IT was a winter dawn when residents of Xidajie (West Street) start their day at first light. Behind the door of a local house, an elderly man sits in a deck chair waiting for the water to boil. Outside the door, street vendors cry out for customers, and bargaining is conducted in roaring voices.

The street, from Honghuang Bridge in the west to its east end — the drawbridge of West Gate, is around 900 meters only. But its history may date back to the Northern and Southern Dynasties (386-589 AD). The cobblestones on the surface were laid in 1922.

Although people who live on the street are expected to move elsewhere amid a renovation/relocation plan released by the district government, it is not a farewell to the centuries old street, but a date made to meet again someday.

Huang Zhenwei is a witness to how much the street has changed. He spent his childhood on the street and has seen numerous changes.

His childhood home on Xidajie is opposite the Shanglinchun Story Theater. The theater is where pingtan storytellers once performed before audiences so successfully that it became the most popular destination on Xidajie. Huang can recall going to the theater with his father when he was only 3 years old.

His childhood home was later demolished, not long after his graduation from Tongji University, where he studied architecture, giving him a deeper understanding of historic preservation.

Huang joined local government in 2000 as an official in charge of urban planning. In 2001, he mapped out the planning of Xidajie and marked positions of 30 some historic buildings including the former residence of Wellington Koo Vi Kyuin (1888-1985), a Chinese diplomat who participated in major international issues in early 20th century and later sat as a judge at the International Court of Justice in The Hague.

Huang proposed to establish a historic area based on the former homes of some renowned figures. But he couldn’t get enough support for his plan. Koo’s butler called Huang in December 2002 asking him about the need to repair Koo’s residence.

Huang replied with tears, “I’ve tried my best.” A few days later, the butler died.

Huang resigned from the government and launched his own business. He later founded a research institute on ancient architecture and folk culture dedicated to the preservation of Xidajie.

“Residents may go elsewhere but the government shall keep the old houses,” Huang says. In his mind, the street retains its voices from the past — a banging made suddenly when a storyteller hits a gavel, the sound of cotton fluffing, or of metal being struck during forging.

Shan Yu is a Jiading native. He likes to walk on Xidajie in the warm sunshine, armed with his Leica camera. He started photographing the street in 2004.

From the day he was aware that Xiadajia was the last cobblestone street in Jiading, Shan has photographed the street constantly. He has taken nearly 10,000 pictures of Xidajie.

One of his latest works uploaded to his main online page shows a woman polishing shoes for an old man. In the shadow of the porch, there is a deckchair for customers waiting to be served.

Shan likes to observe the windows along Xidajia for what happens behind them — “like a drone, away from the people, to find truth and beauty in this chaotic environment.”

Xidajie is awaiting renovation and its people have to go elsewhere.

Shan will miss them — the barber, the grocery store owner, the old man sunbathing next to a big stove.

When he heard the barber was sick, Shan worried about him and hoped he would get better soon. He printed out one of his works and decided to gift it to all the people in the picture. But all of them had moved away.

No longer will he be able to film the scene of people taking rest in the shade in summer or enjoying the winter sunshine on Xidajie.

“When we improve the environment it is hard to keep the old days,” says Shan.

Before sundown, the golden sunlight pours down on the green tiles of the old houses on Xidajie, Shan slows his steps, afraid to break the quietness. The Leica in hands is once again brought into service.

Meichen is familiar with the people, houses, trees and flowers on Xidajia. She takes pictures with her mobile phone on the old street.

She proclaims herself a close friend of the street although she was not born here.

Meichen created a WeChat account “Xiyou Cooperative” three years ago. “Xiyou” means friend of Xidajie. Her aim is to protect the old street and keep it alive.

She spent her childhood at Renmin Street, a few blocks away from Xidajie. “When I was a little girl and lived with my parents, we bought soy sauce from Xidajie,” she recalls. Meichen believes it is more than coincidence.

She set up her office in Xidajie, in an old two-story house. Everything in the house retains its original appearance.

Lighting a cigarette, with a pot of tea to hand, Meichen and her colleagues start a new day sitting at a long table. “The land beneath your feet is the reflection of time, the stories will be the after sound of time passed by,” says Meichen.

She and her friends hope to present Xidajie through images or exhibitions.

They held a retro party to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival. All of them wore cheongsam at the party. They presented a mix on Xidajie of the old-fashioned and the modern,­ and how they can meld together. “How to keep the old street, the old stories and the memories of the old days is a common issue in the process of urbanization in China. Only by doing this can we think about the future of Xidajie,” she says.

“Auntie Zhang, here is the liquid gas you booked,” a delivery man says as he brings a can of liquid gas to Zhang Huiqin’s family. Although natural gas is available, people on Xidajie still use liquid gas for cooking.

Xidajie has a wonderful history, but the houses here and the residents’ way of life are showing the signs of age.

Zhang, 82, has lived in a 15-square-meter cabin for more than three decades.

She bathes in a wooden tub every day and empties her slop. Zhang lives the way people have for dozens of years and she has witnessed Xidajie at full throttle and its shutdown.

She has watched the children next door grow up and get married. Many of the old generation moved to new apartments with their adult children, but Zhang is still here and rides a tricycle through the cobblestone street every day.

She would like her neighbors next door to visit her again. Previously she brought out her yellow wine on each visit. But now Zhang herself is moving out. She has signed a contract to move into a 60-square-meter condo that is waiting for her at Juyuan new area.

The district housing department published the urban renewal plan for Xidajie in October 2015.

“I’ve lived here for more than three decades,” says Zhang.

She recalls that Xidajie was once full of restaurants, teahouses and all sorts of stores. Zhang worked as a part-time cook at one of the restaurants.

“I’ve visited my new apartment. They will teach me how to use the elevator,” she says. “The future Xidajie must be more beautiful,” Zhang adds.

“Xidajie is the root of Jiading,” Zhang Lichun wrote. The retired doctor moved to the area from Suzhou in 1958. He, too, has witnessed the rise and fall of the street.

When he first knew the street, he was a junior medical school student and he helped to establish a rural medical school there.

Zhang liked cycling with friends on Jiading streets and he shopped in Xidajie almost every weekend. He and his family moved to Jiading in 1966 and since then he has worked at Jiading People’s Hospital.

Xidajie was on his way home or to work, and he has seen the demolition of 30 or so historic sites there since the 1980s.

After he retired, Zhang wrote down the history of Jiading, including that of Xidajie. He interviewed a lot of residents, many of whom were in their eighties. Some of them have since died.

Zhang got his book published and it evokes both nostalgia and a resonance among the old Jiading people.

In Zhang’s mind protection and restoration are the key tasks for the renewal project to achieve.

“Be responsible for history and people,” Zhang cautions.