Meili bursts into tears again. Nannan jumps off the bed, crawls into Meili's arms and starts weeping too. The bamboo hut is shaken about so much that dried mud falls from the walls.

Kongzi goes outside. The last segment of the sun is reflected on the surface of the duck pond. A car moves below the black hills in the distance, leaving a thin trail of light. Through the reeds, he sees Meili's brother returning from the village, and waves to him. They enter the hut together and find Meili lying on the floor like a wounded creature, howling at all the miseries and wrongs inflicted on her, her cries beating through the mud, the swamp and the cold autumn wind.

A few hours later, calm finally descends. The kerosene lamp hanging from the wall lights up the four faces in the hut, leaving everything else in darkness. Meili's brother looks just like her, but his eyebrows arch downwards, giving him a crestfallen air. 'I should leave tomorrow,' he says. 'It wasn't easy getting time off from the mine.' Nannan is lying asleep at the end of the bed. Meili's eyelids are swollen from weeping. She bites into a cob of sweetcorn and chews slowly. When Kongzi turns his face towards the lamp, he looks much older. The tobacco smoke streaming from his mouth makes even the darkness seem sluggish.

'There's a detergent factory downriver, a vinyl factory, a fire r.e.t.a.r.dant foam factory,' Kongzi says to the brother, the reflection of the lamp's flame flickering across his pupils. 'They're all looking for workers. Why not stay here and get a job in one of them? I met a guy the other day who used to be a miner. He told me there was an explosion at his mine last year. The director didn't want news of it to leak out, so he immediately sealed up the mine and refused to let rescue workers winch up the trapped men.'

'Yes, coal mining is treacherous,' Meili says. 'Accidents happen all the time.' Now that she's washed off her make-up, she looks more awake than the two half-inebriated men.

'No, I couldn't live here,' the brother says. 'The smell is too foul. Look at the rashes that have broken out on my skin.' He scratches the red patches on his hands. He's wearing a blue down jacket with a grease-stained collar. His chin and neck are ingrained with coal dust. The conversation dries up. Nannan rolls onto her side, making the hut's bamboo walls creak.

'Dad, I need to wee,' she says, waking up and rubbing her eyes.

'Go and do it by yourself,' Kongzi says.

Meili walks over to her, takes her by the hand and leads her outside. 'Do it by that tree. I'll stand here and watch over you.'

'She wet her bed almost every night while you were away,' Kongzi whispers to Meili. 'The foam mattress stinks of urine.'

Nannan returns, holding up her trousers, and climbs onto Kongzi's lap. 'Go back to bed,' he says impatiently.

'Tell me a "Once upon a time" first. A long one.'

'No, it's too late for that. Go to sleep. If you're good, I'll catch a frog for you in the morning and roast it on the fire.'

'You know I don't eat meat,' Nannan whines, snuggling against his chest. 'Meat is pink. I like pink.'

'Go on, let Mummy put you to bed,' he says.

'No, I don't want Mummy!' Nannan cries. 'Mummy smells bad. I miss my grandma.'

'You were only two and a half when you last saw her. How can you miss her?'

'Grandma gave me peanuts. She had white hair.'

'I thought about you every second I was away, Nannan, but you didn't miss me at all,' Meili says, rubbing her ear, which is still sore from Kongzi's slap.

Nannan wraps her arms around Kongzi's neck and nuzzles her face into his shoulder. 'I like you, Daddy. You're warmer than the sun.' Meili pulls her away, carries her to the bed and tucks a blanket around her. 'I didn't miss you a bit,' Nannan says to her, closing one eye angrily. 'Give me my red-dress doll.'

'What an unlucky year this has been,' Kongzi says, tapping his packet of cigarettes. 'First your grandmother died, and now this week I heard my father's fallen ill . . .'

'I miss home as well,' Meili says. 'I want to go and see my parents. I don't care if the authorities arrest me and bung an IUD inside me.' She remembers glancing out of the window this morning, and seeing grey sunlight fall on a tarpaulin shelter in the middle of an empty field. The desolate scene made her pine for Nuwa Village, her family and her parents' house with the osmanthus tree in the garden.

'The village authorities don't just arrest family planning criminals now,' the brother says, cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth. 'They confiscate their cash, and all the money in their accounts, and put it straight into the pockets of the county officials. There's a farmers' market now, near Nuwa Temple. It attracts many visitors. The authorities have set up an inspection post at the village gates, and everyone who pa.s.ses through has to show their family planning certificate.'

'I'm not afraid of those officers any more,' says Meili. 'It's the custody centres that terrify me. They round up peasants and kick us out of the cities saying we ruin their image. But not everyone in the cities is rich and well dressed.' Her mind suddenly returns to the pregnant woman who was kicked in the fields of the labour camp for daring to speak back to a policeman.

'Well, I saw a notice up in Guai Village today forbidding landlords from renting their property to family planning criminals, so you won't be safe here either for much longer,' says the brother, cupping his mug of rice wine.

'You're right,' says Kongzi. 'And besides, this isn't a healthy place for a family to live. I don't want Meili to give birth to another handicapped child . . .' He turns his eyes to Meili, who stops cracking the sunflower seed between her teeth and looks straight back at him. As soon as she thinks of Waterborn, her body seizes up with rage. She longs to know where Kongzi took her, but hasn't the courage to ask him. She feels guilty for having run away, and can't help seeing her grandmother's death as some divine punishment for her irresponsible behaviour.

'What about that place, Heaven Township, you were talking about?' the brother asks, then spits onto the floor. 'How long would it take you to sail there?'

'Two, three weeks, at least. And G.o.d knows how many inspection posts we'd have to pa.s.s through on the way and how many fines we'd be forced to pay.' Kongzi spits a small bone onto the floor and wipes his mouth.

'Where has Grandmother been buried?' Meili asks her brother, looking up at him just like a mouse that's fallen into an earthen jar.

'Don't ask him,' Kongzi says, rubbing some dirt off the back of his hand. 'He's so furious about what happened, he says he wants to blow up the county crematorium. Nuwa authorities have ruled that all corpses must be cremated. So now, after someone dies, the family has to pay the state crematorium two hundred yuan for a hea.r.s.e, a thousand yuan for the cremation and five hundred yuan for the urn. The authorities want to make as much money as they can from the dead before they allow any funeral to go ahead.'

The brother stares down at his feet. 'Yes, we knew we couldn't afford to get Grandmother cremated, so Dad secretly buried her body in the garden, under the shed where we keep the straw. We tried to keep quiet, so that the neighbours wouldn't hear us, but Mum couldn't stop herself from crying. A neighbour peeked over the wall, saw what we were doing and reported us to the police. All tip-offs are given a hundred-yuan reward now. The next day, officers from the munic.i.p.al court turned up, searched the garden, found the grave and dug out Grandmother's corpse. They couldn't be bothered to take it to the crematorium, so they doused it in petrol and set fire to it, right in front of us. Then to cap it all, they demanded we pay a fine for illegally burying a body. We didn't have enough cash on us, so they confiscated two of our pigs.'

'Those fascists have they no conscience?' Mother cries out, then winces in pain as her tongue brushes against the large ulcer that's formed on the inside of her cheek.

'These days, you have to pay the government nine thousand yuan to be born and two thousand yuan to die,' says Father, taking off his gla.s.ses and rubbing his tired eyes. 'The gates of h.e.l.l aren't somewhere far beneath us. They're right here on earth.'

'After the officers left, we wanted to give Grandmother a proper burial. Her body was so charred and mangled by the fire, we couldn't put a white funeral robe on her, so we just laid it over her charred remains, then wrapped her in a big cloth and buried her under the peach tree.' He wipes his eyes, spits onto the floor again, then grinds the saliva into the ground with his shoe.

'What day did they burn her?' Mother asks.

'Three days after she died. October the 12th. I hadn't returned to the coal mine yet.'

Mother feels her hair stand on end. Three days after my birthday? she mutters to herself. That's the day I set fire to the nightclub, and Grandmother's face appeared before me crying: I'm burning, burning . . . After a long pause, she looks up at her brother and says, 'There's a photograph at home of Grandmother when she was twelve, with a flower in her hair, standing in front of the entrance of Nuwa Temple. Make sure it's put in a safe place . . .'

The brother pours himself some tea and changes the subject. 'The Nuwa County authorities are giving tourism a big push,' he tells Father. 'The reservoir near Kong Village is a pleasure lake now, with three barges, a small pier and a ticket office. Cao Niuniu designed it. He's the son of that guy, Old Cao, who did the mural for you, isn't he? Well, Niuniu's a successful painter now. He has a studio in Beijing's 678 Art District. He even has an American girlfriend. He drove down to Kong Village last year in his expensive jeep, followed by TV crews and packs of journalists. He's bought the hotel you both worked in, and has got a hundred young locals to live there and churn out copies of Western masterpieces: Lunch on the Gra.s.s, The Last Supper or is it The Naked Lunch? I forget the names. So, Kong Village is now a famous artists' colony!' The brother's eyes light up.

'So, is Old Cao still living in his son's apartment in Nuwa County?' Father asks.

'I don't know. But I have some other news from your village. The local police uncovered a secret plot to subvert state power. It was all over the Public Security Evening Post. The ringleader was a guy called Kong Qing. He had some gall, that man. But he's behind bars now, serving an indefinite sentence. He formed a secret cell of three hundred peasants who called themselves the China Fertility Freedom Party. Every member wore a yellow thread around their left arm. They planned to take over the County Family Planning Commission on National Day, and declare a Fertility Freedom Law which would grant the Chinese people the right to decide how many children they have.'

'Oh, Kong Qing?' says Father, glancing nervously at Meili. 'I don't know him very well. He was an artillery soldier, I think. His wife was given a forced abortion before we left, and she never got over it. Who knows, if we hadn't escaped the village when we did, perhaps I too would have started an uprising.'

KEYWORDS: dark road, waste channel, semicircle, river dragon, Heaven Township.

'ARE WE THERE yet?' Meili calls out from the bow. She stands up, takes a deep breath and feels the tart, bitter, sour night air slip down her throat like a foul medicinal brew. Yes, this is just the kind of air that could kill sperm, she thinks to herself. 'So, this must be Heaven Township, where no woman need ever worry about falling pregnant!' she says out loud. Afraid that Kongzi might have heard her, she closes her mouth, then inhales deeply through her nose, expels the air through pursed lips and feels the toxins stream into her blood. With a rush of excitement, she gazes out at the ragged river that is leading them to their new home.

'Careful of that wreck!' she shouts. The crumbling frame of a boat lying half-beached among the reeds on the right looks like the skeleton of some mythical river dragon. Above it stand two dilapidated, roofless houses. Kongzi proceeds cautiously downstream, his hand over his mouth to block out the chemical stench. The river narrows sharply. There are recently built tiled villas on both sides now, interspersed with ancient grey houses. A few tall pine trees stab into the night sky like masts of a ship.

'No, this can't be right,' Kongzi says. 'This isn't a river, it's a waste channel. We must ask for directions before we go any further. I'll try to stop over there.' He turns off the engine, crouches down and shines his torch over the bank.

A girl is squatting in the mud, scrubbing clothes on a stone slab. There's a red plastic bucket beside her. A semicircle of river in front of her has been cleared of floating rubbish.

'Is this Heaven Township?' Kongzi shouts out, his torchlight falling on her yellow rubber gloves. She lifts her face and lowers it again. Her gloved hands continue to dunk the clothes in the dark water and rub them against the stone.

'This must be it,' says Meili. 'Look how peaceful it is almost other-worldly.' She takes the torch from Kongzi, lets the beam wander over the buildings then rest on a whitewashed wall with a blue notice that says: USING THE LATEST TECHNOLOGY, OUR DEVICES MAKE YOUR ENERGY METER TURN BACKWARDS INSTEAD OF FORWARDS.

'Well, I can't moor here, there's too much rubbish in the way,' Kongzi says. He starts the engine again and keeps going, leaning over the side of the boat to check that the hull isn't sc.r.a.ping against the riverbed.

A stone bridge appears ahead, with two boats tethered beside it. At one end of the bridge is a kiosk lit by a naked bulb. Meili sighs with relief. This must be the River of Forgetting, she says to herself, and that is the Bridge of Helplessness. Old Lady Meng is probably waiting beside it with her five-flavoured Broth of Amnesia.

Once they've sailed under the bridge a vast lake spreads out before them. Lights twinkle on buildings reflected around the margins. The water is as tranquil as a womb. As they breathe the sulphurous stench, Meili and Kongzi feel they've been banished from the sky and the earth and have slipped into an underworld city, a peaceful haven where they can safely settle down and put an end to their floating life. Meili's face glows with joy. She coughs into her sleeve and hugs Kongzi's thigh. 'We're in Heaven at last we've found it!' she cries. 'The only place in China where women can never fall pregnant!' As soon as these words come out, she bites her lip, taken aback by her daring.

'Women can't fall pregnant here?' Kongzi says. 'What nonsense! Let's prove that wrong straight away.' He takes his hands off the steering wheel and places them on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The boat turns in circles over the still water. But they don't need to drop anchor now. This isn't a river they have to follow upstream or downstream. They've reached the end: a place where Meili hopes she can rest, gather strength and live in peace.

'Get your hands off me,' she says to Kongzi. 'I want to look at the lake. Can you believe how big it is? You could fit every duck in China onto it, and still have room left over.' She and Kongzi have only had intercourse once since she returned to Guai Village last month. She was so anxious at the time, she couldn't feel a thing, and pushed him off her before he was finished.

'A wife's duty is to produce children,' Kongzi says. 'Let's see if I can plant another seed in your womb.' He presses her onto the deck, causing the boat to dip forward at the bow. 'We'll capsize if you're not careful!' Meili says, breaking free and crawling into the cabin. Kongzi follows her inside and pins her onto the deck again. 'Get off me. You'll wake Nannan! It's past midnight. Stop being so rough.'

'You've been pushing me away for weeks. Come on, let me stroke your feet, your stomach, your soft, cushiony . . .' Outside, the black night and the black lake sway back and forth, extending to invisible heights and depths.

'Be kind to me, Kongzi,' Meili says. She relaxes at last, and feels her body float like peach blossom on water. 'All right, go ahead then. Pour your sperm into me. I'm not afraid any more . . .' She sucks the night air deep into her lungs, and a tear falls from her eyes.

The infant spirit watches Mother drift down the narrow river and arrive at Womb Lake, then sees itself swim up the dark road between her legs towards the lake of her womb. It knows that this is where its final incarnation began. A third gestation, a third birth, a third fate.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Mother sits at the bow crunching deep-fried broad beans and stares at the mult.i.tude of stars and lights shining in the sky and on the lake, inhaling deep breaths of air and spitting out the odd tough sh.e.l.l. The infant spirit watches itself being carried through the cervix by fumes smelling of burnt plastic, then curl up inside a dirty uterine fold and twitch as metallic waste waters seep into its new home, along with an occasional whiff of turnip soup. Mother is not aware of its arrival yet. In her mind, she is saying: my womb is a fishbowl which these chemicals will smash into pieces. Never again will I have to carry a child inside me. I will be free . . . In the distance, near the bridge they pa.s.sed a few hours ago, a heap of old circuit boards and plastic tubing has been set alight. Smoke as black as night billows from the orange flames, making the strips of tarpaulin caught in overhanging branches flap to and fro like dogs locked in combat. The plastic and metal waste shrivels and melts. When it trickles down the banks into the water, red sparks crackle and dance above the dark lake.

KEYWORDS: shady willows, tiger descending the mountain, G.o.d and G.o.ddess, electronic waste, seedlings, plastic granules.

THEIR NEW HOME is across the river from the former residence of a Qing Dynasty scholar. Above its high perimeter walls, they can glimpse ancient trees and yellow-tiled roofs. Kongzi has rented a tiny metal hut on stilts which juts out into a river flowing from the lake. It's sheltered by a willow, has a window from which they can see their boat, and the rent is only thirty yuan a month. Unfortunately, the river itself is as red and rancid as mouldy Oolong tea. After they wash any clothes or vegetables in it, they have to rinse them in tap water.

The river should flow eastwards into the sea, but its pa.s.sage is almost entirely blocked by the electronic waste and household refuse dumped into it daily. Along the banks are shady willows and ancient courtyard houses which a century ago belonged to prosperous merchants. These quadrangle compounds are built in the traditional style locally known as 'tiger descending the mountain', with rear quarters taller than the front quarters. Now damp and crumbling, most of them have been rented out to migrant workers, while the owners have moved to new residential estates far from the filth of the lake. The willow tree beside the metal hut is two hundred years old. At its foot are statues of a local G.o.d and G.o.ddess. Nannan is terrified of them because they have no legs. Last week, villagers came here and ceremoniously slaughtered a pig, then placed it before the statues, along with other offerings of fish, chicken and fruit. Large red scented candles were lit, and as the fragrant smoke coiled up into the willow's branches, the villagers knelt down and prayed for good harvests, happiness, a baby son or success in their children's high school exams.

Meili works in a recycling workshop on the ground floor of a house next to the Qing Dynasty scholar's residence. Every day there are new heaps of transformers for her to dismantle and plastic film to melt. Nannan usually accompanies her, and plays hide-and-seek by herself among the baskets of electric cables and copper wires.

In the morning, after Kongzi drops them off on the opposite bank, he sails to a neighbouring town to fetch clean tap water to sell to Heaven's residents. Although he makes only forty yuan a day which is slightly less than Meili is paid he enjoys being his own boss and sailing through the backwaters at his leisure. When he returns in the afternoon, his boat loaded with barrels of tap water and a pa.s.senger or two he's picked up along the way, he feels happy to be living in Heaven Township, despite its sour, acrid stench.

'So, where are you from, captain?' a migrant worker asks, stepping aboard the boat one morning.

'Hubei Province,' Kongzi replies, starting the engine again and watching a vessel dump a load of televisions and scanners onto the muddy bank upstream. 'We arrived here a few months ago. How about you?'

'Oh, I've been here eight years. See those white villas up there? Our team built them last year in just six months. It's getting harder to find work now, though, what with all the new migrants flooding in.'

Kongzi glances up at the villas that, with their cladding of white tiles, resemble a row of public toilets. They're on a hill high above the lake, near the munic.i.p.al government building. The concrete road running past them leads to a dilapidated Confucian temple where, in the Guomindang era, locals would make offerings to the great sage and his eighteen disciples. Until recently, Heaven was a sleepy, impoverished lakeside town. During the flood season, the lake would inundate the Ming Dynasty theatre close to its sh.o.r.e, and sometimes the whole town as well. In the 1960s, half the population left, many of them setting off on foot, their belongings on shoulder poles, to sc.r.a.pe a living collecting sc.r.a.p in Guangzhou. But ten years ago, after the first British ship docked at the nearby Pearl River port of Foshan and unloaded a mountain of electronic waste, Heaven's economy took off. An entrepreneurial family hauled some of the waste back to their home in Heaven Township, took it apart and sold the sc.r.a.p plastic and metal to a local toy factory. As the mountains of European waste grew in Foshan, other families in the township followed their example, opening workshops on the ground floors of their homes and hiring migrant labourers to help out. Today, the front doors of every house are surrounded not by bales of wheat, but bundles of electric cables, circuit boards and transformers. In just one decade, Heaven has transformed from a quiet backwater into a prosperous, waste-choked town.

'I know I could pick up a job dismantling e-waste, but it's dangerous work,' the man says to Kongzi. 'Extracting lead and silver is the worst. The sulphuric acid you have to use produces fumes that can make men impotent. I much prefer working on a building site.'

'Most of the migrants here seem to be family planning fugitives,' Kongzi says. 'I always see loads of kids scampering outside the factories and workshops.' Despite all he's heard to the contrary, Kongzi is confident that Heaven's pollution won't prevent Meili falling pregnant again.

'Those children are the lucky ones, the survivors. What you don't see are the deformed and handicapped ones that are abandoned by their parents and left to die. I once saw a dead baby with two heads floating in that ca.n.a.l down there.'

'The One Child Policy's responsible for that,' Kongzi says. 'Don't blame the parents they just want to make sure they'll have a healthy child to look after them in their old age. Why else would anyone abandon their own flesh and blood?' Kongzi looks away, conscious that he's trying to justify to himself his own abandonment of Waterborn. 'So, where do you want me to drop you off?' he asks. In his mind, he pictures Heaven's waterways coursing through the human body: the oesophagus to the north, a large stomach in the centre and a long winding colon to the south. He's now sailed through every polluted one of them. They are fed by clear streams that flow from a distant mountain, on whose summit stand an ancient temple, a bathing house and a convalescent home.

'Drop me at Chen's Nurseries,' the man says. 'I'm going there to buy rice seedlings. A county leader is visiting the township next week, and we need to plant rice on the barren fields along the road that he'll be driven down. It's only a temporary job, but they're paying us fifty yuan a day.'

'But rice only grows in paddy fields. How will you irrigate all that dry land?'

'It's only for show, you fool! We'll plant the seedlings in the fields the night before he arrives, and with any luck they'll stay upright until the next morning. He'll be gone by the afternoon.'

'So you've been here eight years? You must have made a fortune by now.' After only three months in Heaven Township, Kongzi and Meili have saved four thousand yuan. Last week, they sent a thousand yuan to both their families. After he and Meili fled Kong Village, his parents and close neighbours were heavily fined. One neighbour was given a double fine, and when she was unable to pay it, her house was demolished. She took to the road, apparently, and is now begging on the streets of Kashgar.

'These days, for a man to be considered wealthy he must have a nice house, a private car and a mistress on the side,' the man says. 'I'm a long way from that. I have made a lot of money, it's true, but I've spent it all in the hair salons.' He laughs broadly, showing his teeth like a monkey.

Kongzi smiles, and presses the accelerator. On the banks above, migrant workers are raking out red, yellow and green plastic granules over square bamboo mats, like farmers raking rice left out to dry in the sun.

'Good idea of yours to start a water-delivery business,' the man says. 'The tap water in Heaven is disgusting. Someone tried digging a well once to see if he could draw clean water, but it came up as red as Oolong tea. I've heard that the groundwater's polluted with toxic chemicals to a depth of ten metres.'

Kongzi proceeds up a river flanked by telegraph poles and empty fields. Casting a backward glance over the boat's gurgling wake, he sees Heaven reflected in the green waters of Womb Lake, shimmering like a city of carved jade that appears more exquisite and unearthly the further it recedes.

KEYWORDS: Tang poem, deep-fried sparrows, feng shui, armpit, petals, clamour of wind.

THE INFANT SPIRIT sees Father perched on a plastic stool, sipping green tea and listening to Nannan chant a Tang poem in her high-pitched voice.

'Terrible!' Father shouts, rolling his eyes in frustration. 'Recite it again, and if you forget one word this time I'll slap your hand!'

'Daddy's so nasty,' Nannan says, turning to Mother.

'You know what they say, Nannan,' Mother replies, '"Hitting means hate, cursing means love."'

Father reaches down to pick some sleep dust from the corner of Nannan's eye, and says: 'All right then, just give me the two last lines.'

'"Who knows how many . . . petals fell?"'

'And the line before that?'

'You only asked for the last two!' Nannan says, stamping her feet.

'But that was one line, not two. Never mind. Just start again from the beginning.' Father is drinking Oolong tea in the Guangdong style. After steeping the leaves briefly in a small earthenware pot, he pours the tea into a thimble-sized porcelain cup and takes tiny sips.

'"Spring Dawn" by Meng Haoran,' Nannan announces, then throws her shoulders back and takes a deep breath. '"Slumbering in spring, I missed the dawn, / Everywhere birds are singing. / Last night in the clamour of wind and rain, / Who knows how many petals fell?"'

'Wonderful!' Mother says, spooning some deep-fried sparrows onto a serving plate. 'Now come and finish your supper.' Meili bought the birds from a stall this evening as the vendor was packing up and selling his produce for half price. When she chopped them up before frying them, she found plastic granules, screws and metal caps inside their stomachs.

The two front stilts of the metal hut are planted in the riverbed, so whenever a boat pa.s.ses everything sways from side to side and bottles topple off the table. The interior of the hut looks quite homely now. Meili has covered the floor with a white plastic mat which she found on the banks and keeps scrupulously clean, and has papered three walls with magazine pages and stuck a poster of Niagara Falls on the fourth. The only unsightly part of the room is by the door, where the food is cooked and the bags are stored. In the light from the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, the brightly coloured plastic objects in the room shine out.

Father takes a swig of beer. Feeling a sparrow bone slip from the corner of his mouth, he quickly spits it onto the floor. Mother picks it up with her chopsticks and puts it on the table. 'Where are your manners?' she says. 'We're not eating in the fields now. To think you were once a respected teacher!'

'Stop putting on airs. You want us to behave like people from the towns? Heaven might look urban, but officially it's still categorised as rural.'

'No, it's a development zone,' Mother replies. 'I've seen foreigners walking down its streets. From now on, you must wear shoes whenever you go out. It's so uncivilised to wander around in bare feet.'

Nannan is staring at the television in the corner, watching three children follow a blue alien onto a flying saucer. 'I wish I could get on it too!' she cries, and points her tongue at the screen.

'I haven't had a period since we arrived in Heaven, Kongzi,' Mother says quietly. 'That's almost four months. But I can't be pregnant. I haven't felt sick at all.'

'Four months? You must be pregnant, then. I told you: if I plant enough seeds, one of them is bound to sprout! This time, make sure you give me a male heir. Ah, the vitality of the Kong bloodline is indestructible! I put it down to the feng shui of the Temple of Confucius in Qufu. Think about it: the sage's tomb is in the centre, his sons' tombs to the left, his grandsons' to the right. Exactly as the saying goes: "Surrounded by offspring on either side, in prosperity your descendants will always abide." No wonder there are now three million Kongs scattered around the world.' Smiling proudly, he waves his chopsticks over the dog-eared astrology books stacked beside him.

'What superst.i.tious nonsense! If the feng shui was so good, how come the temple was destroyed by the Red Guards? Besides, you may be a Kong, but you don't exactly abide in prosperity, do you? Hah! If it turns out that I am pregnant, you wouldn't even be able to find a safe place for the child to be born.'

'What are you talking about? Heaven must be the safest place in the whole country! There are eighty thousand migrant workers living here. The family planning officers wouldn't know where to start.'