Qing Dynasty God of Medicine. An ancient courtyard residence is on fire, and men with long pigtails are rushing about in panic, shouting commands in Beijing accents. Tang’s father comes in and joins them at the table. He doesn’t like mahjong, so spends most of his time with the workers downstairs or tending his plants on the flat roof.
Meili takes little Hong from Jun and studies the dishes she’s brought to the table. The pigs’ trotters braised in bitter gourd and the garlic-fried aubergines look fine, but when she sticks a chopstick into the carp she sees flecks of blood near the bones and wishes she’d given it two more minutes.
‘Thank you, Meili,’ Tang exclaims. ‘What a feast!’ He fell in love with her as soon as he heard her sing at the funeral, and now that she’s working for his family, he’s continually finding excuses to spend time with her or give her a small tip. When Hong has her afternoon naps, he teaches her to type and guides her through the internet, helping her explore her areas of interest. Meili likes to watch clips of fashion shows and pop concerts. The first time she saw a Madonna video, she abandoned her dreams of becoming a singer for good. ‘What a star!’ she sighed, gazing at her cavort around the stage in a golden bodice. Every morning, Tang puts on a surgical face mask and goes jogging around the lake. He told Meili that in England, he used to jog every day in the forest near his university campus. When he gets back, Meili gives him a bowl of fish slice congee, a bread roll or a custard tart. He’s not fussy about what he eats.
Meili appreciates the kindness he shows her, especially when his mother or Jun scold her for not cleaning the bottles properly or for overcooking the rice. On those occasions, Tang will always look up from his computer, ask Meili to pour him another cup of tea, then whisper in her ear that his mother has a mouth as sharp as a knife but a heart as soft as tofu. His words reassure her, but she doesn’t want him to grow too fond of her. She’s afraid of men, and of losing control. But when she hears him sitting at his desk talking to female friends on the phone, she feels sad, and wonders if she’d feel the same if she heard Kongzi speak to other women in a similar tone.
After clearing away the dinner and washing the dishes, Meili goes to the second floor to say goodbye to Tang. He points at his computer screen and says, ‘Look, this student has written an article about pollution in Heaven Township: “Using 19th-Century Techniques to Dismantle 21st-Century Waste”. See here, it says: “Migrants toil like bedraggled alchemists in family workshops, washing circuit boards in sulphuric acid to salvage tiny granules of gold.” And look at this picture: “Female workers strip plastic casings from electric cables with their bare hands, their only tools a fold-up table and a rusty nail . . .”’
‘That woman there . . .’ Meili gasps, ‘it’s me!’
‘My God, you’re right! I recognise that flowery shirt. Let me enlarge the photo. Yes, no question about it. It’s you!’
‘My face is filthy. How embarrassing! Close it at once!’ Meili puts her hands over the screen. ‘Must have been that student from Guangzhou University who came to our workshop last year. He walked straight in, squatted down beside me and started snapping away without asking my permission.’
‘I’m going to download the photo. How amazing! My little village songstress has entered the world wide web . . . Look at this article I found on a British website. It says: “The Emma Maersk, the largest container ship in the world, sailed from China to the United Kingdom to deliver 45,000 tonnes of Chinese-manufactured Christmas toys, then returned to southern China a few weeks later loaded with UK electronic waste . . . Heaven Township is now the largest e-waste dump in the world. As much as 70% of the world’s toxic e-waste is shipped to this area of southern China, where it is processed in makeshift workshops by migrant labourers who are paid just $1.50 a day . . .”’
‘Will everyone in the world be able to see that photograph of me?’
‘Yes, once it’s online it can’t be removed. This is the age of the internet.’
‘So, if I sang on the computer, the whole world would