One night, soon after the United Meatpacking Plant began operations, Father, Mother, Lao Lan, Jiaojiao and I were sitting round our table, steaming platters of meat glowing beneath the electric lights. There was a bottle and several glasses filled with wine as red as fresh cow's blood. The adults were drinking more than they were eating, unlike my sister and me. Truth be known, the two of us had a respectable capacity for liquor but Mother wouldn't let us drink. At some point, Jiaojiao began to snore; I was quite sleepy myself, which was usual after a big, meaty meal. After putting Jiaojiao to bed, Mother said: ‘You get some sleep too, Xiaotong.’
‘No. I want to talk to you about school.’
‘Boss Lan,’ Mother said, ‘the boy doesn't want to go to school. He wants to work at the plant.’
‘Is that so?’ His eyes narrowed into a smile. ‘Why?’
Snapping awake, I began to explain: ‘Because the things they teach in school are useless and because I have feelings for meat. I can hear it talk.’
Surprised at my unexpected response, Lao Lan burst out laughing. ‘You're a true wonder. I'd better not offend you because, who knows, you might really have extraordinary powers. But you still need schooling.’
‘I'm not going,’ I said. ‘Forcing me to attend school is a waste of my life. I sneak into the plant through the sewer ditch every day, and I've discovered lots of problems. If you let me work there, I can help you solve them for you.’
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ Father said, impatiently. ‘Go to bed. We have things to discuss.’
I could have carried on, but the look on Father's face stopped me. ‘Xiaotong!’ he roared.
So I went into the bedroom, grumbling to myself, and sat in a mahogany chair we'd just bought, intent on watching and listening to the adults in the other room.
Lao Lan swirled the wine in his tall-stemmed glass. ‘Lao Luo, Yuzhen,’ he said unemotionally, ‘what's your view? Will we make or lose money?’
‘If the price of meat doesn't rise, then we're bound to lose,’ Mother said, clearly worried. ‘They won't give us a higher price just because we don't inject water into our meat.’
‘That's why I want to talk to you,’ Lao Lan said as he sipped his wine. ‘Over the past few days, Huang Biao and I have visited meatpacking plants in several nearby counties, pretending to be meat-sellers. We discovered that they all inject their meat products with water.’
‘But we broadcast our assurance in front of those dignitaries,’ Father said softly. ‘That was only a few days ago. Our words are probably still ringing in their ears.’
‘My friend, our hands are tied. The way things are these days, even though we're unwilling to inject our meat with water, others aren't. So soon we'll not only lose money but also be out of business.’
‘Can't we think of something?’ Father asked.
‘Like what? What are our options? There's nothing I want more than to do business the way it ought to be done. If you can figure out a way of staying in business without injecting water, I'm all for it.’
‘We can report them to the authorities,’ Father said weakly.
‘Is that what you call a good idea? The authorities know exactly what's going on but there's nothing they can do about it,’ he said coldly.
‘Crabs go where the currents take them,’ Mother said. ‘If others inject water and we don't, the only thing that proves is how stupid we are.’
‘We can try another line of work,’ Father offered. ‘Who says we have to be butchers?’
‘That's all we know,’ Lan said with a caustic laugh. ‘It's what we're good at. Your ability to evaluate beef on the hoof, for instance, is part of the butcher system.’
‘What good am I anyway?’ Father said. ‘I have no talents.’
‘None of us have any talents, except this,’ Lan said. ‘But we've got an edge, and if we inject our meat with water then we'll do a better job of it than the rest.’
‘You have to do it, Luo Tong,’ Mother said. ‘We can't operate at a loss.’
‘If that's what you both want to, then go ahead,’ Father said. ‘The key is Lao Han at the Inspection Station—will he give us trouble?’
‘He wouldn't dare,’ Lao Lan said. ‘He's a dog we feed.’
‘When the monkeys attack, the dogs grow fangs,’ Father said.
‘You two do what you have to, and I'll take care of Lao Han. It won't take more than a few rounds of mah-jongg. I'm sure he remembers that his station is a product of the meatpacking plant—it wouldn't exist if not for us.’
‘There's nothing I can say,’ Father conceded, ‘except that I hope we don't inject our meat with formaldehyde.’
‘That goes without saying,’ Lao Lan responded solemnly. ‘It's a matter of conscience. Most of our customers are ordinary citizens, and we have a responsibility to safeguard their health. We'll inject only the purest water. Of course, adding a trace of formaldehyde would pose no danger—it could even protect them against cancer, slow the ageing process, prolong their life. But we've vowed not to add formaldehyde. We have long-range goals. We have moved beyond the independent butcher system. Now that we've come together as a united slaughterhouse, there are limits to what we do, and that includes not experimenting with the people's health.’ Smiling, he continued: ‘Before too long we'll evolve into a major enterprise with an automated production line—a living animal in one end and sausage and canned meats out the other. By then the water issue will be irrelevant.’