By ANDREW JACOBS

BEIJING - Mao slept here. So, too, did the imperial eunuchs who found themselves unemployed after China’s last emperor was sent packing.

For much of the last 700 years, however, the most prominent residents of the Gulou quarter just north of the Forbidden City have been a pair of massive brick towers whose drums and bells helped Beijing’s citizenry keep track of the hour.

More recently, those who reside in the neighborhood are anxiously counting the days until construction crews begin turning its 13 charmingly decrepit hectares into a polished tourist attraction called Beijing Time Cultural City. Anchored by the ancient Drum and Bell Towers, the $73 million redevelopment will include courtyard homes for the rich, a “timekeeping” museum and an underground mall.

Since the project was announced in January, historians and the expatriates who cherish the area’s old Beijing authenticity have become alarmed. “This is not about preserving a historic monument. It’s about saving a living, breathing community that has evolved organically over hundreds of years,” said Yao Yuan, a Peking University professor who specializes in urban planning.

But the outrage is harder to find among the thousands of poor families who live in the ramshackle collection of gray brick houses topped with wavy roof tiles. “Tear the whole place down,” said Zhou Meihua, 72, who shares an 18.6-square-meter pair of rooms with three generations of family members. “If we get enough compensation, we’ll happily move out.” Government officials tend to stoke such sentiments by failing to improve living conditions in old neighborhoods in a way that preserves their historic architectural fabric.

Instead, they seize property in parts of the city they deem “unhygienic and unsafe,” rezone much of it as commercial property and sell it for huge profits. The concession to history often consists of a few new buildings with upturned eaves and garishly painted timber slapped on concrete facades. Government-affiliated builders either ignore the law or use words like “historic” and “restoration” to describe patently new construction.

Critics say the most egregious example of this trend can be seen just south of Tiananmen Square, where the city’s most fabled shopping district, Qianmen, was replaced by a soulless facsimile of its former self. “The renovation of Qianmen wasn’t about preserving history, but about creating a fake Hollywood version of it,” said Mr. Yao, the urban planning professor. Luo Zhewen, an architectural expert who is advising the government on the Gulou area , said the hand-wringing over lost patrimony was overblown.

A longtime employee of the State Administration of Cultural Heritage, Mr. Luo, 87, said many of the area’s houses were nothing more than glorified shacks. Asked about the residents, Mr. Luo was unapologetic. “Cities are always changing and developing,” he said.

Clearing Gulou may prove difficult. When it comes to compensating the displaced, many residents have high expectations, saying they will not budge unless the money allows them to buy large apartments.

Some, like Zhou Changlin, 53, an unemployed laborer, said he would leave only if he were relocated to a home much like the one in which he was born and raised. “I need to feel the earth beneath my feet,” he said. “I’ve heard that old people who move to high-rise buildings usually die within two or three years.