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.
A breeze from the north swept across my face and cooled the alcohol's heat just below the skin. Were my parents enjoying the same sensation? I didn't know then; I'd know later. I'd know that my mother belonged to a type of drinker known as hot-and-dry. In the winter she'd drink herself into a heavy sweat and then begin to disrobe: off first was her overcoat, followed by her sweater and then her blouse. Then she'd stop. I'd know that my father