Zhōnghuámén, the China Gate, stands in the southern part of Nanjing. One of the few remaining of the original thirteen in the 600 year old city wall, it is, in actuality, a small fortress consisting of courtyards enclosed by several portals in succession-the final one topped with a rectangular stone tower that brings its height to about eighty very solid feet. Although the wooden pagoda that rested on this tower was destroyed by the Japanese in 1937 and never replaced, what is left of the gate is in excellent condition. Now separated from the length of wall around it, it has been fenced in and turned into a small park-a tourist attraction complete with a detachment of menacing looking mannequins dressed as Ming-era soldiers guarding the entry and lining the ramps leading to its main observation platform. Despite its history, Nanjing is not that much of a tourist destination and Zhōnghuámén is a little too clean, like someone uncomfortably dressed for a formal party. The decorative flags and traditional red lanterns hung for the opening ceremony of September’s World Historical & Cultural Cities Expo, held here, continue to softly unfurl and sway in the easy, late afternoon breeze. The city wall was constructed over a period of about twenty years. Protecting the Ming capital, it was especially fortified, with very stringent measures taken to ensure the good quality of the work. The bricks used in the wall’s construction were marked with their makers’ names and hometowns. If a brick was poorly made, the offending party could be tracked down to, ostensibly, replace it. Some accounts say that as the bricks were brought to the work site, an officer in charge would smash two random samples together. If they broke, he’d try two more. If those broke, he’d execute the maker on the spot. Over 600 years have come and gone since the wall’s completion. If you can read traditional Chinese, you can still make out some of the makers’ names on the their bricks. Was Dīng Dé apprehensive as his bricks were tested, or was he confident? Could he have guessed that his handiwork would last this long, through so much turmoil and destruction? Could he have guessed that his name would be known these centuries later, spoken by someone from a place that he never knew existed? This anonymous man’s brick, and his trade, have become his testament. His skill has become the mark of his immortality…at least as long as his brick holds together in its niche. From the top of Zhōnghuámén, a long stretch of the wall can be seen as it curves along the Qínhuái River. Time, of course, has taken its toll. It has been breached, not by invaders, but by the necessities of modern times. A thick, amputated stump, now overgrown with grass, weeds, and small trees, slopes jaggedly down to the road that now runs next to it. Outlasting its original purpose as a city defense, the wall eventually became an impediment to Nanjing’s traffic flow. Cars, buses, and motorbikes now hurry through where this section of it used to stand. But although walls may be boundaries, they are also, by their nature, supportive. And so it is for this one. Standing next to Dīng Dé’s brick, I look down, across this street to a rest area in the wall’s shadow. A woman with her dog talks to another with hers as the dogs sniff each other, just like they always do. An old man leans to hold his grandson’s hand as they walk. Another sits in a wooden chair, having a haircut. A card game is played at a makeshift table, near parked bicycles. Two girls goof around in their blue and white school sweatsuit uniforms, even though there’s no school today. And if I come back here next Sunday at this time, I’ll probably see the same people doing the same things. Life here goes on, as it always does, and the wall takes its special place in it, quietly and unobtrusively.