Prof Tang Guohua in front of King Yin Lei Edmond Tang

What links would you expect between a mansion built in Hong Kong in the 1930s and a rural neighborhood more than 100 miles away in Guangdong? For Tang Guohua, a renowned expert in the restoration of historic buildings, the answer lied in the name of the construction.

"It is called 'King Yin Lei'," he said. "In Cantonese, 'Lei' means neighborhood - a small community made up of five or more households.

"The first time I saw the building compound (in Hong Kong), all by itself on the peak of the mountains, I wondered where this 'Lei' came from."

To solve the mystery of the mansions' similarities, Tang dug into the building's history until he came upon clues revealing that one of the building's previous owners actually came from Qieyang, Guangdong Province.

Equipped with this crucial piece of information, Tang visited the man's ancestral home - Qieyang village in Guangdong province. There, in the middle of the village, was a place called King Yin Lei.

"That explained everything," said the professor, who was still slightly overwhelmed by the excitement of the discovery. "It appeared that the owner had two houses - one in Guangdong, the other in Hong Kong. The former had long disappeared but the latter is still standing."

In the early 19th century, Hong Kong was still a highly segregated society. Places high up on the mountains, considered more sanitary with fresher air, were the exclusive domain of rich foreigners.

But King Yin Lei was constructed by a Chinese businessman who had acquired enough fame and fortune that allowed him to live in such a prominent place overlooking the city.

The driveway of today's King Yin Lei seen through a Chinese-style iron fence. Edmond Tang

Today, it's not just the social history that fascinates Tang, who now oversees the building's restoration. With its seamless merging of Western construction techniques and traditional Chinese decorative details, King Yin Lei is a perfect example of what has come to be known as "the Chinese neoclassical style".

"The building has green tiles and red walls. But at the same time, it is not a wooden structure - the building is constructed from sheer concrete, complete with iron windows, stained glass and mosaic floors imported from overseas," Tang explained.

According to the professor, this arrangement had an underlying philosophy.

"It's Chinese at 'heaven' and 'earth'," he said, referring to the ridge rooftops and stone balustrades surrounding the building's base. "The construction has embraced pragmatism while paying full respect to the Chinese architectural tradition."

Given its cultural significance, it is of great concern for Tang that the restoration work be as faithful as possible.

That has posed a particular challenge, since King Yin Lei was in the middle of being dismantled when it was declared a proposed monument in September, 2007. The designation - a last-minute interference by the government, spared the building its life, but severe damage had already been done.

The building's interior was gutted. The ceramic tiles, window frames and elaborate plaster moldings were destroyed. "Even the giant bead adorning the high point of the building's pagoda roof was gone," Tang said.

A recent site visit saw the building smothered in scaffolding, as preparatory works for an impending overhaul is being carried out. According to the professor, the building could be restored to 80 percent of its original form.

Apart from old photographs, Tang and his team had combed through wreckage in search of remnants that could help him piece together the building in bits and pieces.

"If you look closely enough, you can see on every single tile a stamp of the kiln which produced it," Tang said. "It turned out that the tiles were ordered from Foshan in Guangdong province."

Similarly, the same type of bricks as those used in the construction of King Yin Lei have also been found in a deserted school building in Guangzhou, the capital of Guangdong.

"Hong Kong architects routinely outsourced building materials from Guangdong - then one of the major ceramic-producing areas," Tang said. "Tracing the origin of these materials is our first step toward the building's restoration."

However, to the dismay of the professor, almost all the kilns and brick-making factories that had once supplied the construction of King Yin Lei have long gone out of use. "We have compared all the kilns that are still functioning in Foshan and have selected one whose products come nearest to those used in King Yin Lei," Tang said. "We plan to stamp the new tiles in the same way, so that future restorers will not be lost."

Finding good help

The ultimate challenge lies not in finding the right materials, but the right people who possess the kind of craftsmanship that rendered King Yin Lei an architectural jewel.

"On the mainland, each province has at least one construction team with a state-issued certificate for its expertise in restoring ancient buildings," Tang said. "Hong Kong is different: There are fewer buildings to restore. And as a result, fewer people who command the expertise."

Since the project began in September, Tang, who teaches at Guangzhou University and was recommended for the job by the State Administration of Cultural Heritage, has been commuting regularly between the two places.

"My top priority is to familiarize the workers with the basic concepts of restoration," Tang said. "They must learn to refrain from using modern building materials and techniques that are bound to make their work easier and faster."

The professor has been giving training classes to local construction workers and craftsmen. "They will first make scaled-down replicas, or specimens, before being allowed to apply what they've learned to a real job," he said. "The entire process is punctuated by repeated trial and error."

But at the end of the day, if their work proves less than satisfactory, Tang will consider bringing in experienced restoration teams from his native Guangdong province. "There are only a few places on the mainland where such neoclassical-style architecture can be found. Guangdong is one of them," he said, citing as an example Guangzhou's Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall, completed in 1931.

"The structural and decorative similarities are striking. In fact, being in charge of the restoration of King Yin Lei gives me precious opportunities to study in detail the construction techniques involved in these types of buildings," he said. "One cannot climb onto the rooftop of Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall to see how it was designed to intercept rain water. But here, you can."

Calling the story of King Yin Lei "a tale of two cities", Tang said that the building itself was the embodiment of a proud moment in history, a moment shared by Hong Kong and its neighbor.

"What is the Chinese neoclassical style, after all?" he asked. "At the beginning of the 20th century, neoclassicism was all the rage in the West. But when it was introduced into China, the trend was met with resistance."

According to Tang, this resistance gave rise to a distinctive architectural style that combines the functionality of a Western building with the elegance of a classical Chinese mansion.

"Buildings that were to follow took on vastly different forms for Hong Kong and the mainland," he said. "In that sense, to return King Yin Lei to its former glory is to retell a once-shared story."

A bird's-eye view of the neoclassical mansion taken before demolition began last year. Courtesy of the Antiquities & Monuments Office

(HK Edition 02/21/2009 page3)