Before there was a city,
there were villages.
They did not appear suddenly.
They formed slowly,
as movement settled into routine.
Along the coast and inland valleys,
people began to stay.
Fishing and salt production
no longer supported only travel.
They supported home.
Simple houses appeared near water sources.
Paths became familiar routes.
Seasonal movement turned into return.
These were not cities.
There were no walls.
No formal plans.
But there was structure.
Families stayed together.
Work was shared.
Land was understood and remembered.
Over time,
small settlements became villages.
Some were built near the sea.
Others inland,
connected by paths and trade.
Kinship mattered.
So did cooperation.
Fishing required teamwork.
Salt production depended on timing.
Survival was no longer individual.
It was collective.
These villages had no written charters.
No official status.
Yet they endured.
Generations lived,
worked,
and were buried in the same places.
This was a turning point.
Once people settled,
memory deepened.
Belonging formed.
Before ports,
before administration,
before the name Hong Kong appeared in maps,
there were communities.
Quiet.
Resilient.
Rooted.
The city would come later.
But its foundations were already here —
in villages that learned how to stay.