If you are lucky and can find the old path into Heijing on market days, you might encounter a poor peasant who still walks the ridge road from Gaofeng. Where that road bends to the left, looping slowly down the south side of the mountain, the peasant turns right along a narrow trail and disappears from view. He's been this way countless times, so you can't begrudge his carrying on while you stop and wonder: How could anyone negotiate this incline, perhaps 300 metres almost straight down to the Longchuan River's edge?

A choice must be made, because you cannot possible walk and admire the view at the same time. So you dawdle, plotting your journey through the narrow streets on the far side of the river, picking out the steps that will lead you to temples clinging to the mountain opposite¡ªtaller and steeper even than where you stand.

Perhaps, as I, you will find yourself wondering why someone decided to put a railway line through the middle of it. It's easy to fall out of sympathy with modern ways when walking the old roads of China's hinterland.

Only five years ago, Heijing was a decaying relic, ripe for complete demolition. Its traditional salt industry was dead and its wealth was dissipated. Today, tourists travelling the railway and a fresh blacktop highway have given this ancient town a new lease on life, a new purpose.

Old Money

Before the Chinese Revolution, Heijing was the seat of Yanxing County and was the richest salt town in Yunnan Province.

At its peak during the Ming Dynasty (1368¨C1644), 67 percent of the salt taxes for the entire province were paid from this one place, whose merchant families built magnificent homes and patronized fine temples. Residents surrendered some of their wealth to the Red Army when it passed through the area in 1936. The most generous was also the wealthiest, a merchant named Wu Weiyang, who was afterward praised as a patriot by Red Army Commander-in-Chief Zhu De. Wu's ancestral home features calligraphy from the Qing Emperor Weifeng above its front door.

Before its recent reincarnation as a hotel, the Wu family's grand residence had 99 rooms; no one is sure quite how many there are now; the family is long departed. But even in its post-renovation state, it's possible to learn a great deal about how the rich and their extended families lived and entertained under the ancien regime. A private stage for musical and theatrical performances has been restored and may one day host them again for up-market tourists. On wet days it's a simple pleasure to sit under its eaves while the rain splashes into the open courtyard a few inches below.

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