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the empty bed opposite. It happens that he wants to chat. “How long have you been here?”
    “Ten or so days.” He sits up and lights himself a cigarette.
    “Here buying stock?” you ask, taking a guess.
    “I’m here for timber.”
    “Is it easy getting timber here?”
    “Have you got a quota?” he asks instead, starting to become interested.
    “What quota?”
    “A state-plan quota, of course.”
    “No.”
    “Then it’s not easy to get.” He lies down again.
    “Is there a timber shortage even in this forest region?”
    “There’s timber around but prices are different.” He can’t be bothered, he can tell you’re not in the game.
    “Are you waiting for cheaper prices?”
    “Yes,” he responds indifferently, taking up his book again to read.
    “You stock buyers really get to know about a lot of things.” You have to flatter him so that you can ask him some questions.
    “Not really.” He becomes modest.
    “The place Lingshan, do you know how to get there?”
    He doesn’t reply so you can only say you’ve come to do some sightseeing and is there anywhere worth seeing.
    “There’s a pavilion by the river. If you sit there you’ll get a good view of the other side of the river.”
    “Enjoy your rest!” you say for want of something to say.
    You leave your bags, find the attendant to register and set off. The wharf is at the end of the highway. The steps, made of long slabs of rock, go down steeply for more than ten metres and moored there are several black canopy boats with their bamboo poles up. The river isn’t wide but the riverbed is, clearly it’s not the rainy season. There is a boat on the opposite bank and people are getting on and getting off. The people on the stone steps are all waiting for it to come across.
    Up from the wharf, on the embankment, there is a pavilion with upturned eaves and curling corners. The outside is lined with empty baskets and resting inside are farmers from the other side who were here for the market and have sold all of their goods. They are talking loudly and it sounds like the language used in the short stories of the Song Dynasty. The pavilion has been painted recently and under the eaves the dragon and phoenix design has been repainted and the two principal columns at the front are inscribed with the couplet:
     
    Sitting at rest know not to discuss the shortcomings of other people
    Setting out on a journey fully appreciate the beauty of the dragon river
    You go around to look at the two columns at the back. These words are written there:
     
    On departing do not forget to heed the duckweed waters
    Turn back to gaze in wonder at Lingshan amongst the phoenixes
     
    You’re intrigued. The boat is probably about to arrive as the people resting and cooling off have got up and are rushing to shoulder their carrying poles. Only an old man is left sitting in the pavilion.
    “Venerable elder, may I ask if these couplets . . .”
    “Are you asking about the couplets on the principal columns?” the old man corrects me.
    “Yes, venerable master, might I ask who wrote the couplets on the principal columns?” you say with added reverence.
    “The scholar Mr Chen Xianning!” His mouth opens wide, revealing sparse black teeth, as he enunciates each of the words with great precision.
    “I don’t know of him.” You’d best be frank about your ignorance. “At which university does this gentleman teach?”
    “People like you wouldn’t know, of course. He lived more than a thousand years ago.” The old man is contemptuous.
    “Please don’t make fun of me, venerable elder,” you say, trying to stop him ridiculing you.
    “You don’t need glasses, can’t you see?” he says pointing up to the beam at the top of the columns.
    You look up and see on the beam which hasn’t been repainted, these words written in vermilion:
     
    Erected during the Great Song Dynasty in the first month of spring in the tenth year of the Shaoxing reign period and repaired