but fine to me.
Chen was amazed. It was another boat song by the same Tang dynasty poet, and the second stanza contained a clever pun that was both about and not about the weather.
In the distance, there were a couple of rowboats, some sharp-nosed, some blunt. One of them seemed to be checking nets in the waves, just the way it was done in the Tang era. However, factories also loomed along the lakeshore, with their smokestacks pouring out smoke against the brownish hills. Not far away, several water birds were seen scavenging among washed-up dead fish.
“One more,” Shanshan said to the sampan driver.
The Qing River meanders
against myriads of willow shoots.
The scene remains unchanged
as two decades ago …
The same old wooden bridge,
where I parted with her,
brings no news, alas,
for today.
The last song astonished Chen with its abrupt sad ending. He looked up to see the willows lined along a curving stretch of the bank, just as in the poem.
Where would he be in two decades? Would he remember this day in the boat? he wondered.
“We also provide a special boat meal,” the sampan man said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his hand. “Fish and shrimp, all fresh and live, straight out of the water. I’ll throw in the net right now, if you like.”
“That would be interesting,” Chen said. He had read about boat meals-where a fresh catch was prepared there and then, cooked on a tiny stove, and served in the cabin.
But then he caught a glance from Shanshan. She didn’t say anything, perhaps reluctant to be a wet blanket again, but he knew her reservations about the contaminated lake. There was no point discussing it, however, in the presence of the sampan driver.
“Well, we’re not that hungry,” he said. “Not now, thank you.”
“Thank you,” she echoed.
“That’s fine. You have my boat for the whole day. No rush on the meal,” the sampan man said in good spirits, stealing another look at her. “Now, I happen to know a boat meal story.”
“Yes, tell us the story,” she said.
“This story is the supposed origin of the well-known dish called Emperor Qianlong’s Live Carp. This specialty is available in some fancy restaurants, served on a willow-patterned platter with the carp’s eyes still turning.”
“Really!” Chen said, also intrigued.
“According to the story, Emperor Qianlong, of the Qing dynasty, was exceptionally fond of traveling incognito. During a trip south of the river, disguised as a merchant, he was caught in a storm at night. When he finally boarded a sampan, he was cold and hungry as a drenched wolf. Now sheltered, he paid some silver for a meal. The boat girl was young and capable, dressed in a blue homespun tunic and shorts, bare-legged and barefoot, all alone in the sampan. She pulled out an urn of Maiden Red-”
“That’s the name of some Shaoxin rice wine, right?” Shanshan inquired, now in higher spirits too.
“Yes, it’s traditional for people to bury an urn of rice wine underground when a daughter is born. It would then be unearthed on important occasions years later-for instance, when she gets married. Anyway, back to the story. That urn of Maiden Red must have been stored for years. It tasted so mellow that he drained several cups without taking a break. Soon he was beginning to forget he was an emperor. The boat girl took pity on him, still looking as wet as a chicken drowning in a pond. She fried for him a live carp she’d just caught from the river. The fish turned out to be too large for the small wok in the boat, so she had to fry it with its head and tail sticking out of the sizzling oil. She served the fish hot and fresh on a willow-pattern platter. The fish tasted extraordinarily fresh and tender, with its eyes still goggling once or twice in the dark-”
“Yes, I’ve heard of this dish,” Chen said. “I’ve had it at a Beijing restaurant, but never heard the story about it.”
“Oh, the story is not finished yet. Now comes the climax.” The sampan man paused dramatically. “Qianlong must have had too many cups of rice wine. Raising his chopsticks, he swayed and attacked the fish savagely, but of all a sudden he saw the fish turn into the girl, who was writhing, bleeding and thrashing under him as he fell to sucking her small toe as if it was a dainty ball of carp cheek’s meat … Afterward, it became a special palace dish.”
“What a bizarre story about a fantastic special dish,” Shanshan said. Turning to Chen, she added unexpectedly, “A connoisseur like you should not miss an experience like a boat meal. Go ahead and order whatever you’d like. But after such a story, no fish for me.”
“Don’t bother fishing for anything from the lake,” Chen said to the boatman. “A simple boat meal will do.”
“Yes sir, a simple boat meal,” he said. The sampan man must have caught their earlier hesitation, for he continued, “but I have something special today-white shrimp.”
“One of the three special whites of the lake?”
“No, I didn’t catch the white shrimp here. I got it from Ningbo, and it’s still quite fresh. I live on the lake, so I know better.”
If anything, it confirmed Shanshan’s statements about the toxic lake food. “Well?” Chen said, looking up at her.
“Most locals would indeed know better,” she whispered, leaning over the table. “He is probably telling the truth.”
It turned out to be a boat meal different from any he had read about or imagined. It was simple, sure enough. A hot pot over a small burner of liquid gas, with frozen tofu, cabbage, and sliced beef, in addition to the white shrimp. The sampan driver pulled it all out of a cooler. They put the food into the boiling water, dipped it in the special sauce, and then enjoyed it.
It was a unique experience, with the hot pot sizzling between them, their chopsticks crossing each other in the cramped space. The white shrimp, almost transparent in the hot pot, tasted surprisingly fresh. Shanshan didn’t eat much, though, touching only tofu and cabbage. She picked up a shrimp by mistake, but she peeled it with her slender fingers and put it onto his saucer, seemingly apologetic for her fastidiousness.
Perhaps she was not ideal company for a gourmet like him, he thought, amused at himself. But what’s the big deal? It was good for a change. After all, he would only be here for a week.
Around them, a thin mist seemed to be congealing, and the air grew slightly damp. It was probably going to rain.
He made an effort to bring the conversation around to a topic not appropriate for a tourist. “I went to Uncle Wang’s place yesterday. Don’t worry. I remembered what you told me, so I didn’t order any lake fish there.”
“I know. Uncle Wang told me that you made phone calls for me.”
“Don’t mention it. I was worried about you, so I tried to find out what was going on.”
“I really appreciate it, Chen. But for a tourist, you’re very resourceful.”
“I’m nobody, Shanshan. I know nothing about police procedure, but I do know that it’s wrong to treat you like that. Like the old proverb says, if one sees something not right, one must draw out his sword to intervene,” he improvised, casting himself in an archetypal role from classical Chinese literature. He added, with a self-deprecating shrug, “Alas, I have no sword in my hand.”
“Well, it’s getting warm here,” she said, her eyes alert, her brows lightly arched. “Shall we move to the bow?”
Chen became aware of the boatman standing out on the stern, capable of overhearing their conversation.
“Good idea.”
They climbed out to the bow, where they enjoyed a better view of the lake and the hills in the distance. With no chair or bench there, they had to seat themselves on the deck, which, though a little wet, bothered neither of them.
She sat cross-legged in a lotus position, but soon shifted. Leaning back against the outside post of the cabin, she stretched out her long legs and slipped off her shoes. She tilted her face to the light and blossomed into a smile. The wind was ruffling her shoulder-length hair, as though adding to the temptation.