Pow!

fins. My god—mortar shells—I'd dreamt of possessing them—mortar shells!

    He carefully removed one. ‘Each case holds six of these, except this last one, which is missing a shell. A total of forty-one. I tested one before you arrived. I tied a rope to one of the wings and threw it over a cliff. It blew up just the way it was supposed to. The explosion echoed through the mountains, frightening the wolves out of their dens.’

    I gazed down at the shells and at their strange lustre in the moonlight. Then I looked into the old man's eyes, glowing like burning coal. I felt my weakness vanish and the rise of a magnificent heroic spirit.

    ‘Lao Lan,’ I said, clenching my jaw, ‘your day of reckoning has arrived!’

POW! 41

    The production of the opera From Meat Boy to Meat God nears its finale. The dutiful meat boy is kneeling on the stage, slicing flesh from his arm to brew for his ailing mother. She recovers but, owing to a prolonged state of exhaustion, starvation and loss of blood, he dies. In the last scene, a surreal dreamlike sequence, the mother reveals through her tears how she misses her son and grieves over his death. Then the meat boy, splendidly attired and wearing a golden headdress, appears, as if descended from a cloud of mist. His mother holds her head and sobs when they meet, but the meat boy consoles her with the news that the Celestial Ruler, moved by his dutiful act, has anointed him a Meat God whose domain is the world of meat-eaters. The opera appears to have ended happily but it has done nothing to dispel my feelings of desolation. The mother, still weeping, sings an aria : ‘ Better to feed my son weak tea and simple food on earth than see him as a Meat God in a heavenly berth …’ The mist fades and the opera is over. The performers return for their curtain call ( there is, of course, no curtain ), and are greeted by sporadic applause. Troupe Leader Jiang rushes onstage to announce : ‘ Ladies and Gentlemen, tomorrow's performance will be Slaying the Wutong Spirit. Don't miss it .’ The crowd chatters noisily as it disperses. Now the food-vendors make their final attempts at a sale . ‘ My daughter ,’ Lao Lan says to Tiangua , ‘ you can spend the night with us. Your aunt and I have made up the best room for you .’ An uncomfortable Fan Zhaoxia says : ‘ Yes, come home .’ Tiangua looks at Fan with loathing but says nothing. She walks up to a lamb-vendor . ‘ Give me ten kebabs and add plenty of cumin .’ Happy to oblige, the vendor takes out a handful of kebabs from a filthy plastic bag and lays them atop a charcoal brazier. He squints to keep the smoke from his eyes and makes a puffing sound with his mouth, as if to clear it of dust. Now that the crowd and the actors have dispersed, Lan Daguan mounts the stage, followed by a foreigner in gold-rimmed glasses. He strips naked to show off his erect penis . ‘ Tell me if I was boasting !’ he says angrily to the foreigner . ‘ Take a good look and tell me .’ The foreigner claps his hands and six blonde, blue-eyed naked women go up on the stage and lie in a row. Lan Daguan takes them one at a time, drawing yelps of pleasure all the way down the line. Six more women go up on stage. Then six more. And six more. And six more. And six more. And five more. Forty-one women in all. I keep my eyes on the tireless Lan Daguan as the combat rages on and watch as he, as if on cue, transforms into a horse. He whinnies loudly, showing off his powerful muscles and his strong limbs. Truly a noble stallion radiating vitality. A magnificent head, its perfect, pointed ears like cut bamboo. Bright, shining eyes. A small mouth below a large snout. A graceful neck lifted high between broad shoulders. A smooth rump, a tail raised captivatingly. A rounded torso encasing resilient ribs. Four slender, graceful legs with bright hooves that shine with a light-blue glow. He gives a rousing performance on the stage, moving from a trot to a gallop, dancing one moment and leaping the next, displaying every dazzling movement possible, demanding acclaim as the acme of perfection. Then comes the finale: Lan Daguan rises from atop the forty-first woman, seemingly coated with a layer of greasepaint, points at the foreigner with a single finger and says : ‘ You lose .’ The man draws a fancy revolver and aims it at the horse's genitals . ‘ I don't ,’ he says and pulls the trigger. Lan Daguan thuds to the ground, like a toppled wall. At that same