out on money.’ Grabbing his elbow, I tried to claw my way up his body and rip that shameful money out of his hand. But I didn't stand a chance, not with a full-grown man. I was so angry then that I rammed my head into his hip, over and over, but he just patted me kindly on the head and said: ‘That's enough now, son, don't get carried away. Look, over there, Lao Lan's bull. It's getting angry.’
It was a big, fat, tawny Luxi bull with straight horns and a hide like satin stretched over its rippling muscles, the kind I'd see later on athletes on TV. It was a golden yellow, all but its face, which, surprisingly, was white. I'd never seen a white-faced bull. Castrated, the way it looked at you out of the corner of one of its red eyes was enough to make your hair stand on end. Now that I think back, that's probably the look people describe when they talk about eunuchs. Castration changes a man's nature; it does the same with bulls. By pointing to the bull, Father made me forget about the money, at least for the moment. I turned in time to see Lao Lan swagger out of the square, leading his bull. Why not swagger, after the way he'd humiliated my non-resisting father? His prestige in the village and among the cattle-peddlers had just undergone a dramatic increase. He'd gone up against the only person who dismissed him as irrelevant, and won; no one in the village would defy him again. That only makes what happened next so startling that I'm not sure I believe it even now, years later. The Luxi bull stopped in its tracks. Lao Lan tugged its halter. To no avail. Without the slightest effort, the bull made a mockery out of Lao Lan's show of strength. A cattle butcher by trade, he exuded an odour that could make a timid calf shake like a leaf and cause even the most stubborn animal to meekly await its death when he stood in front of it, butcher knife in hand. Unable to get the bull moving again, he went round, smacked it on the rump and gave an ear-piercing yell. Now, most animals would have lost control of their bowels in the wake of this smack and that yell, but the Luxi bull didn't so much as blink. Still enjoying the glow of victory over my father, and acting like a cocky soldier, Lao Lan kicked the bull's underbelly with no thought to its nature. The bull shifted its rump, split the air with a loud roar, lowered its head and flung Lao Lan into the air on its horns, as if he weighed no more than a straw mat. The peddlers and butchers were shocked, shocked and speechless. None of them dared to go to Lao Lan's aid. The bull lowered its head again and charged. Now, Lao Lan was no ordinary man, and when he saw those horns coming at him he had enough presence of mind and strength of body to roll out of the way. Eyes blazing red with anger, the bull turned to charge again, and Lao Lan rolled out of the way a second time and then a third…When he was finally able to scramble to his feet, we saw that he was injured, though only slightly. He stood there, facing down the bull, hips shifted to the side and his eyes not leaving the the animal for a second. The bull lowered its head, slobber gathering at the corners of its mouth, and snorted loudly as it prepared for the next charge. Lao Lan raised his hand to distract the bull but he was only putting up a brave front, like a frightened bullfighter who'll do anything to save face. He took a cautious step forward; the bull didn't move. Rather, it dropped its head even lower, a sign that the next charge was imminent. Lao Lan finally abandoned his macho posturing, gave one last blustery yell, turned and ran for his life. The bull took off after him, its tail sticking out stiff and straight, like an iron rod, its hooves spraying mud in every direction like a machine gun. Meanwhile, Lao Lan, who was hell-bent on escaping, headed instinctively towards the onlookers, hoping to find salvation in a crowd. But rescuing him was the last thing on their minds. The men ran for their lives, shrieking loudly