哪儿 — Where, Not Which

The traditional form 兒 draws a small child: a big head on top — with the soft gap babies have in the skull still open — and two legs below. Simplification kept just the legs. On its own it means child; glued to the end of a word in the north it stops being a syllable at all and just curls the tongue: 哪儿, 这儿, 那儿. One character — sometimes a whole person, sometimes only an accent.

A field over the earth: the ground people farm and live on. 里 first meant a village, then the neighbourhood, then simply a place — that is the 里 in 哪里, 这里, 那里. The meaning 'inside' originally had its own character, 裡, wearing a clothing radical: the inside of a garment. Simplification retired that one and let the village stand in — the same borrowed-shape story as 只 and 几. So one 里 now works both jobs: place, and in.

A little bonfire: one central flame, two sparks jumping away. It still means exactly what it draws — and Chinese loves naming things by their fire. 火锅, fire-pot, is the hot pot Sichuan is famous for. 火车, fire-cart, is the train, named back when engines ran on burning coal. Even ham is 火腿, fire-leg. Learn one flame, read half a menu.