Pow!

hangs in the great room; an array of birthday gifts is stacked atop a long table beneath the scroll, beside a basket overflowing with pink-lipped peaches of immortality. Placed strategically about the room are vases full of camellias. Lan Laoda wears a flashy white suit and red bow tie; his thinning hair is neatly combed and his face is glowing. A group of gorgeously dressed women rushes up, like a bevy of little birds—chirping, laughing and planting kisses on his cheeks until they are covered with lipstick. Now truly red-faced, he walks up to the goateed old man and bows deeply: ‘Patron, your nominal son wishes you a long life.’ The old man taps him on the knee with his cane and enjoys a hearty laugh. ‘How old are you now, my boy?’ The old man's voice is as melodic as a brass gong. ‘Patron,’ Lan Laoda replies modestly, ‘I've managed to reach the age of fifty.’ ‘You've grown up,’ the old man says emotionally, ‘you're a man, and I don't need to worry about you any longer.’ ‘Patron, please don't say things like that,’ pleads Lan Laoda. ‘Without you to worry about me, I'd lose the pillar of my existence.’ ‘Aren't you the crafty one, young Lan!’ laughs the old man. ‘An official career is not in your future, young Lan, but riches are. And you'll be lucky in love.’ Pointing his cane at the beautiful women swarming behind Lan Laoda, he asks: ‘Are they all your lovers?’ ‘They are all loving aunts who watch over me,’ replies Lan Laoda with a smile. ‘I'm too old,’ says the old man, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘The spirit's willing but the flesh is weak. You take good care of them, for my sake.’ ‘Don't you worry, Patron, satisfying them is something I'm committed to.’ ‘We're not satisfied, not even a little!’ the women complain coquettishly. ‘In the old days,’ the old man remembers with a smile, ‘the emperor had women in three palaces and six chambers, a harem totalling seventy-two concubines, but you've outdone that, young Lan.’ ‘I owe it all to my Patron,’ replies Lan Laoda. ‘Have you mastered the martial skills I taught you?’ the old man asks him. Lan Laoda backs up a few steps and says: ‘You tell me, Patron.’ Seated on the carpet, he slowly folds his body into itself until his head is hidden in his crotch, his arse sticks up in the air, like the rump of a young colt, and his mouth is touching his penis. ‘Excellent!’ the old man exclaims as he taps the ground with his cane. ‘Excellent!’ echoes the crowd. The women, likely recalling some intimacy, cover their mouths, blush and giggle. A few in the crowd react with open-mouthed guffaws. ‘Young Lan,’ says the old man, sighing, ‘you have gathered all the city's flowers in a single night and I can do nothing but touch their pretty hands.’ And his eyes brim over with tears. The emcee, who is standing beside Lan Laoda, shouts: ‘Strike up the band and let the dancing begin!’ The musicians, waiting patiently in the corner, begin to play—cheerful, light-hearted music followed first by lilting melodies and then by passionate numbers. Lan Laoda takes turns dancing with members of his female entourage while the most seductive among them winds up in the arms of the old man, who shuffles his feet so slightly it looks more like scratching an itch than dancing.

    Mother's persistence worked: Father put on his grey suit and, with her help, knotted a red tie. The colour reminded me uncomfortably of blood gushing from the throats of butchered animals. I'd rather he wore another but I kept that to myself. To be perfectly honest, Mother wasn't much good at knotting the tie. Lao Lan had made the actual knot and now she merely pushed it up under Father's chin and tightened it. He stretched his neck out and shut his eyes, like a strung-up goose. ‘Who the hell invented this stuff?’ I heard him grumble.

    ‘Stop complaining,’ Mother said. ‘You're going to have to get used to this. From now on there'll be many occasions when you have to wear a tie. Just look at Lao Lan.’

    ‘There's no comparison. He's the chairman and general manager.’ Father's voice sounded strange.

    ‘You're the plant manager,’ Mother reminded him.

    ‘Plant manager? I'm just another worker.’

    ‘You really need to change the way you look at things,’ Mother said. ‘Times like this, you change or you get left behind. Again, look at Lao Lan, the perennial bellwether. A few years back, during the ‘age