Pow!

the authorities,’ Father said weakly.

    ‘Is that what you call a good idea? The authorities know exactly what's going on but there's nothing they can do about it,’ he said coldly.

    ‘Crabs go where the currents take them,’ Mother said. ‘If others inject water and we don't, the only thing that proves is how stupid we are.’

    ‘We can try another line of work,’ Father offered. ‘Who says we have to be butchers?’

    ‘That's all we know,’ Lan said with a caustic laugh. ‘It's what we're good at. Your ability to evaluate beef on the hoof, for instance, is part of the butcher system.’

    ‘What good am I anyway?’ Father said. ‘I have no talents.’

    ‘None of us have any talents, except this,’ Lan said. ‘But we've got an edge, and if we inject our meat with water then we'll do a better job of it than the rest.’

    ‘You have to do it, Luo Tong,’ Mother said. ‘We can't operate at a loss.’

    ‘If that's what you both want to, then go ahead,’ Father said. ‘The key is Lao Han at the Inspection Station—will he give us trouble?’

    ‘He wouldn't dare,’ Lao Lan said. ‘He's a dog we feed.’

    ‘When the monkeys attack, the dogs grow fangs,’ Father said.

    ‘You two do what you have to, and I'll take care of Lao Han. It won't take more than a few rounds of mah-jongg. I'm sure he remembers that his station is a product of the meatpacking plant—it wouldn't exist if not for us.’

    ‘There's nothing I can say,’ Father conceded, ‘except that I hope we don't inject our meat with formaldehyde.’

    ‘That goes without saying,’ Lao Lan responded solemnly. ‘It's a matter of conscience. Most of our customers are ordinary citizens, and we have a responsibility to safeguard their health. We'll inject only the purest water. Of course, adding a trace of formaldehyde would pose no danger—it could even protect them against cancer, slow the ageing process, prolong their life. But we've vowed not to add formaldehyde. We have long-range goals. We have moved beyond the independent butcher system. Now that we've come together as a united slaughterhouse, there are limits to what we do, and that includes not experimenting with the people's health.’ Smiling, he continued: ‘Before too long we'll evolve into a major enterprise with an automated production line—a living animal in one end and sausage and canned meats out the other. By then the water issue will be irrelevant.’

    ‘Under your leadership, we're certain to achieve that goal,’ declared Mother, charmed by his words.

    ‘Dream on, you two,’ Father said in icy tones. ‘But let's come back to the water issue. The question is: How do we do it? And how much? And what do we do if someone reports us? In the past, it was every family for itself. But now there are more mouths than we can control…’

    I walked into the room. ‘Dieh,’ I said, ‘I know an ideal way to inject water.’

    ‘What are you doing out of bed?’ he demanded. ‘Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong.’

    ‘I'm not!’

    ‘Let's hear what he has to say,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Go ahead, Xiaotong, what's your brilliant idea?’

    ‘I know how it's done. I've watched every family in Slaughterhouse Village do it. They attach a high-pressure hose to the heart of a newly slaughtered animal. But since the animal is dead, its organs and cells can no longer absorb the water and half of it is lost. Why can't we inject water when the animal is still alive?’

    ‘Makes sense,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Go on, my young friend.’

    ‘I watched a doctor administer an IV once, and that gave me an idea. We'll do the same with the animals before they're slaughtered.’

    ‘But that's so slow,’ said Mother.

    ‘It doesn't have to be an IV,’ Lao Lan volunteered. ‘There are other ways. It's a great idea, no matter how you look at it. Injecting water into a living animal and into a dead one are radically different concepts.’

    ‘Adding water to a dead animal is injection,’ I said. ‘But adding it to a living animal is something different. It's cleansing their organs and their circulatory system. If you ask me, this meets both your output goals and your standard for high-quality meat.’

    ‘Worthy Nephew Xiaotong, I'm impressed,’ Lao Lan said. His fingers shook as he took a cigarette out of his case, lit it and took a drag. ‘Were you listening, Lao Luo? Your son puts us old-timers to shame. Our brains are stuck in a rut. He's right,