Spring should have been full of the odor of spring, of flowers and grass. There should have been blue, shallow scents wafting over the town, deep green odors that assaulted the nostrils like wine in a dark alley. But what the people of Wujiapo noticed under the setting sun was the stench of blood. Dripping red and drifting down from the ridge, one purplish-brown wave after another, like autumn persimmons in the midst of a green spring forest. What in the world is that? someone shouted. People carrying their dinner to the canteen stopped with their rice bowls held mid-air, lifted their heads and sniffed.

Butcher Li’s family slaughtered another pig, someone observed.

After a moment of silence, everyone went back to their food and drink. The next day was the end of March, it was market day – naturally the butcher’s family would slaughter a pig. But usually Butcher Li woke up early to slaughter his animals, so the meat was still fresh when he arrived in town. Why, then, was he slaughtering at dusk? And why was the stench so much more pungent than usual? The villagers didn’t give the matter much thought. Spring had come, the wheat had woken from winter with a surge of growth, the grass was thick. The fields needed to be hoed and fertilized, and, for those who had access to water, irrigated. Everyone was scurrying around like ants. No one had time to waste thinking about anyone else.

Butcher Li lived up on the ridge by an intersection. When he gave up farming for commerce, it turned out to be fortunate that he lived near the road. He was now in the slaughter business, but still needed a way to transport his goods to market. It was also convenient when families in nearby villages were planning weddings or funerals and wanted to bring him a pig to slaughter. He had built himself a two-story tile-roofed house surrounded by a brick courtyard. The family used the first floor to slaughter pigs, and to sell sundries, food and drink. They lived on the second floor, which also had two small guest rooms. When someone passing by happened to be tired, they might stop and have a bite to eat or drink. If they became tipsy they would proceed upstairs. By the time the sun came up they’d have sobered up, and would drowsily pay their bill and head off.

Even though these small rooms only had a bed and a desk in them, a fifteen-watt bulb and half a candle for when the electricity went out, it turned out that even the County Party Committee’s Party Secretary had slept in one of them. Someone claimed this was only because the Party Secretary’s car had broken down, and that he’d had no choice. You’re farting out of your mouth, Butcher Li retorted. Could anyone really believe that the Party Secretary’s driver would let his car break down? The real reason Party Secretary Zhao stayed, Butcher Li insisted, was because he wanted to visit an ordinary citizen’s house – to see how they were getting by, and to have a chat with a man like Butcher Li.

The Party Secretary did in fact stay at Butcher Li’s for a night, in the east-side guest room. After this, Butcher Li’s business thrived. The table, bed, bedding, slippers, and face-washing basin were carefully cleaned and preserved exactly as they had been left by Party Secretary Zhao. As a result, the room’s price increased 50 percent, from ten to fifteen yuan a night. Everyone wanted to stay in that room. Even long-haul drivers would keep their foot on the gas, determined to spend a night where the Party Secretary had slept.

Just as fine wine cannot be watered down, so Butcher Li’s house still stank of meat. The people of Wujiapo all knew this to be true. And now whenever something extraordinary happened to Butcher Li’s family, the villagers were not surprised. If the county’s Party Secretary had slept in the house, anything could happen there. When, as market day approached, Butcher Li slaughtered a pig in the evening instead of before dawn, filling the spring evening with the stench of blood, no one thought it unusual. After slaughtering and butchering the pig, Butcher Li took two slabs of pork, rinsed them and covered them in plastic wrap. That way no one would be able to tell that it wasn’t fresh pork when the meat was taken to market.

Everyone was still idly eating and chatting in the village canteen. After emptying their bowls, some went home for more rice. Others didn’t want to go home, and tried to send children on their behalf. The children had just emerged from the houses with their own bowls, and didn’t want to turn around to fetch more rice. The parents complained that their children lacked filial instinct, saying that even after they had gone to the trouble of raising them, they were too lazy to return home to get them rice. The parents said that if they had known their children would turn out this way they would never have had them in the first place. The children were aggrieved. They had never actually said they wouldn’t go, and were being yelled at just for hesitating. Who asked you to give birth to me? they said. The parents were stunned, then grabbed the shoes they were sitting on and started hurling them, filling the canteen with dust. The other patrons quickly covered up their bowls to prevent their rice from getting dirty. Through the commotion came a shout. What is everyone arguing about? Is it wrong for parents to ask their children to go home to fetch them rice?

The canteen fell silent. The children realized that they were
at fault.

As the villagers drank, they gazed at the road leading to the ridge and saw Butcher Li descending into the village.

Liu Genbao left the canteen feeling uneasy, like he was leaving the freedom of the open fields for an examination. When he got home, his father had already finished eating and was smoking in the courtyard, his cigarette flickering in the twilight. Genbao’s mother was in the kitchen washing up. The clanking sound of pots and dishes was drowned out by the sound of running water.

Genbao stepped into the kitchen, took a rice bowl still half full of rice, and pushed it to the edge of the kitchen table. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead he just gazed at his mother, then bowed his head and walked outside.

He squatted down in front of his father.

What’s wrong? his father asked.

Nothing.

If something’s wrong, just say it.

Father, Genbao said, I want to go to jail.

His father looked at him in astonishment. Through the glow of the cigarette Genbao watched the old man’s face lose its soft, multi-hued expression and become like hard stone. The father removed his cigarette from his mouth and stared at his son as though he were a total stranger asking for directions.

Genbao, what are you saying?

Because it was getting dark, Genbao couldn’t see the surprise in his father’s eyes. What he saw was a mass of darkness. He removed one of his shoes and sat down in front of his father. He sat quietly with his arms on his knees and his hands interlocked, the way you might sit while peeling beans.

Genbao, his father said, what were you saying just now?

Father, I need to discuss this with you. If you and Mother agree, I want to spend a few nights in jail on someone’s behalf.

Damn it, boy, are you crazy?

Father, Genbao bowed his head, I’m trying to discuss this properly with you.

There was a pause. Then his father asked, On whose behalf do you want to do this?

On behalf of the mayor.

His father laughed. And why would the mayor need you to do this?

Just now, in the canteen, Butcher Li said that the mayor ran over a young man in his twenties, someone from Zhangzhai village. Butcher Li said that someone needs to take responsibility for the mayor’s actions. The mayor is the mayor. Who can make him take responsibility for anything? So someone else needs to go to the county’s transportation division and claim responsibility. They need to say, I’m the one who ran that person over – I had too much to drink at Butcher Li’s, and then I ran over the young man in my tractor. We won’t need to worry about what happens afterwards, because the mayor has already taken care of everything. Butcher Li said that the family of the man from Zhangzhai has already been given money. But whoever claims responsibility for the accident will need to go to the Public Security Bureau’s squad room and stay there for a week or two.

The moon had risen in the sky. Wujiapo was so quiet it was like there was no village there at all. Genbao’s mother seemed to have heard everything he’d said. She didn’t immediately respond, and instead she brought a small flower basket and a stool outside. She placed the stool between her husband and her son, then placed the basket on the stool. She sat down in front of the flowers and looked at her son and her husband. She sighed, and joined the silence that was extending between them.