Mo Yan - Pow!

I set out for the contest site. Jiaojiao walked behind me with a teapot. Her face was set tight, her forehead beaded with sweat.

‘Don't be scared, Jiaojiao,’ I said with a laugh.

‘I'm not.’ She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. ‘I know you'll win.’

‘Yes, I will,’ I said. ‘So would you, if you took my place.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘My stomach isn't big enough yet. But some day.’

‘Jiaojiao,’ I said, taking her hand, ‘we were sent down to earth to eat meat. Each of us is slated to eat twenty tonnes of it. If we don't, Yama won't let us in the underworld door. That's what Lao Lan said.’

‘Great,’ she said. ‘But let's stick around after the twenty tonnes and then go for thirty. How much is thirty tonnes?’

‘Thirty tonnes.’ I had to think for a minute. ‘It would make a little mountain of meat.’

She burst into happy laughter at the thought.

Turning at the meat-cleansing workshop door, we spotted a crowd in front of the kitchen at the same time as the crowd spotted us: ‘Here they are…’

Jiaojiao gripped my hand tightly.

‘Don't be scared,’ I said.

‘I'm not.’

The crowd parted to let us to walk up to the contest site. Four tables had been set up, each backed by a stool. My rivals were waiting. Liu Shengli bellowed at the kitchen door: ‘Ready, Huang Biao? I can't wait any longer—I'm starved!’

Wan Xiaojiang went in and came right back out. ‘What an aroma!’ he rhapsodized. ‘Meat, ah, meat, how I pine for you! Even my mother pales beside a plate of braised beef.’

Feng Tiehan was perched on his stool, smoking a cigarette, the picture of calm, as if the contest had nothing to do with him.

I nodded a greeting to the people who were staring at my sister and me, their looks either curious or reverential. Then I went over and sat on the stool next to Feng Tiehan. Jiaojiao stood beside me. ‘I'm a little scared,’ she whispered.

‘Don't be,’ I said.

‘Want some tea?’

‘No.’

‘I have to pee.’

‘Go on. Behind the kitchen.’

The crowd was whispering back and forth, too softly for me to hear, but I could guess what they were saying.

Feng Tiehan offered me a cigarette.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Smoking affects the taste buds. Even the best meat loses its taste.’

‘I shouldn't be doing this with you,’ he said. ‘You're just a boy. I'd hate it if something happened to you.’

I just smiled.

Jiaojiao returned and said softly: ‘Lao Lan's here, but not Dieh or Niang.’

‘I know.’

Liu Shengli and Wan Xiaojiang took their places behind their tables, Liu next to me and Wan next to him.

‘We're all here,’ Lao Lan announced. ‘So we can start. Where's Huang Biao? Ready, Huang Biao?’

Huang Biao rushed out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a filthy towel. ‘Ready! Shall I bring it out?’

‘Bring it out,’ ordered Lao Lan. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today for the plant's first meat-eating contest. The contestants are Luo Xiaotong, Liu Shengli, Feng Tiehan and Wan Xiaojiang. This is a preview contest. The winner may well go on to represent the plant at one of the larger public contests to be held later. Since today holds great significance for the future, I want the contestants to pull out all the stops.’ Lao Lan's comments excited the crowd, which began to chatter, the sound like birds careening into the sky. Lao Lan raised his hand and gestured for silence. ‘That said, I must make something perfectly clear—each contestant takes full responsibility for himself. If there's an accident, the plant cannot be held liable. In other words, you're on your own.’ He then pointed to a man elbowing his way through the crowd. ‘Make room for the doctor.’

People turned to see the doctor, medical bag over his back, making his sweaty way to the front, where he then stood smiling, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth. ‘Am I late?’

‘No,’ Lao Lan replied. ‘We're just about to begin.’

‘I was worried I'd be late. The minute the hospital director told me what he wanted me to do, I picked up my bag and came as fast as I could.’

‘You're not late,’ Lao Lan reassured him. ‘You didn't have to rush.’ Then he turned to us. ‘Are the contestants ready?’

I glanced at my eager competitors and saw that they were all looking at me. I smiled and nodded, they nodded in return. Feng Tiehan smirked. Liu Shengli looked stern, his anger simmering just below the surface, like a man ready for a bitter fight and not one participating in a meat-eating contest. A silly smile was draped across the face of Wan Xiaojiang, replete with twitches and crinkles that drew laughter from the spectators. Liu and Wan's expressions enhanced my confidence—their loss was assured, inevitable. But I had trouble reading Feng's smirk. A barking dog never bites, and I had a hunch that this sallow-faced, smirking, composed rival was the one to look out for.

‘All right, then. The doctor is here, you've all heard what I had to say, you know the rules and the meat has been prepared. We're ready to begin,’ Lao Lan announced. ‘I hereby declare the start of the inaugural Huachang United Meatpacking Plant meat-eating contest. Huang Biao, bring out the meat!’

‘On its wa-a-a-y—’ Like a server in a pre-revolution restaurant, Huang Biao drew out the call as he floated out of the kitchen holding a red plastic tub full of cooked meat. He was followed by three young women hired for the occasion. Clad in white uniforms, they moved swiftly, like a well-trained unit, smiling broadly and carrying a red tub each. Huang Biao placed his tub on the table in front of me, and the three young women did the same for my rivals.

Beef from our plant.

Chunks of fist-sized meat, cooked without recourse to condiments, not even salt.

All flank steaks.

‘How many pounds?’ Lao Lan asked.

‘Five in each tub,’ Huang Biao answered.

‘I have a question,’ Feng Tiehan said, raising his hand like a schoolboy.

‘Go ahead,’ Lao Lan said with a glare.

‘Does each tub hold exactly the same amount? And all the same quality?’

Lao Lan looked to Huang Biao.

‘All from the same cow!’ Huang Biao confirmed. ‘Cooked in the same pot, and exactly five pounds on a scale.’

Feng Tiehan shook his head.

‘Someone must have defrauded you in the past,’ Huang Biao said.

‘Bring out the scale,’ Lao Lan said.

Huang Biao grumbled as he went into the kitchen; then he came out with a small scale and banged it down on the table.

Lao Lan scowled at him. ‘Put each tub on the scale.’

‘You three act like you were tricked in some previous life,’ Huang groused as he weighed the four tubs, one at a time. ‘See—all the same, not an ounce of difference.’

‘Any more questions?’ Lao Lan asked. ‘If not, we can begin.’

‘I have one more,’ Feng said.

‘Where do all these questions come from?’ Lao Lan asked with a little laugh. ‘Well, let's hear it. I want everything on the up and up. And if the rest of you have questions, now's the time to raise them. I don't want any complaints later.’

‘I can see that all four tubs weigh the same, but what about the quality? I suggest we tag them and draw lots to see who gets which one.’

‘Good idea,’ Lao Lan said. ‘Do you have pen and paper in your kit, Doctor? You can be the referee.’

The doctor eagerly took a pen from his kit, removed his prescription book, tore off four sheets, gave each a number—one, two, three, four—and then placed one under each tub. After that he made four lots and laid them upside down on the table.

‘OK, meat warriors,’ Lao Lan said, ‘draw your lots.’

Although I viewed all this with cool detachment, I was beginning to get annoyed with Feng Tiehan. Why fuss so? Why be so picky over a tub of meat? As I seethed silently, Huang Biao and his helpers moved the tubs according to the number of their draws.