ANSON CHAN'S FAMILY TIES

THE trees stand blighted and stark along this dirt highway in China's Anhui Province. The bitter cold of late autumn has robbed them of their leaves, the wind pulls relentlessly at their branches, the dust clouds swirl around every limb. And yet, these trees are tethered to the flat earth here by their roots.

We have been on a journey for three days, in search of the past of Anson Chan Fang On-sang, the woman who may determine Hong Kong's future. By plane, train, car and foot, we have been travelling deep into the heart of the Middle Kingdom looking for Mrs Chan's home town, what the Chinese call lao jia.

The country here is achingly poor. It is difficult to believe Hong Kong's new Chief Secretary - the person whose power is second only to Governor Chris Patten's - could have sprung from such a place. There are no Chanel suits, society balls, shiny black Lexuses, or members of the Legislative Council to spar with and no government ladders to climb. There are only mud-brick houses, slow-moving yaks, cockerels and long shadows.

The Chief Secretary was born Fang On-sang to a clan which hails from Wafu Town, where 4,000 people farm carrots, oil-bearing vegetables and wheat on the dusty land. More than half of these villagers are surnamed Fang.

In Hong Kong, even today, many Chinese believe one's lao jia is significant. For these Chinese, your past, in ways subtle and distinct, determines your future.

ANSON Chan was born in 1940, the Year of the Dragon, which won't surprise her many detractors. She is portrayed by the media as the Dragon Lady, all fire and claws. So it is with trepidation that I enter her office.

Decked out in a pink and black suit, she is actually friendly, charismatic, relaxed, even though she had just returned from a gruelling month-long European tour. She is attractive, manicured and well-heeled, the kind of woman you might expect to see gossiping over lunch with a table of tai-tais in a smart cafe.