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with a food hamper nearly bumped into me. It was Lao Bai, chef at the Huaxi Dog Meat Restaurant, a talented specialist in preparing dog meat and a distant cousin of dog-breeder Huang Biao's wife. Since Bai had come out of that particular room, it was clear that a banquet was in progress and that Lao Lan would not be anywhere else. So I clenched my jaw, walked up and opened the door. The captivating smell of dog meat hung heavy in the air. A steaming copper hot pot sat in the centre of a large revolving dining table surrounded by several diners, including Lao Lan, all busily devouring the food and drink. Their faces shone—half sweat and half oil—as they plucked dripping chunks of dog meat from the hot pot and crammed them into open mouths that complained of the heat but were immediately cooled by slugs of chilled beer. Tsingtao Beer, the best, of course, served in tall glasses, bubbles rising amid the amber liquid. The first to spot me was a fat woman with a face the colour of garnet, but she said nothing—she simply stopped eating, puffed up her cheeks and stared at me.

    Lao Lan turned and froze for a moment before his face creased into a broad smile. ‘What do you want, Luo Xiaotong?’ He turned to the fat woman before I could answer and said, ‘The world's most gluttonous boy is in our midst.’ Then he turned back to me. ‘Luo Xiaotong, people say you'll call anyone Dieh who offers you a good meaty meal. Is that right?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Well, then, son, sit down and dig in. I want you to know that this is a Huaxi dog-meat hot pot, enhanced with more than thirty herbs and spices, the likes of which I'm sure you've never sampled.’

    ‘Come here, youngster,’ said the fat woman, whose accent revealed her as a foreigner. The person next to her, obviously a subordinate, echoed her comment: ‘Come here, youngster.’

    I swallowed to stop myself from drooling.

    ‘But that was before,’ I said. ‘Now that my own dieh is back, there's no need to call anyone else Dieh.’

    ‘Why did that arsehole come back anyway?’ asked Lao Lan.

    ‘This is where he was born and where my grandparents are buried. Why shouldn't he come back?’ It was up to me to make a case for his return.

    ‘Now that's a good boy, sticking up for your dieh even at your young age,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Just what a son ought to do. Luo Tong may be a coward but his son isn't.’ He nodded and sipped his beer. ‘So, what do you want?’

    ‘This wasn't my idea,’ I said. ‘My mother sent me to invite you to dinner tonight.’

    ‘Will miracles never cease? Your mother is the world's meanest person. She'll pick up a bone a dog's gnawed clean and take it home to make soup. Why the invitation?’

    ‘You know why,’ I said.

    ‘What's the boy's name?’ the fat lady mumbled as she chewed on a piece of dog meat. ‘Oh, yes, it's Luo Xiaotong. How old are you, Luo Xiaotong?’

    ‘I don't know.’

    ‘Do you really not know how old you are?’ she asked, ‘Or do you not want to tell us? How dare you talk that way in front of the village head! What grade are you in? Primary school or high school?’

    ‘I don't go to school.’ I snarled. ‘I hate school.’

    The woman laughed for some strange reason, even squeezed out a few tiny tears. I decided to ignore her, for she had terrible table manners. I didn't care if she was a mayor's mother or the wife of the provincial governor or if she herself was a mayor or something even higher.

    I turned to Lao Lan and said sombrely: ‘Tonight. Our place for dinner and drinks. Please don't forget.’

    ‘All right, I'll be there, for your sake. You can count on it.’

    The final two contingents of marchers meet on the highway. The one from West City represents the Madonna Fur Coat Factory, famous for all sorts of leather goods. Owning a Madonna fur or leather coat is the dream of young men and women with empty purses. The contingent comprises twenty male and twenty female models. It's now midsummer, but they are all wearing the company's fur and leather products; they approach the reviewing stand from west to east and, at a signal from the group leader, begin to strut as if on a catwalk. The male models have closely cropped hair and wear stern expressions. Their female counterparts, who have dyed their hair in a rainbow of colours, have that special model look as they sashay along in colourful furs and leathers but display no emotion, more wild animals than human. Even on such a