Chatting to some farmers near some rocks, I learn more. What looks like a hillside scattered with various trees is actually a hillside divided into lots that are worked by individual families. The boundaries aren't physically there, but each farmer knows exactly which bit is his as if a grid of white lines is painted over the hillside.

"See that tree over there with the crooked branch?" points out one burnt-faced farmer, taking a break on a pile of boulders. "I can expect to get 100 jin off that tree come autumn. See the bent one next to it? That marks the boundary between my land and Lao Wang's. His bit stretches over there just to the brow of the hill, and then it's Old Wife Xiu's. She grows mainly lychees."

"Our land hasn't changed, but what we can do with it has," says his friend. "We used to be told exactly what to grow and where we could sell it. We had to give some of it to the government before we could sell the rest. And we had to take it to the market, couldn't sell it in our own village. Now we grow what we want and sell it wherever we like."

Farmers can also sublet and transfer the use of their land to others. Those who sublet can join others to form larger companies, increasing farming efficiency.

Most of those in my village farm their own plots, but with less of a tax burden. "We had to pay 50 yuan a year in taxes, but that's gone now."

As my son and I stroll up the tiny village's "main street", we stop in a small restaurant. The looks from diners and the owners are those of recognition.

"We know you - you're that foreigner, the one who's just rented old Hu's house up on the hill.

"Just here for one night again? Rented a car to get here again? And this must be your son. Four years old, isn't he? Did Lao Feng sort out those beds for you?" I guess there are some things about village life that never change.