“There’s nothing left – well, nothing but the cup for me. It never gives you up. When you are smashed, you dance with your own shadow, so loyal to you, so sweet, so patient, and never stepping on your toes. Life is short, like a drop of dew in the early morning. The black ravens are already circling, nearer and nearer, above your head. So cheers, I raise my cup.

“Since it’s your first time here, it’s for me to treat,” Gang said, taking a large gulp of the beer as Chen pushed his cup to him. “I have a mind to lead you down to the road of the world.”

Chen wondered at the prospect of Gang leading a cop down that road. Gang reached into his pants pocket. He came up with only a couple of pennies. He fumbled again. Still, the same pennies sat on the table. “I’m damned. This morning I changed my pants and left my wallet at home. Loan me ten yuan, young man. I’ll return it to you tomorrow.”

It was a trick, obviously, but Chen took a perverse delight in his company that evening and handed over two ten yuan bills.

“Auntie Yao, a bottle of Yang River Liquor, a dish of pork cheek meat, and a dozen chicken feet in hot sauce,” Gang shouted toward the kitchen, waving his hand like the Red Guard Commander he had once been.

Auntie Yao – the middle-aged waitress – emerged from the kitchen, taking Gang’s order and money as she examined him closely.

“You dirty rascal! Up to your old tricks again?”

There was a roar of laughter in the eatery, like in a sitcom, when she started dragging Gang forcibly back to his own table, grasping his collar, the way a hawk does with a chicken.

“Don’t listen to him.” She came back to Chen. “He plays the same dirty trick on every new customer here, telling the same story over and again, so that they take pity and give him money for booze. What’s worse, one of the young customers fell under his curse, turning into a damned drunkard just like him.”