The Po Lin Monastery anchors Ngong Ping. Founded in 1906 by three Buddhist monks from mainland China, it has grown over the decades into one of Hong Kong's most significant religious sites, with temple halls, vegetarian restaurants, and residences for the monks who live and practice there year-round. The Tian Tan Buddha — also known as the Big Buddha — was completed in 1993 and sits on a lotus throne above the monastery on Muk Yue Shan. At 34 meters, it is visible from considerable distances across the plateau and from the cable car on clear days. The Buddha's name refers to its resemblance in scale and design to the altar in Beijing's Temple of Heaven, the Tian Tan. Around the monastery and statue, the Ngong Ping Village complex provides 6,000 square meters of retail and attractions, including the Walking with the Buddha experience and the Monkey's Tale Theatre. A youth hostel near the monastery offers budget accommodation for hikers tackling the nearby trails.

When the Hong Kong government announced in 2002 that the MTR Corporation had won the rights to build a cable car and develop a tourist corridor at Ngong Ping, the objections came quickly. Religious groups feared the commercialization would damage the Po Lin Monastery's contemplative environment and drain the revenues it relied on — potentially forcing its closure. The Conservancy Association raised concerns about the development's effect on the woodland and brooks that support butterfly habitat in the surrounding hills. The government acknowledged these concerns and committed to a design that would preserve the area's tranquil character. Whether it succeeded is a matter of perspective. The monastery still operates; the monks still chant; the trails are still there. The cable car terminal, the village shops, and the 18,600-square-meter piazza between the terminal and the monastery are also all there, on land that was previously hillside. Ngong Ping Wan, the small recognized village on the plateau, predates all of this and continues to exist quietly alongside it.

Before the Ngong Ping 360 cable car opened in 2006, the only way up was the mountain road and the bus that climbed it — a journey of about an hour from Tung Chung. The cable car reduced that to 25 minutes while adding a view: passengers cross Tung Chung Bay at altitude, pass over Hong Kong International Airport's island, and then rise through the country park before the plateau appears below. The experience has made Ngong Ping accessible to visitors who might never have attempted the bus journey, which has expanded the range of people who encounter the monastery and the Buddha. For those who prefer their feet, the Lantau Trail connects the plateau to a network of paths that reaches Lantau Peak at 934 meters — a demanding half-day walk with views, on clear days, that extend to Macau and the Pearl River Delta.

The tension at Ngong Ping is real, but so is its resolution. Walk past the souvenir stalls and the egg-waffle stands and enter the monastery courtyard, and the noise drops away. The incense is always burning. The hall interiors are genuinely old. On festival days, when worshippers come in large numbers to pray and make offerings, the commercial apparatus fades into the background and what remains is what has been here since long before anyone thought to run a cable car up to it: a place where people come to ask for something, or to offer something, or simply to be somewhere that feels set apart from ordinary life. The plateau's contradictions are, in the end, Hong Kong's contradictions — a city that has always managed to hold its commercial instincts and its older allegiances in the same tight space.