On a freezing dark night, we parked at the foot of our new apartment building. It didn't take us long to realize that the security guard and a few passers-by were gazing at our window. Xiao Shu, our decoration director, was leaning by the window and counting cash.

"Xiao Shu, everyone knows what you are doing," we called out as soon as we entered the room. In the old days, showing off money was seen as rustic and asking for trouble.

Xiao Shu replied with his signature grin, his face shone red against the brightly lit green walls. Obviously, he had taken another "small sip" to celebrate the conclusion of his work in our decoration project.

Our painter Lao Wang and carpenter Xiao Guizi (or Small Box) happily received their payment, picked up their small bundles of quilt and equipment, bade us adieu and headed home to the rural Anhui province of East China.

Over the years, we have become good friends with Xiao Shu, a bond that I believe is rare and surprisingly strong in this increasingly commercialized society.

We got to know him through our upstairs neighbor, who was my roommate back in university. When she decorated her home, Xiao Shu quarreled with her almost daily. My friend is a perfectionist and asked him to revise finished work habitually. But he believed in simpler methods and less expensive materials.

Believing him to be a straight-forward person like us, we asked him to paint our basement. He led us to a decoration market and bargained for paint and tiles of good quality. But he refused to accept our payment.

Xiao Shu once had his own decoration company, but gave up when he lost 20,000 yuan ($2,751) in poor management. He'd rather handle all the work if the task is small. For big apartments, he can rally a handful of skillful workers in no time.

At the height of our decoration, half a dozen workers slept and cooked at the site. Coming from nearby villages, they'd discuss technical problems or quarrel in dialects.

It seems eating is the paramount issue for them. Twice a week, they went shopping together and came back with vegetables and ducks, which they'd smear with salt and dry on the balcony. Eating duck could help clear away the dust they inhaled, or so says our painter.

One of our carpenters, who cooked mouth-watering fish, always replied "impossible" to our requests. Once he refused to modify the ceiling, even Xiao Shu couldn't persuade him.

Xiao Shu grabbed a hand saw, climbed onto the ladder and started sawing the wooden structure. Suddenly, the saw broke in two. Everyone laughed heartily, including Xiao Shu, who has gained much weight over the past decade.

Xiao Shu didn't have chance to study in the turbulent "cultural revolution" (1966-76). Like many migrant workers in the country's metropolises, he works hard to support his two sons, who started university last year.

"I don't have much to worry about," he says, between reading the newspaper and sipping liquor in our beach chair.

(China Daily 01/16/2008 page20)