Mengliu’s work was impeccable. From a life of leisure he had suddenly become very busy. He ran an efficient operation. In just a short time he solved all the spiritual crises that might arise over the next fifty years. They were stockpiling, their minds steaming forward. They were bending over backwards to advance the spiritual work of Swan Valley. The influence of this attitude was widespread, and a lot of people from different places came to learn from them. Darae was the hospitality and logistics manager. He preferred cooking to sculpting, and he often greeted guests with a display of ‘Darae’s settling of a rabbit’, while privately practising his next feat, ‘the settling of a sparrow’. He was preparing to show off his skill at the annual work report. Mengliu and Darae worked well together. But then a rift occurred, because a group of important officials were coming to do an inspection. Mengliu panicked, and ordered a vigorous city-wide urban sanitation, whitewashing, road repairs, planting of trees and flowers, and the preparation of Darae’s specialities for a hospitality banquet.
‘What is a specialty? What’s a banquet?’ Darae was already against lavishness, and he could not quite adapt to Mengliu’s changes.
‘A specialty is something different from the norm,’ Mengliu said solemnly, stroking the embroidery on his robes with his fingertips. ‘In my opinion, we should kill a lion, and prepare bear claws, tigers’ testes and penises, sharks, whale meat…’
Darae exclaimed loudly that the Swanese never ate such things. Mengliu said they should serve everything fresh. He wanted someone to be sent to the woods immediately to find hunters, and then to the wharves to look for fishermen, to tell them what to deliver. Darae said that no one in Swan Valley hunted or fished. Mengliu broke into laughter. ‘Can any place be without hunters and fishermen? Darae, in order to be an excellent chef, in addition to your rabbit you must know how to cook a variety of rare and valuable animals. A chef must possess the skills to cook anything in the world. He should even be able to make timber taste like pork fat. Of course that’s just an illustration, but you do know what I mean?’
‘Mr Yuan, this is your wish, but people cannot eat just anything,’ Darae replied. ‘I know you’re trying to manipulate the laws put in place to prohibit the killing of animals in order to satisfy the extravagant tastes of the rich and powerful. That is a performance that has no boundaries or beliefs.’ Darae would not pander to the dignitaries. He believed that as long as a person was sincere what they ate was secondary. He had recently gone to painstaking efforts to learn a few new dishes, different from those he had cooked in the past, and he would put these on display. Darae’s suggestion allowed Mengliu to back down gracefully, so he relented. He asked him to list the names of the dishes. Darae explained in detail how each was cooked, the nutritional value, the colour and taste. He went at full throttle for a long time, and didn’t seem to be talking about recipes, but about the gospel of good health. He put his ideas into the preparation of his dishes, hoping that the diners would feel that they were not just eating food, but culture.
‘Of course, if dinner included poetry slams and readings, then the characteristics of the feast and the flavour of the food would really emerge.’ Darae was adamant in his ideas. ‘Mr Yuan, you are a poet, a cultural official. If you don’t object…’
Mengliu didn’t say anything. Afterwards Darae really did as he said he would, so Mengliu claimed he was unwell and went home. He could hear the rhythm of the recitations, like the solemn rich beat of a watchman’s drum, filling the space around him.
The following week this outstanding model of ‘the meeting’ was promoted all over Swan Valley. Mengliu was elevated from Head of a Hundred Households to Head of a Thousand Households. He was given a new robe. Its collar and cuffs were still covered with a bird motif, but this time it was a phoenix with gorgeous feathers in a noble pose. Mengliu couldn’t differentiate between dream and reality anymore, as if he were starring in a drama. After frolicking about in his robe, he went to Su Juli’s house and found her inside drinking tea with Esteban. Although they congratulated him, they seemed somewhat indifferent to his success. He sat for a while, but felt bored and could not find anything to say.
When he returned home, Rania’s expression pleased him. She was obedient and thoughtful, and meticulous in her attentions. They even began to chat calmly about life. When Rania suddenly put her hand to her mouth and rushed into the bathroom, her face flushed, he knew immediately that she was pregnant.
‘The government’s aim is accurate.’ He followed her and, standing outside the bathroom door, took a nonchalant stance.
She stopped retching. ‘What aim?’
‘Hey, it’s highly efficient. There’s no excitement, no frustration, no prelude, and no climax. Everything is cultivated successfully according to the will of Swan Valley.’ Mengliu leant against the door frame, smiled cheekily, and said, ‘But having a child without putting effort into the creative process is really shameful. You see, Swan Valley has played me for a fool.’
More retching sounds came from Rania and she flushed Mengliu’s words down with the fresh vomit. When she had finished, he had to accompany her to the hospital for a checkup, filling in forms and waiting for the government’s birth permit. Rania stuffed her mouth with cranberries and started reading Rousseau’s Emile. She chatted about the child’s name and education. As soon as she placed her hand on her abdomen, Mengliu became red-faced and breathless, as if she were clenching his heart.
At night he grew inexplicably anxious. He was unable to concentrate on a single thought without the pockets of blankness appearing in his mind. He walked on the darkened streets. The moonlight flowed around him, and where the bushes grew he could hear rustling sounds. Experience told him that a couple must be involved in illicit sexual relations, secretly enjoying the freedom of sex as they did the freedom of the moonlight. The moistened bushes were dishevelled, and the trees stout and carnal, creating an indulgent atmosphere.
The moon painted the streets and houses in a poetic mist, but one which was also rational and calm. Getting a taste for this impersonal kind of romance, he found himself close to a demonic blue light that rotated and flickered. He chased after it, and the beam of light seemed to play a game with him, stubbornly keeping at a certain distance. Without realising it, he had walked into the forest, and the blue light rotated three times in quick succession and charged at his face. His head exploded into a white cloud, and he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was seated in a Chinese official’s chair, surrounded by the familiar machine room. He immediately stood up and shouted, ‘Hey! Listen to me. I’m just an ordinary guy, not one of those big brains with superior intelligence. I’m the kind of scum who’d take the taxpayer’s money and do shoddy work. You should be out looking for the high-level people. They have a sense of justice, conscience, ideals, patriotism. They are so heated up with enthusiasm their blood burns. Frankly, their excellent genes are much more suitable for your plans. I can give you a list. Men, women, fat, thin, educated, politically motivated — I know them all. I can take you to Dayang. I know every building on every street. The people there trust the state, they trust ideals, and they trust other people. I think it is safe to say they could quite easily be taken away.’