By Valerie Sartor

Like most expats my life in China has been both stimulating and frustrating. To be fifty and read no better than a Chinese preschooler, to suffer indignities with my digestive system and to periodically fall prey to homesickness-all these woes and more magically lifted recently when a misfortune befell me.

After a long weekend in Inner Mongolia, my boyfriend and I returned by train to Beijing. Tired and befuddled but still happy to be back, we scrambled on a bus and headed back to my workplace.

The bus was standing room only. Pushing and shoving ahead of my companion, I exited first, warning him, "Make sure your wallet is safe." He nodded, gave the thumbs up and then we hunkered down the street to a coffee shop near my workplace. "I'll buy two lattes, we need a wakeup," I said, reaching inside my shirt for money.

Gone. No wallet. No passport, no bankcard, and 4,000 yuan in Chinese cash: completely gone. Instantly my friend took off running, scanning the street, but came back panting, checking my face for signs of tears. "It's useless," I told him flatly, trying to remain impassive. "Let's go to my office immediately; I must freeze my bank card and find a Xerox of my passport. Getting a new visa and passport is going to be a huge pain; I'll lose work days as well as money."

We went up to the sixth floor of my building; I reported the theft to my boss. Mr. Chen looked overworked as usual and now I was causing him more trouble. "It's okay, we have to get to finance and let them know or you'll lose everything," he said wearily. "So you had a good time other than this, I hope?" I nodded halfheartedly, already forgetting my weekend bliss. "Get your passport copy," the boss ordered a few minutes later as we stood listening to the financial officer talking to the bank.

I walked over to my desk. People tried not to stare. It was supposed to be my extra day off, and yet here I was, exuding sadness. As I sat down, the phone rang.

"Are you Ma Lili? A foreigner? Lost wallet?" boomed a frank male voice.

"Yes," I replied, dazed.

"I am policeman Gao. Report to the corner, we have a van waiting to pick you up and take you to the station. Mr. Liu Yumin has turned in a wallet that we think is yours."

Stunned with shock, I nodded and handed the phone to my Chinese colleague. She took the directions, grabbed her coat, and with a huge grin said, "You are the luckiest person in Beijing today."

The next day, Mr. Chen and Wang Qian, my co-worker, went with me to meet Liu at a very fancy seafood restaurant nearby. "He has adamantly refused a reward," my boss had told me earlier, "so you must give him a very nice meal to express your gratitude. That is the Chinese way."

Liu, dapper in a new red jacket, met us promptly at 12 p.m. "I'm a driver for Wendu Communications Group," he disclosed. "Been driving since I was 22, I'm 37 now. I saw your pink wallet. I opened it and saw a wad of cash-4,000 yuan, and your passport. Immediately I dialed 110; the police came and took it away."

"Didn't you want to keep the cash?" asked my boss.

"No," he said. "I could have; it's twice my monthly salary but if I took it, I'd feel guilty. Besides, I've lost things and I've found things-I found a student's book bag right here in this area, four years ago. I called the numbers on a paper inside until I located the kid."

"Please take some money for your family," I urged him as we ate flounder, fried squid and giant shrimps on skewers.

"No thanks," he replied. "If I wanted money I'd have kept it. Nice lunch."

As we ate, waiters displayed Chinese scrolls. "Are they for sale?" I asked.

"Yes, often such things are sold in expensive restaurants," Wang explained.

"Mr. Liu, please let me buy you that tiger scroll," I said. "You'll remember me and those tigers symbolize for me the powerful moral character of your family."

My rescuer nodded abruptly, but his eyes shone. "China is full of other good men, not just me," he said, shaking my hand goodbye.

The author is an American living in Beijing

(Beijing Review November 23, 2007)