The Chinese Alchemist by Lyn Hamilton

this one, called a hutong or lane. I was in a hutong neighborhood. This was the Beijing I’d loved twenty years ago, the one of little neighborhoods, and I was happy to have rediscovered it. The residents themselves run these neighborhoods, electing their own leaders, and setting the rules for everyone. Many things are shared, I was reminded, as a teenage boy came out of a doorway in his pajamas and a well-worn terry bathrobe, walked briskly along the street, and then into what was clearly marked, with the international man and woman symbols, as a public toilet. That made me smile for some reason. There were wires for electricity, and aerials for television, but there were also communal bathrooms.
    It was all quite lovely, in an understated way. The rather stately gray walls of the lane were punctuated by doors, some ramshackle, others much more elaborate. In the latter case, the entrances were painted, often red, and they had lovely old door knockers. Sometimes I could look through to the courtyards beyond; in still others, my view of the interior was blocked by a decorated wall or screen, attractive in its own way.
    I was enchanted. It was all coming back to me: the houses are called
siheyuan,
a typical northern Chinese style of home. The Forbidden City uses this same design writ large. The houses are a series of single-story buildings built around courtyards, sort of like a family compound. You go through a door, a gate really, called a “good luck gate,” and then you’re in the first courtyard. You can tell how important the person was who originally lived in the siheyuan by the number of crossbeams at the entranceway. You can see the rounded ends of the beams, some of them painted and decorated, protruding out of the gate over the door. No beam or one beam signifies a very ordinary family. Five beams and you’re in the presence of a pretty important person. Nobody got seven beams because seven is an unlucky number in China, and nine was a number reserved for the emperor.
    It was captivating to be sure, but unfortunately there was no sign of Burton. I’d given him too much of a head start when I’d waited for him to come out of that shop. I decided I should just savor the experience and look around, and with any luck he’d turn up. If he didn’t, then I’d had an enjoyable time, and I’d just go back to the hotel. Knowing I was in a hutong neighborhood technically meant I couldn’t get lost, as the houses in hutongs are aligned as the Forbidden City is, in fact as all of Beijing is, or at least used to be, on a north-south axis. The main avenues tend to also run in that direction, the hutongs run east-west by and large, linking them. If I kept going, I’d hit a main thoroughfare, and transportation back to the hotel.
    Still, after a few minutes, I was feeling a bit anxious. Yes, technically hutongs ran east-west, but there were side lanes that didn’t, and I didn’t have a clue where I’d started. It was now a bit overcast, and a light snow was beginning to fall, making all the streets look even more the same. After several minutes, I still hadn’t come upon a main thoroughfare as I had thought I would.
    I began to think that not only had I lost Burton, I was pretty much lost myself. Still, luck was with me on both counts. My first break was a very loud drumming sound that began quite suddenly not that far away. It had to be the Drum Tower, which marked the north end of the old city of Beijing, and I knew where that was. Realizing that the drumming would not continue for long, I started off at a fast pace in the direction of the sound. As I rounded a corner, I realized all was not lost on the Burton score either. I backed up a few paces in the direction I’d come, and then carefully peered around the corner again.
    Burton was standing in front of one of the more elaborate siheyuan, talking to someone in the doorway. This home had a rather large, richly ornamented good luck gate flanked by imposing stone