The Mao Case

Gengbao
     was allegedly catching his most fierce crickets in a “secret cemetery,” where the crickets, having absorbed all the infernal
     spirits, fought like devils. Anyway, it proved to be a fabulous niche market for him. Despite all the money he made, however,
     he chose not to move away from this feng shui attic room of his, which he believed had brought his fortune, though he bought
     a new apartment somewhere else. In the old building, he still shared the common kitchen as well as a common passion with Aiguo:
     the crab. Unlike Aiguo, Gengbao could afford to enjoy crabs to his heart’s content, of which he made an ostensible show, parading
     crabs through the kitchen, nailing crab shells like monster masks on the wall above the coal briquette stove. Aiguo suffered
     all this, sighing and quoting from a Confucian classic, “It’s the teacher’s fault to have not taught a student properly.”
    “What do you mean?” Aiguo’s daughter-in-law responded. “Gengbao is a Big Buck nowadays. Your ancestors must have burned tall
     incense for you to have such a successful student.”
    If there was any cold comfort for Aiguo, it would be that he could talk about Confucius openly again. However, retired, he
     could give his lecture only to his grandson, Xiaoguo, a third-year elementary school student.
    The array of the mysterious crab shells on the kitchen wall seemed to be more appealing than Confucius to Xiaoguo, who had
     never tasted a crab before.

    “What does a crab taste like, Grandpa?”
    It was an impossible mission for the retired teacher. There’s no tasting a crab without putting it into your mouth. Aiguo
     adored his grandson, and as Confucius says, “You have to do what you should do, even though it’s impossible to do so.” Finally,
     Aiguo managed to demonstrate how delicious a crab could be by concocting a special crab sauce of black vinegar, sugar, ginger
     slice, and soy sauce.
    “It’s somewhat like that,” Aiguo said, letting Xiaoguo dip a chopstick into the sauce and suck on the tip, “but much better.”
    Unexpectedly, that experiment developed for Aiguo into an ongoing pursuit of a way to satisfy the crab-craving. All the crab-rich
     memories had come back to him the moment that the chopstick tip touched his own tongue. He pushed the experiment further by
     stir-frying the egg yolk and white separately in a wok and mixing them with the special sauce. It resulted in a special dish
     richly redolent of the celebrated Fried Crab Meat at Wangbaoh restaurant. And to his surprise, small shrimp or dried tofu
     dipped in the special sauce could occasionally produce a similar effect too. On those days when he could not find anything
     in the refrigerator, which was under the strict surveillance of his daughter-in-law, he would simply dip the chopsticks in
     and out of the special sauce, sipping at his yellow wine, and chewing the ginger slices.
    Needless to say, all the experiments added to the curiosity of the close-observing Xiaoguo.
    “Living in a poor lane, and dipping in nothing but the crab sauce, one still enjoys life,” Aiguo said, seemingly absorbed
     in Confucius again, to his bewildered grandson. “Confucius says something very close to that about one of his best students.”
    One day, on the way to school, Xiaoguo passed by a new house with the door open and caught sight of people busy making huge
     banquets of sacrifice to their ancestors. It had to be a rich family, with so many luxurious cars parked in front, and with
     scripture-chanting monks engaged from a Buddhist temple too. He could not help taking a closer look. To his surprise, he saw
     a crab scurrying out
of the door to the sidewalk. It must have escaped from the kitchen in the midst of the hustle-bustle. No one paid attention
     to it. So Xiaoguo took off his hat and, like a streak of lightning, picked up the vicious-looking crab. Instead of going to
     school, he ran back home, prepared the special sauce after a fashion, and boiled the crab. After devouring it without really
     tasting it, he painted a multicolored face on the crab shell with a Chinese character beneath it — swear. He hung the shell
     like a primitive mask on the wall. When Aiguo came back, seeing the mask, and learning the story from Xiaoguo, who was still
     washing his hat in the sink, he snapped and slapped his grandson in fury.
    “How can you skip school for a crab? Shame on you! And a stray crab from others’ offering to their ancestor