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We drove into the ordinary rural village and were met by what at first glance looked like a very ordinary man.

Under a searing sun, he stood there on the dry gritty earth calmly waiting, wearing the typical navy blue pants and once-white cotton shirt, in effect the national uniform in those early days after the awakening of the sleeping giant that was China. He seemed in no hurry to see us all climb out of the two beaten-up old vans we had arrived in, as if time was an asset he was accustomed to spending freely and easily.

He was a man I guessed to be toward the end of his middle years, a slim figure with a long narrow face, a high forehead accentuated by a receding hairline and black bushy brows over eyes sharp and observing, yet kindly, behind big square glasses. With his head on a bit of a tilt, he gazed at us with an expression of gentle curiosity. His bearing was of a man clearly comfortable in his own skin.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Dr Wang,” said our guide. “He is the head archeologist who supervised the excavation of the 7000 terracotta soldiers guarding Emperor Qin’s tomb.”

We, a dozen Westerners, were in a village not far from Xian, a city long used to the spectacle of foreigners. Xian is the site of the first imperial capital of a united Middle Kingdom under the Qin Dynasty when it was the beginning, or the end, of the Silk Road, the most famous of early trade routes, when caravans of camels delivered ceramics and silks to foreign lands and brought in precious stones and gold, as well as novel ideas and philosophies.

The guide then turned to the scientist and spoke briefly to him in Chinese. Dr Wang gave us a small acknowledging nod of the head, and without a word turned and walked toward the village. We were there to follow.

He led us over the dusty path along white-washed concrete structures heavily stained with ochre earth, their open doors revealing unfinished dirt floors and sparse utilitarian furnishings. The stark stench from the open sewage canals intensified the feel of poverty.

It was a relief, then, to reach the end of the village, to escape the oppression of the senses, to walk in the open air, even if the early summer heat was hard to bear.

Dr Wang seemed oblivious to all of this. He walked on ahead through the open fields like a man with a serious mission at a serious pace. We had to concentrate on our footing on the uneven terrain to keep up with him.

Then all of a sudden he stopped walking. I had barely noticed that we had come to the far edge of a field that revealed yet another field, but this one was not farmed; rather, it was a good meter or two deeper, evidently the excavation site.

Our host waited for the group to gather around him. Then he started to speak animatedly while sweeping his right arm widely from west to east to indicate the extent of the plot of rough soil before us. Without understanding his words, I understood his passion for his work which poured out smoothly, like old precious white tea from a lovely porcelain pot.

Our guide translated, telling us about this new discovery of yet another tomb, a much later one than the famous terracotta soldiers’ tomb, dating to the Ming Dynasty. But I wasn’t listening very closely, being more engaged in just trying to see what lay before me through the archeologist’s lively eyes than to hear the historical details. Where my untrained eye saw only dirt and rubble, I could only imagine his visions of grandeur of a time long past, one he was fully committed to unearth and bring to light for the rest of us to see.

When the guide completed his narration, we all turned to head back, most of us more than a little eager to find some modern day comfort in the coolness of the vans we had come in.

I surmised that this journey was now nearly over, without having the faintest notion that another exquisite surprise was in store for us.

Back in the village, Dr Wang suddenly turned to enter one of the houses. At first, not knowing what to do, we hesitated and looked at each other until he motioned for us to follow him in.

The room, though appointed only with one single wood bed and a simple wood desk with chair, was not large enough to fit us all in, so some were left to peek in from outside the door. Many were shocked to learn that for the duration of this field project, this room served as this esteemed scientist’s accommodation and office. Some time later our guide confided to me that Dr Wang earned less than a taxi driver, yet I had grasped that personal material benefit was not what motivated this dedicated professional.

Dr Wang bent down to kneel on the ground and slowly, very slowly, pulled a suitcase out from under his bed, a red hard-cover suitcase. Gently, with great care and astonishing strength, as if it were filled only with feathers, he lifted the suitcase onto his bed.

He nimbly removed the lock and opened the case to reveal the pink satin lining and a collection of paper-wrapped shapes. His strong sinewy fingers picked up the first of the shapes and, with the tenderness of an experienced lover, he unwrapped it. Layer after layer of brown paper came off until finally we could fully view the contents: a perfectly preserved, perfectly formed 18” ceramic figurine.

Then one by one Dr Wang lightly unwrapped, presented, and rewrapped the rest of the figurines. Each had its own unique face, its own unique body shape. Each he handled and cradled lovingly like a newborn baby. We were not allowed to touch, but the visual pleasure was enough.

While Qin’s terracotta soldiers were impressive for their stature and sheer quantity, seeing these figurines in Dr Wang’s devoted care brought an intimacy to the experience that was rare and precious.

Dr Wang’s love for his métier touched me deeply.

As our group climbed back into the van, I realized I was leaving this ordinary village with a special memory of meeting an extraordinary man.