down the idol. ‘This prick of a god is damned heavy!’ Pointy Chin complains. ‘Clean up your talk,’ warns one of the others, ‘or—’ ‘Or what!’ asks Pointy Chin. ‘Will the Meat God stuff my mouth full of meat?’ The old man at the back shortens the rope, then gives another shout. The poles are hoisted back onto their shoulders and the four men stand up straight. The idol rises and is carried slowly into the temple, the back of its head barely brushing against the floor. In a flash, I see it nearly bang into the shaved head of the Wise Monk, but fortunately the two men at the front change direction. But then the idol's feet nearly bump into my mouth, and this time the good fortune is mine, as the men at the back change direction. I detect a mixed odour of clay, paint and wood wafting off the men's bodies. Some men and women with torches appear in the doorway, caught up in a discussion of something or other. A few words later I know what they are going on about. This year's Carnivore Festival was supposed to be celebrated along with the Foundation-Stone-Laying Ceremony for a Meat God Temple. The spot across the way, where the festive night market is still abuzz, is where the temple was to be built. But a ranking official who's come to participate in the Carnivore Festival is critical of the twin cities plan for the Meat God Temple. ‘He's much too conservative,’ a boyish woman with bobbed hair complains indignantly. ‘He accuses us of creating gods and fostering superstition. Well, so what? Aren't all gods created by human beings? And who isn't superstitious? I hear he goes to Mt Yuntai to draw tallies, and then gets down on his knees in front of the Buddha statue to kowtow.’ ‘I think that's enough from you,’ says Xiao Qiao, a middle-aged official. ‘The main reason is there wasn't enough in his red envelope,’ she grumbles, ignoring him. ‘I said, that's enough from you, Comrade,’ repeats Xiao Qiao, with a pat on her shoulder, ‘Don't let your mouth get you into trouble. But she carries on, though it's increasingly hard to hear what she's saying. Their torch beams criss-cross inside the temple, the brightest swinging past the Horse Spirit's face the Wise Monk's face my face. Don't they know it's rude to shine a light in someone's eyes? The beams swing past the faces of the four men carrying the Meat God into the temple and finally pool on the face of the idol stretched out on the floor. ‘What's going on here?’ Xiao Qiao demans angrily. ‘Why is the Meat God on the floor? Pick him up, quick!’ The carriers lay down their poles, untie the ropes and take their place round the upper half of the idol's body, where each gets a handhold and then, in unison, they shout: ‘Heave!’ Not until the six-foot Meat God is on its feet do I perceive its immense size and realize that it's been carved out of the trunk of a single tree. I've always known that idols with long histories have been carved out of fine woods like sandalwood, but in times like these, when environmental protection and forest conservation are major concerns, it's almost impossible to find such a stately old sandalwood tree, even deep in the forest. And if you did, it'd be illegal to cut it down. So what was the Meat God carved out of? The stinking new paint on it concealed both the kind of wood it was made out of as well as any chance of the wood's natural odour providing a clue. If Xiao Qiao hadn't asked the workers that very question, I'd have never known what this god, which is so closely tied to me, was made of. ‘Is this sandalwood?’ he asks. ‘Where could we possibly find sandalwood?’ the old man replies with a smirk. ‘Then what is it?’ ‘Willow.’ ‘Did you say willow? Insects love willow trees. Aren't you afraid they'll hollow the thing out in a few years?’ ‘I agree’, the old man replies, willow isn't ideal for carving statues, but trees this big are hard to find, and before the carving began we soaked the wood with insecticide.’ ‘The carving lacks proportion,’ points out a young, bespectacled official, ‘the boy's head is too big.’ ‘It's not a boy,’ the old man corrects him with another smirk, ‘it's a god, and