Mo Yan - Pow!

After I finished my carp soup and polished off the shark's fin dumplings on that memorable evening, Jiaojiao whined that she was sleepy. Time for Lao Lan to get up from the table and say his goodbyes. Father and Mother jumped to their feet—Father was cradling Jiaojiao in his arms and patting her bottom with practised clumsiness—to see the village's most eminent individual to the door.

Huang Bao—his timing perfect, as always—came into the room to drape Lao Lan's overcoat over his shoulders, and then glided over to open the door for his superior's exit. But Lao Lan was in no hurry to leave. There was apparently something more that he had to say to my parents. He turned first to Father and then looked down into the face of my sister, tucked into the crook of Father's arm.

‘She looks like she came out of the same mould,’ he said emotionally.

These words of praise, whose deeper meaning was unclear, immediately dampened the mood. Mother coughed drily, a sign of how ill at ease Lao Lan's comment had made her, while Father twisted his head into an awkward angle to look at his daughter's face.

‘Jiaojiao,’ he said, ‘thank the good man.’

Lao Lan took a red envelope out of his overcoat pocket and tucked it between Father and Jiaojiao: ‘That's a good luck gift on our first meeting.’

Flustered, Father reached down for it: ‘We can't accept this.’

‘Why not? It's for her, not you.’

‘That doesn't matter…’ Poor Father was reduced to mumbling.

Then Lao Lan took out a second red envelope and handed it to me: ‘You'll give a little face to an old friend, won't you?’ he said with a sly wink.

I took it without a second's hesitation.

‘Xiaotong…’ Mother's voice was full of anguish.

‘I know what you're thinking,’ Lao Lan said as he stuck his arms into the sleeves of his overcoat. ‘I'm telling you, money's no damned good. You aren't born with it and you can't take it with you when you die.’

His words were as heavy as lead weights thudding to the floor. Mother and Father were dumbstruck and incomprehension filled their eyes as they struggled in vain with the mystery Lao Lan had just revealed to them.

‘Yang Yuzhen, there's more to life than the pursuit of money,’ Lao Lan said from the doorway. ‘The children need an education.’

I was clutching my red envelope; Father had tucked Jiaojiao's down between them. Having accepted them we could not, under any circumstance, refuse to keep them. Complex emotions clouded our minds as we saw him to the door. Light from both the lantern and the candles burst through the opening and spread across the yard and shone on Mother's tractor and the little mortar I hadn't yet moved into the house. A yellow canvas tarp covered the tube, making it look like a doughty warrior in disguise, lying in the grass and waiting for the call from its commander to attack. I thought back to a few days earlier, when I'd vowed to fire at Lao Lan's house, an unsettling thought at this moment. What was I thinking? There's nothing wrong with Lao Lan. Hell, he's a good man, a role model, and I wondered about the source of my loathing for him. Since my thoughts were beginning to confuse me, I cast them out. Perhaps it was all just a strange dream—dream dream dream—the opposite of the opposite—that's what Mother used to say to break the spell of her bad dreams, and did the same for mine. Tomorrow, no, as soon as Lao Lan leaves, I'll move it into the storeroom. ‘Put weapons into a storeroom, turn horses loose on South Mountain,’ that is how peace will reign on earth.

Lao Lan walked briskly but with a bit of a wobble. Who knows, perhaps it wasn't Lao Lan who was wobbling but me. This was my first time with alcohol, also my first time keeping company with adults, and not just any adults but the eminent Mr Lao Lan—a distinct honour. I felt like I'd made my entry into the world of grown-ups, and left behind Fengshou, Pingdu and Pidou, ignorant children who'd looked down on me, still stuck in childhood.

Huang Bao had opened our gate. His vigilant demeanour, his vigorous strides and his nimble, precise actions impressed me greatly. All the time we'd been inside the heated room, eating and drinking, he'd been standing outside in the cold and the snow, his nerves as taut as an armed bowstring, his eyes and ears on constant alert, concerned with only one thing—Lao Lan's safety from human and animal attack—although we, who had just dined with his boss, were collateral beneficiaries of that protection and would have done well to emulate that spirit of self-sacrifice. And there was more to his vigil than protection, for not a second went by that he wasn't prepared to respond to Lao Lan's signal—a clapping of the hands—and, in silent, spectral fashion, materialize at the man's side, ready to carry out his bidding, vigorously, to the letter, resolutely, and completely. Lao Lan's request for carp soup can serve as an example. Without any warning, he managed to set a bowl of the soup on our table in half an hour, as if it had been kept warm on a stove not far from our house and he had simply gone to bring it for us. It was so hot when it arrived that we'd have burnt our tongues if we'd eaten it too fast. Then, before it had cooled, he returned with the shark's fin dumplings. They too were steaming hot, as if they'd just been plucked from boiling water. I was amazed and found it all quite unfathomable, absolutely alien to anything I'd ever experienced. More than anything, it resembled the ‘treasure transport’ power of the fictional monkey of legend. Huang Bao brought in the dumplings, tranquil, hands steady, breathing relaxed, as if they'd been prepared a step away from where we sat. Laying them on the table, he turned and left. His arrivals and departures were more akin to a magician's disappearing act. At the time I entertained the thought that if I worked extra hard I could become someone like Lao Lan. But nothing I did could conceivably prepare me to be another Huang Bao. He was born to be a bodyguard, two hundred years too late to fulfil his destiny as a member of the Qing Court Palace Guard. His very existence was a reminder of classical sensibilities and a prod for us not only to reflect upon our past but also to retain our unquestioned beliefs in historical legends and tales of the marvellous.

Not until we were standing in the gateway did we realize that two big, black stallions were hitched to a roadside light post. A half-moon hung at the edge of the sky, its light muted, in contrast to the twinkling stars whose light was reflected on the animals’ skin; their eyes were like pearls shining through the darkness. What I could make out of their silhouettes was insufficient to gauge how handsome they were, but I could sense that they were not run-of-the-mill animals and assumed at once that they were heavenly steeds. The blood raced through my veins, a surge of emotions filled my heart and I was overcome by a desire to run over to them, to throw my arms round one of their necks and to leap onto its back. But Lao Lan had already nimbly mounted one, with the help of Huang Bao, who then somersaulted onto the back of the other. They then carried their extraordinary riders out onto Hanlin Avenue, which ran through the centre of the village, trotting at first but then quickly breaking into a gallop that took them down the road like fiery meteors. They shot out of view and left our ears ringing with the tattoo of hooves pounding the earth.

Spectacular, truly spectacular! It was a magical evening, the most memorable evening in all my days on this earth. The significance of that evening to my family and to me in particular would become clearer over time. At that moment we could only stand there, gazing blankly through the gateway at the image of the trees frozen in a splendid golden autumn.