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I was having a frisky good time on the swing, my earthbound audience, especially all those sons and grandsons, those little hooligans, were as frenzied as I was. They ooh-ed on my way up and aah-ed on my way back down. “Ooh, there she goes! Aah, here she comes!” My clothes fluttered in the wind, carrying fine drops of rain—damp and cloyingly sweet, like wet cowhide—which filled my heart to overflowing. Sure, my dieh had gotten into a terrible fix, but a married daughter is like water splashed on the ground—it cannot be taken back. You will have to look out for yourself, Dieh, and I will do the same from here on out. I have a kind and simple husband at home, a man who can keep out the wind and the rain for me, and a powerful, affectionate, and entertaining lover outside the home. There is strong drink when I feel like it, meat when I want it, and no one can stop me from crying or laughing or flirting or causing a scene. That is the definition of happiness. It is the happiness that my devout, sutra-chanting, long-suffering niang made possible for me; it is the happiness that fate had in store for me. I thank the heavens for that. I thank the Emperor and Empress for that. I thank His Eminence Magistrate Qian for that. I thank my dull and peculiar husband, Xiaojia, for that. And I thank Magistrate Qian’s supernatural “club” for that. It is a rare treasure seldom found in heaven or on earth; it is the medicine that cures my ills.
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    5
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    A popular adage has it that “When the moon is full, the decline begins; when the river is high, water flows away. When someone is too happy, bad things happen; and when dogs feel good, they fight over shit.” While I was the center of attention on the swing, a mob from Northeast Gaomi Township, armed with shovels, pickaxes, pitchforks, carrying poles, wooden spears, and rakes, and led by my dieh, Sun Bing, was surrounding a railroad shed that housed German rail workers, killing many of the invaders’ lackeys, and taking three German soldiers hostage. After stripping the soldiers naked and tying them to scholar trees, they sprayed their faces with urine. Then they burned the wooden construction signs, dug up the tracks and dumped them into the river, and carried the railroad ties home to build pigsties. They also burned the shed to the ground.
    At the height of my arc, above the public wall, I could see the warren of houses in town; I also saw the cobblestone street in front of the yamen and rows of tiled buildings in my gandieh’s official compound. I saw his four-man palanquin being carried out through the ceremonial gate, led by a black-clad yayi in a red cap who banged a gong to clear the way. He was followed by two rows of yayi dressed the same way, carrying tall poles with banners of his official insignia, sunshades, and fans. Two sword-bearing guards walked directly ahead of the chair, holding the shafts with one hand. The procession behind the chair included the secretaries of the six bureaus and personal servants. Three long and one short clangs of the gong were followed by impressive shouts; the palanquin barriers moved with swift, nimble steps, as if their legs had springs. The chair rose and fell rhythmically, like a boat tossed on ocean swells.
    My gaze carried beyond the town, to the northeast, where the German-built rail line was crawling our way from Qingdao like an elongated insect with a crushed head, trying to squirm forward. A swarm of men on fields bursting with early spring green sprouts waved multicolored banners, heading for the railroad tracks. At the time, I did not know that my dieh was leading the rebellion; if I had, I would not have been so self-indulgent on the swing set. I watched as black smoke billowed from spots along the tracks, like dark trees on the move. Thudding sounds came on the wind.
    My gandieh’s procession drew ever nearer to the city’s South Gate. The sound of the gong grew crisper by the minute, the