In Yinchuan’s old quarter, where the call to prayer mingles with the clatter of street vendors, Ahmad Wang’s workshop has stood for 25 years. His sign, “Pure Threads,” hangs above a door framed by embroidered verses from the Quran—stitched by his mother, who taught him to sew when he was 12.​

Ahmad’s specialty? Thobes woven with Ningxia silk, soft enough for summer prayers yet sturdy for winter pilgrimages. “Clothes must honor both Allah and the wearer,” he often says.​

Three years ago, a migrant worker named Yusuf came in, clutching a crumpled photo of his son. “He’s starting madrasa next month. I can’t afford new robes,” he mumbled. Ahmad measured Yusuf’s son from the photo, worked through two nights, and gave him three sets. “Tell him these are from someone who remembers what it’s like to need kindness,” he said, refusing payment.​

When fast-fashion factories offered him bulk orders with synthetic fabrics, Ahmad declined. “Faith isn’t mass-produced,” he told his apprentices, showing them how to hand-sew hems so they’ll last a lifetime.