“It counterproductively converts a site of public heritage into an exclusive and often expensive artifact for selective consumption.” 
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