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his face yellowed, his eyes froze and his face grew stiff. Panicked, he ran to join Wan, knocking over his chair and bumping smack into Huang Biao, who was running out of the kitchen with a flyswatter. Only the first word of what must have been a curse managed to leave Huang Biao's mouth before Liu Shengli opened his and, with a yelp, spewed out a mouthful of sticky, half-eaten meat all over Huang Biao. Huang Biao screeched, as if bitten by a wild animal, and then the curses really began to fly. He threw down his flyswatter, wiped his face and ran after the fleeing Liu, trying but failing to kick him before turning and heading back to the kitchen to wash his face.

    It was great fun watching Liu stagger away on his weak, spindly legs, slightly bowed at the knees, feet turned out, his heavy buttocks swinging from side to side like a duck running at full speed. He lined up beside Wan, hands and head against the wall, and erupted in a frenzy of vomiting, bending over and straightening up, bending over and straightening up…

    Feng Tiehan had a piece of meat in his mouth and another in his hand. His eyes were dull, as if he were in deep, meditative thought. Now the centre of attention, it was left to him to wage a solitary struggle. But he had suffered defeat as well. Even if he swallowed the piece in his mouth and ate the one in his hand, followed by the fly-encrusted piece in his tub, time alone made him a loser. But the spectators waited, wanting to see what he'd do. As in a marathon, after the winner has crossed the finish line, the spectators spur on the other racers, encouraging them to give it their all. I was hoping he'd dig in and finish his meat, because I had enough space for one more. Then I would gain the unalloyed admiration of the crowd. But Feng sounded the retreat. He stretched his neck, stared wide-eyed and managed to swallow the piece in his mouth to applause from the crowd. But when he brought the second piece up to his mouth, he wavered briefly and then tossed it back into his tub, startling the flies into the air with a noisy buzz, like sparks from a blazing fire. ‘I lose,’ Feng announced, his head down. Then, after a moment, he raised his head, turned to me and said: ‘You win.’

    I was moved by his words. ‘You may have lost,’ I said to him, ‘but you did so with style.’

    ‘The contest is over,’ Lao Lan announced. ‘Luo Xiaotong is the winner. Compliments also to Feng Tiehan, who performed well. As for Liu Shengli and Wan Xiaojiang,’ he cast a contemptuous look at their backs, ‘their spirit was willing but their flesh was weak. Today's was the plant's first such contest. United Meatpacking Plant workers must be accomplished consumers of meat. And as for you, Luo Xiaotong, don't get cocky. You beat your opponents this time but that doesn't mean you won't meet your match some day. Participation in the next contest will not be limited to plant workers. We want to make this a broad-based social activity that furthers the plant's good name. We will provide trophies and monetary rewards for the winners. If one chooses, he can take his winnings out in meat—for a year!’

    ‘I want to compete,’ shouted Jiaojiao.

    The crowd heard her words, and all eyes swung in her direction. You couldn't have asked for a more delightful sight at that moment than my pig-tailed, limpid-eyed, plump little sister.

    ‘That's the spirit,’ Lao Lan called out. ‘There we have a case of “Heroes come from the ranks of youth, and every trade has its master practitioner.” What has the country's reform and opening-up policy achieved? I'll tell you: individual talent can no longer be suppressed. Even eating meat can bring fame and glory to an individual. All right, then, that ends the contest. If your shift is over, go on home. For the rest, it's time to go to work.’

    The crowd broke up amid scattered comments. ‘Dr Fang,’ Lao Lan said, pointing to Liu Shengli and Wan Xiaojiang, who were still throwing up near the wall, ‘do they need an injection of something?’

    ‘For what? They'll be fine once they've emptied their stomachs.’ He turned and pointed to me with his chin. ‘He's the one I'm worried about,’ he said. ‘He ate the most.’

    Lao Lan patted the doctor on the shoulder. ‘My friend,’ he said with a laugh, ‘your concerns are wasted on that youngster. He's special, a sort of meat god. He's been sent down to earth for the sole purpose of eating meat. His stomach is