1. Sulcata Tortoise

*Very mobile. Needs a lot of space. High dorsal carapace, large symmetrical scales on the top of its head, relatively short skull. Carapace and plastron securely joined by a bone bridge. Four stout, cylindrical legs. Claws, feet not webbed. No smell glands. Lives in hot, arid regions. Herbivorous. Found along the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, Senegal, Niger, Chad, Sudan, and Ethiopia. *

The tortoise was the first animal I saw. When the zoo opened at nine o’clock, Wang Yifan was sitting by the gate, cooking beef chaoshou (dumplings) on the honeycomb coal stove. He made twenty-five, including five for the tortoise, which pushed its head out very slowly, and ripped them apart very slowly. It was very particular: It didn’t eat the skin, only the meat filling, and only if it was beef or lamb, not pork. Wang Yifan said it came from Sudan and was strictly halal. I took out 20 yuan to buy a ticket, but Wang Yifan wouldn’t take it. So I put the money down, got my own ticket, tore it myself, and went through the gate. When I say gate, I mean the two plastic stools that you had to move apart.

The animals are still here, but they’re getting old now. The Asiatic black bear is going bald on top.

I moved one of the plastic stools and sat down to watch the tortoise. It was more than ten years old and must have been at least half a meter long. Its shell was smooth and creamy like jade and shone in the light. Because I polish it every day, said Wang Yifan*. *I laughed: Other people polish walnuts, only you’d polish a tortoise. Wang Yifan laughed as well: The bastard’s like a son to me. When Wang Yifan took the lease on the zoo three years ago, the old boss left him a tiger, a lion, a bear, three ostriches, four kangaroos, a red panda, seven or eight monkeys, and a few little birds. Wang Yifan said he wanted a tortoise. The old boss said: A tortoise? Who goes to a zoo to see a tortoise? What do you want a tortoise for? Wang Yifan said: If there’s a tortoise, the zoo will be here for a long time. To get the contract signed, the old boss got him this tortoise. He said it was the real thing, imported from Sudan. Wang Yifan reckoned that Sudan might be the land of its ancestors, but that was the closest it got. When I asked how he could tell, he said: Intuition. It’s probably a Sichuanese tortoise. Very local.

That was three years ago. The animals are still here, but they’re getting old now. The Asiatic black bear is going bald on top. Wang Yifan tried smearing fresh ginger juice on the bald patch twice, but nothing happened, and all he could do was watch in horror as it got worse. The Siberian tiger broke a tooth gnawing on a bone, wounded its pride and now only eats meat off the bone. The African lion could be any age, but it suffers from rheumatism and moans pitifully when it rains, so much so that Wang Yifan asked me if you could stick medicated plasters on lions. We can’t tell how old the monkeys are either, except they get short of breath halfway up Monkey Mountain, and have to sit down on a rock, and fan themselves with their paws. The only one that hasn’t changed is the tortoise. It’s like the people in Peach Blossom Village who live an idyllic life, oblivious to the passing of dynasties. When it’s time to eat beef chaoshou, the tortoise just sticks out its head and eats.

When Wang Yifan and the tortoise have finished eating, Wang Yifan picks up two pink plastic buckets, and does the breakfast round, taking food to each cage in turn. It’s fine for those that eat grass, as they can eat their fill, but the meat-eaters increasingly have to trust their luck. The number of little birds in the zoo is down by half. One day, I found a golden pheasant’s tail feather in the lion’s cage, which Wang Yifan casually brushed off: Every now and then it needs something to get its teeth into, the little birds are old too, and there aren’t many of them left.

A neon globe was spinning happily, casting rainbows on the ground as though it was a Mohe Dance Hall for animals. Two pygmy monkeys were cheerfully dancing round and round at the zoo gates.

When there was nothing to get your teeth into, Wang Yifan would drive his second-hand Bora out into the countryside and walk around. The fly-infested cabbages and leafy greens that looked like rotting birds’ nests by the roadside were still edible if you peeled off the outer layers. For those who dared, it was a free canteen for vegetarians. Skinny carrots, hoe-damaged potatoes and sweet potatoes, and the knobbly sweetcorn that covered hills and fields were there for the taking. And Wang Yifan took them, but he had a conscience, and every so often left ten yuan on a field ridge. Whereas I didn’t have a conscience and thought nothing of shifting sack-loads of blood oranges and Longdu pomelos to the zoo. The fruit trees had been planted over a decade earlier, before the farmers left to work in the city, and now stood abandoned by the road. In this part of Sichuan, trees fight for light, like left-behind children competing to be furthest upstream. They were so fresh that when we cut into the fruit, blood-red juice gushed from the oranges, and sweet citrus kernels tumbled from the pomelos. The monkeys and I loved pomelo. We’d share a pomelo, half for me, half for them, and sit there, watching quietly as Wang Yifan threw chicken to the lion and the tiger, half a chicken to each cage, the head for the lion, the cockscomb for the tiger. After months of eating cheap lymphatic meat, they were so stunned to see a fresh chicken that neither of them dared to make a move. When I asked Wang Yifan: When did you get the chicken? he shrugged and said vaguely: *I ran into it in the countryside. It’s a pheasant. No one wants pheasants. *That made me laugh, and say: You’re making progress, Wang Yifan. You can lie without your ears going red anymore.

When we met that May, his ears really had gone red. By May 2022, there weren’t any lanterns in Lantern Park. There were barely any people either, just a few visitors here and there and the woman in charge of the playground, who sat on the end of the elephant-trunk slide eating a takeaway lunch. I walked round the slide and vaguely remember having to walk uphill to the zoo, and there being hydrangea bushes in bloom on either side of the slope, and a little cat, as black as coal, chasing a butterfly in the flowers. It was like being in Kamakura or somewhere like that. My last trip abroad had been to Kamakura. Ning Xiao and I had eaten tuna onigiri by the Giant Buddha, and hadn’t quite finished eating, when Ning Xiao suddenly froze and said: Oh no! This is probably sacrilegious. Do you think something terrible will happen to us? Then something terrible did happen, but to all of us. Ning Xiao and I haven’t seen each other for ages. He and Kamakura have gradually become a kind of symbol for things that aren’t worth mentioning, parts of my life that I’ve let go of.

The name Zigong Zoo was written on five lanterns strung together: 自贡动物园 Zi gong dong wu yuan. When the Zigong Lantern Festival moved to Lantern World, all the old lanterns were tossed on a pile on the other side of the hill and, because it would have cost money to remove them, had been there ever since. Wang Yifan must have spent countless evenings in that lantern graveyard, picking out every round lantern that could still be lit. By the time I turned up that day, it was already late. The lanterns were lit, and the afterglow of their bright colors was rippling through the dark. A neon globe was spinning happily, casting rainbows on the ground as though it was a Mohe Dance Hall for animals. Two pygmy monkeys were cheerfully dancing round and round at the zoo gates. I was enjoying watching them, when someone shouted: Yuan Dongdong! Dongdong! I turned around and saw a sweaty, middle-aged man in Hawaiian beach shorts, holding a guokui-wrap stuffed with cold noodles in a spicy sauce. I couldn’t help licking my lips. Then the man started laughing: Yuan Dongdong, it’s me, Wang Yifan.

It took a me a while to remember. OMG! Wang Yifan! I’d known him for thirty-two of my thirty-five years. We’d been in the same class at kindergarten and primary school. He’d worn open-crotch training pants throughout kindergarten and had broken his foot jumping beyond the end of the long-jump at primary school. At middle school I was in the top set, and he wasn’t. After the gaokao exams, I stayed on at school, and he didn’t. I went to university, and he didn’t, of course. It was completely understandable and justified that we went our separate ways, just like the legs of open-crotch pants. I didn’t know what had become of him, and to be honest, I hadn’t given him a second thought. But now, here he was, larger than life, standing right in front of me — about 1.7 meters, about 75 kilos, with thick hair, and a strong physique. He was divorced, his son was living with his ex-wife, he had a small loan on a property, owned his car outright, had no savings, and ran his own business.

Wang Yifan didn’t ask what I’d been doing in Beijing, and I didn’t ask what he’d been doing before he got the zoo. We were simply two people, who had known each other since kindergarten, sitting at the zoo gates all day.

He was on the verge of bankruptcy. He showed me a photograph of his son, a chubby boy wearing an Argentina 10 football shirt and shorts, trying to run about on the pitch. I said: He looks a great kid. Wang Yifan said: I haven’t seen him for ages, his mother took him to Chengdu. I said: Chengdu? That’s only a couple of hours away. Wang Yifan said: I can’t leave this place, there’s too much to do.

Apart from feeding the animals, there wasn’t anything else to do. Wang Yifan had taken over the zoo in the first year of the pandemic, and it had been closed for most of that year. When the situation was at its most tense, and the discussion on social media focussed on whether to kill the animals or not, Wang Yifan was very anxious. At one point, he even tried putting masks on the mammals. It was too difficult, he told me. When I asked: How do you put a mask on a tiger? he said: You can’t. But I made the masks. I tore up two sheets and bought meters and meters of elastic. The second year was better, thanks to a Taiwanese internet celebrity who came to Zigong and posted a photo of the elephant slide in a public account that got over 100,000 page views. For a few months after that, Lantern Park was the place to be. Everyone came, spent 20 yuan on a zoo ticket, saw the listless lion and tiger, the not-so-agile snub-nosed monkey, and the red-breasted golden pheasant that had lost its feathers. There were lots of videos on Rednote of Wang Yifan’s tortoise eating chaoshou very slowly. That’s when he put up the zoo’s name in lanterns. But the lightbulbs weren’t new, and the five lanterns didn’t light up consistently. Wang Yifan said: I was selling more than a hundred sausages a day back then. For a while, I thought my luck was going to change for the better. When I asked: What happened? he said: What happened? This year happened.

In 2022, no one’s luck changed for the better. In fact, things got worse. The lanterns were lit for only twenty minutes a day, to save on electricity. When I met Wang Yifan, I hadn’t been paid my salary for three months. The first month, my boss said it was delayed, the second month it seemed he’d gone to Thailand, and our work group went deathly quiet. When it reached three months, I gave up the place I rented in Beijing and came back to Zigong. Wang Yifan didn’t ask what I’d been doing in Beijing, and I didn’t ask what he’d been doing before he got the zoo. We were simply two people, who had known each other since kindergarten, sitting at the zoo gates all day. There might be some trade in the afternoon, we might sell a sausage or two, but mostly we sat in our rattan chairs, scrolling on our phones. Wang Yifan had installed broadband specially, to cover the entire zoo. Sometimes, when I was tired of scrolling, I’d go into the zoo and see the bear. Wang Yifan would video-call me, and I’d hold my phone up so the bear could see him through the cage. The bear would get confused and grunt and wave its arms about and beat its chest. Wang Yifan would laugh: *Hey, silly, you’re not a gorilla! *There wasn’t a gorilla in his zoo, or a peacock, which he regretted deeply, because he thought a zoo without a gorilla and a peacock wasn’t up to scratch. I was shocked, but at the same time, admired him — because even at that stage, Wang Yifan was still thinking about upgrading the zoo!

By September, upgrading was out of the question. Wang Yifan went through the bills he had to pay and said: Shit. I thought I’d hit rock bottom. I had no idea I was digging myself into a hole! The hole got deeper and deeper. The summer heat would not let up. Wang Yifan put some water in a bright green bathtub for the Sulcata tortoise, and it spent all its time in there. We had hoped that the mammals would lose their appetite in the heat, but after three days on reduced rations, the tiger banged furiously on the bars of its cage as soon as it saw Wang Yifan. The bear refused to come forward and be videoed. Instead, it sat down in a huff, facing the wall, showing the giant bald patch on the back of its head. The lion staggered about as though it had heatstroke. I made a big pan of cooling honeysuckle tea and put a bowlful in each cage.

None of them drank my honeysuckle tea, not even the lion. Not even Wang Yifan, who for several days had eaten less than the tortoise and was hangrier than the tiger. I hadn’t realized before how thin he was: His cheeks were sunken, and his hair, which hadn’t been cut for a long time, was tied back in a ponytail with one of my elastic bands. He was scruffy — he shaved roughly and smoked roughly — which made him look a bit arty and out of place in Zigong. At night, when heaven and earth merged in the heat rising from the ground, and the spirits were hungry, they moved about in waves, looking for Wang Yifan, as if he were a Noah’s Ark in the black of night.

So what did Wang Yifan do? He turned on the lights. As the five characters of “Zigong Zoo” flickered in the dusky heat, he stood beneath them, calmly drank a whole bowl of honeysuckle tea, and said: It can’t go on like this! It just can’t. I’ve probably got sunstroke too, because I keep swaying backwards and forwards as well, blowing hot and cold. I said, *You need to find a way. It’s the same for all of us. None of us can go on like this. *I drank a bowl of honeysuckle tea as well, and for a moment the world spun before my eyes. I couldn’t help repeating: You need to find a way.

Wang Yifan fetched some water and started to cook some chaoshou for the Sulcata tortoise. I’m not giving up, he said.

2. North American raccoon

Also known as “Wash-bear.” Mammal, carnivorous, of the raccoon family. Originally from North America. Has cuticles on its front claws and sometimes needs to soak them in water to soften them, giving the appearance of washing off food etc, hence “wash-bear.” Usually weighs between 5.5 and 9.5 kg; the heaviest recorded is 28 kg. Generally only lives a few years; the oldest recorded in the wild was twelve years.

Aniseed is eight years old and weighs 15 kg. She’s a small raccoon, though on the chubby side, and a bit doddery. Wang Yifan keeps saying: I’m worried Aniseed won’t be here much longer. He’s been saying it a lot over the last six months, during which time she’s put on another 1.5 kg. These days when she tries to curl up in a ball and make herself small, it has the opposite effect, and you can’t help but look at her.

During the hottest days in the peak of summer, Aniseed spent her time in a pool of dirty water and kept very still. Every morning we thought she’d died, but as soon as Wang Yiran cut up a misshapen apple and the fresh smell wafted over the foul stench of urine and faeces, the little fat ball began to uncurl, and a pair of eyes opened wide.

It was still early summer, and there was a lazy hopefulness about everything — including the tiger, the bear, Aniseed, Wang Yifan and me.

Aniseed was the only animal here at Wang Yifan’s place that had a name. The tortoise was Tortoise, the bear was Bear. When Wang Yifan greeted the tiger with a brusque: Ti-gerr! I said: Isn’t that a bit rude? So he called out again: Ti-gerr! Dinner time! But Aniseed had been Aniseed since Wang Yifan first got her. He said: She lived in her old owner’s house. She lived in a fucking villa. When the villa was put up for sale by court order, Aniseed was part of the sale: “North American raccoon, name Aniseed, age five years, weight 10 kg, good-natured, eats apples.” Wang Yifan had set his heart on buying a villa. He had been following court order sales for ages, but the starting prices were always “the other side of Maozipo” (way beyond his means). This had long been a source of frustration, and it was out of frustration that he bought the only thing he could afford, which was Aniseed. Then, because of Aniseed, he decided to throw in everything he had and take the lease on Zigong Zoo. It was a ludicrous chain of events. When I met him, I said: Have you lost your mind? He didn’t answer, just looked down, picked an apple out of the basket and started cutting off the bad bits. Aniseed had nothing better to do than lazily climb the artificial mountain, examine the latest apple and eat it. It was still early summer, and there was a lazy hopefulness about everything — including the tiger, the bear, Aniseed, Wang Yifan and me.

For a while I thought Wang Yifan and I might get together, even if it was just physical. I looked up our kindergarten and primary school photos. No one had ever paid him any attention, so he mostly appeared half-obscured behind someone else. Half a head, lots of thick hair, and the rest of him a blur. That’s what he was like then, and that’s how most people saw him now, at forty. Whereas I was always placed bang in the middle of a photo, my cheeks and lips tinted bright red, holding a bunch of garish plastic flowers, exuding confidence, and conveying a pride and earnestness that I knew exactly who I was. I guess I look different these days, though I don’t really know, because the way things are, I can’t really bear to look at my face too closely. When I see the pretty young girl in the photos, I feel gripped by shame.

Wang Yifan was very pragmatic. Sometimes I think being too pragmatic makes it difficult to do things.

Wang Yifan said: You remind me of Aniseed. I asked: What do you mean? He continued peeling his apple: What do I mean? *Well, she used to live in a villa, and now she eats my manky apples. *

There was an ambiguity to his answer, but we both knew what he meant. It was early summer, there was a restlessness in the breeze, and in the rain, and in the golden snub-nosed monkey and the red panda next door, and yes, in Wang Yifan and me. I’m sure we were both thinking the same way, and that we both did things that were ambiguous, yet unmistakeable. I hung out at the zoo day in day out, wearing subtle make-up and lacy just-in-case underwear, and painting my toenails red when I wore flipflops. As for Wang Yifan, he kept taking showers. His thick hair always smelled. There wasn’t a hot water heater at the zoo, so he pulled a long hose behind the white fig tree and hosed himself down five or six times a day, which left him and the tree soaking wet. The leaves, lush enough to blur heaven and earth, drip, drip, dripped, like the beat of our hearts. Those times when my red fingernails were newly painted and Wang Yifan was freshly shaved, I’m sure we both weighed up possible places: the folding bed in the gatehouse that creaked when he lay on it playing Honor of Kings, the makeshift shed behind Monkey Mountain with three second-hand freezers full of frozen chicken and fatback. The lion preferred fatback and would sooner eat 1 kg of fatback than 2 kg of lean meat. The shed was nice and cool, but the ground was soft, and there wasn’t really anywhere you could lie down. There was a space between Aniseed’s cage and the zoo wall, where Wang Yifan sometimes spread a picnic rug and sat and watched Aniseed eating apples. We probably both thought that would be the best place: It was cool and secluded, perfect for murder, arson and hot sex. But neither of us made a move, not even once. Then, Wang Yifan fetched an old rattan table and chairs from the zoo, which put an end to other thoughts for that space. We played cards — when we were tired of playing Beat the Landlord, we’d play Struggle Upstream, playing for 2 yuan per round. Surrounded by animals snoring, we’d sweat as we played to win 20 yuan.

In August, Wang Yifan stopped showering like crazy, and I went back to my flesh-colored, pure cotton, high-waist knickers. In our newfound freedom, we became the purest of revolutionary battle mates. We were fighting a battle, fighting something amid the frustration, trivia and hollowness, but we weren’t quite sure what. As Wang Yifan put it: *Mother of God, what have I been doing these last two years? If I don’t know by now, I should stop doing it. *Wang Yifan was very pragmatic. Sometimes I think being too pragmatic makes it difficult to do things.

Wang Yifan finally went to Chengdu to see his son. After he came back, he was silent for two days. He said he did a COVID test when he came off the motorway, but he poked too hard, and his throat really hurt. But it didn’t stop him chain-smoking behind the white fig tree. There was a temple to the earth there that was half-human height. I guess something was disturbed during the construction of the zoo, and the workmen used broken bricks and tiles to build the little temple. Inside it was a newly fired Tudigong. He was small and squat, with some worn red silk draped around him. If you looked closely, you’d see it was a red scarf. Wang Yifan said his son had left it behind.

I took a smallish watermelon (7.5 kg) out of the fridge, cut it in half, put a spoon beside it, and without making a big deal, called out: Wang Yifan, come and have some watermelon! Wang Yifan’s thick hair appeared from behind the white fig tree, and without making a big deal either, he said: Coming. He brought Aniseed with him. She was wilting from the heat as well and got quite excited when she saw the watermelon. I said: *What do you want to do? I cut the watermelon into halves. *Wang Yifan said: *No problem. We can share, one spoonful for me, one spoonful for Aniseed. *

When they got to the bottom of his watermelon, Aniseed put her head inside it and finished off the juice. The tortoise had also turned up and was waiting to eat the rind. Wang Yifan watched them, his face completely blank, then suddenly asked: Did you never get married?

I broke up the watermelon rind for the tortoise, which immediately started chomping on it. No, never.

Not even close?

Ning Xiao and some other names came to mind. But they were all a bit of a blur, with the words “The other side of Maozipo” hovering over their faces.

Wang Yifan, who had been a bit of a blur all his life, looked at me with admiration: How did you manage it? It can’t have been easy!

I didn’t know what I was doing, it just happened that way.

Aniseed finished eating, went back to her cage and curled up again. The tortoise continued chomping on the watermelon rind. There was enough to keep him eating all day. We watched the tortoise for a while, then Wang Yifan suddenly said: I want to go and stay in the quarantine center.

I was shocked: Did you test positive?

Wang Yifan turned on his cell phone and showed me the enormous “Negative” sign: Do you know where Zigong’s quarantine center is?

Where?

Dongguo Factory.

I thought about it: Did you know that Dongguo Factory canteen used to serve delicious bird’s nest buns? Only 2 yuan each.

He answered sullenly: I didn’t know that. I used to have the lease on Dongguo Factory.

I was amazed. What happened?

Wang Yifan was still watching the tortoise. What happened? It went bankrupt.

And now it’s the quarantine center?

Yes, it’s the quarantine center.

Neither of us said anything else, as if the conversation concealed a force that we were utterly powerless to resist. By not saying anything, we could avoid it, if not forever then at least for a while. We were both thinking the same way, it seemed.

After that, Wang Yifan would mention the quarantine center at Dongguo Factory every now and then. During the period when there were occasional confirmations of COVID in Zigong, Wang Yifan, on account of his working in a “specialist industry,” had to do a COVID test every seven days. During that period, after rolling sausages on the grill all day, without selling a single one, he’d suck on a sausage that had been sweated out its fat several times over and say: Fuck this. I want to go to the quarantine center. Have you seen them all square-dancing?

I reminded him: That was Shanghai.

Wang Yifan didn’t care. He took a bite out of the 100 percent starch sausage and said: Fuck this. I want to go to the quarantine center and dance.

We didn’t learn until much later that the Dongguo Factory quarantine center had never been used. The number of cases in Zigong never reached critical mass. After it was set up and equipped, it had stood there, with nothing to do, waiting anxiously like the rest of us. With the exception of Wang Yifan, who gave free rein to thoughts of going there, square-dancing, revitalizing the canteen and continuing to sell bird’s nest buns at 2 yuan each.

The equipment is there. All I need to do is buy a couple of sacks of flour and we’re ready to start, said Wang Yifan.

That’s Wang Yifan for you. He believes it’s never too late to start, and that you can start any time.

**3. Blue Peacock **

Also known as the Indian Peacock. Belongs to the Phasianidae family and is one of the two species of peacock. Mainly found in Pakistan, India and Sri Lanka. The male blue peacock is the national bird of India. Probably the first ornamental bird raised by humans. Non-migratory. Today, peacocks are bred all over the world.

The peacock arrived in mid-October. Wang Yifan had wanted it to arrive earlier: If he could catch the October 1 (National Day) long holiday, it could bring him some business. But the seller suddenly told him there was COVID in Xishuangbanna, and the logistics were wrecked. It didn’t occur to me that buying a peacock would involve Xishuangbanna, and it didn’t occur to Wang Yifan that buying a peacock would involve logistics, so neither of us expected to learn first-hand the expression “gone quiet.” Things went quiet for two weeks, and the peacock didn’t arrive until after the holiday period was over. The peacock was gorgeous, iridescent, shining blue in green and green in blue. During the eight-day holiday period, the zoo’s net income was 3,280 yuan and the peacock cost 1,300. The seller said he’d throw in the cage for another 300. But Wang Yifan said: The two red-breasted phoenixes have died, and if we clean out their cage, it will be perfect for Peeko. That’s what Wang Yifan called the peacock. There was a kind of familiarity right from the start; it was like him calling me Dongdong after all these years!

Wang Yifan had a plan. Buying the peacock was just the first step.

Peeko was three years old, a fully grown adult, and rather sedate. For the first two days in the zoo, he didn’t utter a sound. It would have made sense to buy a pair — a peacock and a peahen — and the seller did say it would be lonely on its own, and where would it find a mate to display its tail to? But by October, funds were so low that Wang Yifan had given up smoking. He said: *It’s to stop people thinking if I cough twice I’ve got Omicron. *In truth, he couldn’t afford a peahen, but he did a lot of research watching videos and said to me confidently: Peeko will open his tail, you’ll see. He’s easy to look after. He’s not very intelligent. If you make a commotion, he’ll open his tail.

It’s true, Peeko was easy to look after. He wasn’t fussy about his food, you could basically feed him like a chicken: bird food, corn, young leaves, shrivelled dried beans, ant-nests found beneath tree roots after the rain. The seller had made a point of saying that peacocks from Xishuangbanna eat mushrooms from the time they are chicks. So Wang Yifan bought some mycelium and some nutrient-rich soil and started growing mushrooms in the zoo. But the soil was too rich, and the mycelium grew out of control. There was too much for Peeko to eat, so Wang Yifan started making mushroom soup on the induction cooker every day. The pervading smell of homegrown mushrooms made me gag, but Wang Yifan was thrilled with his mushroom soup. He said: That’s more like it. Now everything’s in place, we’re ready to go.

Wang Yifan had a plan. Buying the peacock was just the first step. Then he signed up for a Douyin (TikTok) account, and went back to the lantern graveyard, and spent evenings rummaging about, until he had a trolley full of colored lights, which he hauled back to the zoo. By this time, the temperature had dropped, and the autumn wind whirled around the zoo, wailing like a hulusi (a gourd flute) in the Starlight Night Market in Xishuangbanna, which made Peeko homesick and set him howling too. That’s when I learned why Peeko usually kept quiet, because when he did make a sound, it was heartbreaking. We spent two days hanging the colored lights: on the white fig, on the apricot tree, on Monkey Mountain, in the China-rose garden. We hung several strings of lights outside the tiger’s cage as well, but the tiger didn’t like it and pawed it down in a single swipe. Wang Yifan said*: Our tiger’s still got what it takes! A true king! *But the tiger was old, and with those drooping whiskers and drooping corners of his eyes, he was a king without much of a future. When the lights were all in place, that moment when they suddenly lit up the dark felt like going home at Spring Festival. But only for a few minutes, because Wang Yifan quickly turned them off again. To save energy, he said. We can turn them back on again for the live broadcast. Oh, is there enough charge on your phone?

I thought pole dancing was for strippers, but they didn’t do any stripping. It was August and the lead dancer’s sequined vest was wet through as she flaunted her firm round breasts right in front of third aunt’s grandfather.

I originally thought he had some earth-shattering plan. I didn’t know he was just planning to do live broadcasts. Not that he had a decent phone, mind. He had reserved my iPhone 13 for that. It had been my last big purchase before losing my job, and I cherished it so much I’d even put a phone cover on it. In Wang Yifan’s mind, everything was ready to go now, and the sooner the better. Better a day early than a day late, was his way of thinking. But Heaven didn’t oblige, and he had to wait for the entertainment.

The entertainment business was thriving. Wang Yifan said: I had to confirm the date two weeks in advance.

I thought about the lead dancer in her slinky mini skirt. Of course the group would be busy! They’d be wanted for weddings and funerals. It was physical work, too hard for most people.

Wang Yifan thought about her as well, you could see it on his face: She’s so fit.

We knew her from a funeral banquet we’d been to in the countryside that August. When Wang Yifan suggested I go with him, I said: Wouldn’t that be awkward? I mean, I didn’t even know the person. Wang Yifan said: He’s some third aunt’s grandfather from the other side of Maozipo. I didn’t know him either. Come on, let’s go.

So I went, along with a hundred other people, and gifted them another roll of printed pattern cloth. You’re not supposed to have big roasts at funerals, but having held back for three years, people jumped at the opportunity to slaughter a pig. Third aunt’s grandfather was in an inner room, so we did a quick kowtow, then squeezed on to the dyke for some pig’s trotter soup and sweet-n-sour pig’s blood. The entire village seemed to have come along, and there was a happy atmosphere. A stage had been built in front of the dyke. A pair of mis-written couplets hung crookedly at either side of the stage and read 寿钟德望在, 身去音容存 (Life ends but virtue lives on. The body departs but the voice remains). Another banner across the top of the stage read: 哀地悲天 (Earth mourns, heaven laments), and in the middle was a photograph of the third aunt’s grandfather, wearing an army cap and looking very solemn. Wang Yifan had a second bowl of pig’s trotter soup and said: That third aunt’s grandfather was a goodlooking man.

I’d assumed that the stage was there for musicians who would perform during the funeral procession. But halfway through the banquet, a slick group of entertainers suddenly came out and set up a rusty pole in the middle of the stage**.** I thought pole dancing was for strippers, but they didn’t do any stripping. It was August and the lead dancer’s sequined vest was wet through as she flaunted her firm round breasts right in front of third aunt’s grandfather.** **The villagers, family and others, smiled knowingly, while Wang Yifan and I were like two country bumpkins, embarrassed to look, yet unable to take our eyes off her. When she finished, she twisted and turned, leaning forward at the waist as she came off stage, handing out her name card like a goddess scattering petals. Her cards were printed with her portrait and seven Chinese characters in the colors of the rainbow that read艳光四射歌舞团 (Glamour Troupe). On the other side was their business range: weddings, funerals, birthdays, baby’s first 100 days, exam success, breakups. I asked Wang Yifan: What are breakups? He said: Perhaps when people get divorced, they celebrate with a pole dance. I said: Is that what people do in Zigong these days? He said: I don’t know, these things weren’t around when I got divorced.

The young woman spent two hours in there and was unrecognizable when she emerged, like a fox spirit that has taken on human form, ready to cause chaos in the human world.

Once the peacock and the lights were installed, Wang Yifan called the young woman at Glamour every day. After the October 1 holiday, there were on-site inspections everywhere. Wang Yifan went to see how things were around the motorway exit, and when he came back reported: *Now you have to do the test in your nose as well as your throat. They say it’s double insurance. *With life over-insured, weddings and funerals were out of the question, and work for the entertainment company dried up. The young woman said she could come on her own as a private arrangement, but the price would be the same. She was right to say that, because she’d be dancing solo, with a tiger on one side and a peacock on the other, and it would be very quiet. However, she could see Wang Yifan’s sincerity, and dropped the price once, twice, and finally, after inching toward a figure that neither side could easily accept, they agreed a price: She would get 30 percent of the takings from the live broadcast and the zoo would get 70 percent. When I asked: Do you really think anyone’s going to give money to watch a zoo? Wang Yifan rubbed his hands in glee and said: Do you know how many people watch live broadcasts of pandas every day?

I held my tongue, though of course I was thinking: But you *haven’t got a cute baby panda, and your red panda can’t even bite into apples anymore. *

Wang Yifan was totally immersed in his Douyin dream: November 24, Thursday, Thanksgiving. I’ve done all the paperwork.

I had my concerns: What if it’s blocked? Tell her to keep it tame, you know, less in your face.

But Wang Yifan was worrying about something else: On the day, would the peacock open its tail?* *But, like the rest of us, he was very good at finding a way: I told the woman to wear bright clothes, bright blues and greens, to put a little pressure on the peacock. Under pressure, it will open its tail.

I said: What if there’s too much pressure? Will the peacock lose its nerve?

Wang Yifan was full of confidence: Don’t worry, I chose Peeko myself. He’s mentally strong, he won’t lose his nerve.

On the afternoon of October 24, the woman turned up in short sleeves, shorts and Warrior-brand shoes, with a giant red, yellow and blue laundry carrier on her back, wearing no make-up, looking like a migrant worker about to go home to her village for New Year. There was nothing glamourous about her. Wang Yifan rubbed his hands excitedly. He had already cleaned up an empty cage where she could get into character. The cage used to house a fox, an extremely cunning fox that had answered the call of a stray dog in the park after dark. The dog had bitten through the lock, and the fox had broken free. It didn’t go very far though. It hung out with the dogs, and you could still see it, roaming about Lantern Park, living off its wits. Wang Yifan said: *I’ve seen him a few times, all scruffy and dirty, his fur has gone gray. It’s very sad to see him like that. *Wang Yifan had hoped the fox might come back, which is why he’d kept the cage vacant. But the fox never came back. Its life wasn’t good, but it didn’t want to come back.

Even after being hosed down several times, there was still a foul smell about the fox’s cage. The young woman spent two hours in there and was unrecognizable when she emerged, like a fox spirit that has taken on human form, ready to cause chaos in the human world. She had certainly put some thought into her costume: She was wearing a dazzling sequined mini-dress, and had a cape made of tightly packed peacock feathers. When she put the cape over her shoulders, never mind the peacock, I wanted to spread my tail myself.

Wang Yifan couldn’t have been happier. He kept rubbing his hands: This is going to work out. It’s going to work out so well.

The live broadcast was set for eight o’clock. Wang Yifan said we were to wait until everyone had finished their dinner. As it was November, it had been dark for a long time already. We turned on all the lights, and sat under the rotating disco ball, in excited anticipation, and ate our beef chaoshou. Wang Yifan’s homemade chaoshou were nice and plump, with 5 qian (almost 4 grams) of meat in each one. Even the tortoise was excited and poked its head out of its shell for the longest time. The woman was like Peeko, a silent type, and concentrated on eating her chaoshou, her entire face glittering.

Wang Yifan was still eating when he took a call. The neon light ball was spinning fast above his face, and I was just about to put on wild wolf disco, when he said: It’s got me. I’m at risk.

I didn’t know what he meant: What?

Wang Yifan took a few steps back, rummaged about, found a grubby mask and put it on. Then, keeping his distance from us, said: *I’ve been exposed to the virus. I’m at risk. *

I couldn’t believe it: How?

Wang Yifan said: Someone in my building tested positive, which puts me at risk.

Someone on your floor?

No, I’m on the third floor. It’s someone on the seventeenth floor.

But that’s the other side of Maozipo?

My place is in a cross. Do you know about crosses?

*Who doesn’t know about them… will they take you to isolation? *

I don’t know, maybe. They told me to wait.

*Wait for what? *

I don’t know, they just told me to wait, and self-isolate first.

Where will you go to self-isolate?

The zoo. You can self-isolate anywhere, I think.

At half past seven, a bus came to collect Wang Yifan from the fox’s cage. Before he left, he put on a protection suit — he looked like a human who’s turned into a monster. The bus was almost full. It was impossible to tell if they were at risk from being in close contact or simply lived in the same horizontal or vertical location as the person who had the virus. They were all in protection suits and looked fat, like a bus full of random monsters, of people who’d just become monsters, all of them a bit panicky and anxious, as they waited to learn their fate.

Half an hour later, Wang Yifan video-called me, and shouted at the top of his voice: You’ve got to do the live broadcast! Don’t forget our slogan.

With a slightly hoarse voice, I said: You don’t have to shout. I can hear you.

He shouted again: What did you say? I can’t hear you properly!

They seemed to have stopped on some bleak mountain, with the wind whistling around them. The kind of place you’d expect to find monsters, I thought.

Our livestream started on time at half past eight. The lights in the zoo were on, and the neon ball flickered like crazy, shooting rays of light in every direction, sparing no one and momentarily lighting up traces of the past. I opened all the cages, except those of the wild animals. But the animals just stood there, looking at the open doors, wondering what was going on. That included the camel, Aniseed, and even Peeko, who had forgotten about Xishuangbanna, who would probably never need another mushroom, and who would stay in our zoo, displaying its tail until the day it died.

The woman came out to perform. It took her a while to locate my phone camera, then she slowly opened her cape with a captivating smile that she had spent ages perfecting and said: Welcome to The Glamour Zoo!

I was the only other person on the live broadcast, and the only one who saw, out of view of the camera, the tortoise come out of its cage and head very slowly to a place the lights couldn’t reach. The tortoise was the only one that looked for a dark spot, found it and stayed there, out of sight.

✺ Published in The Dial

“A steady hand on the wheel takes an unblinking courage.”

“Oh, once again I mistook things”

“The world happens, as illusive as dreams.”

Li Jingrui (Tr. Helen Wang)

Li Jingrui is a former legal journalist, and columnist of the Chinese edition of The Wall Street Journal. Based in Beijing, she now writes fiction. Several pieces of her work have been translated into English.

**Helen Wang **is a U.K.-based writer and translator. A former British Museum curator, she is now an Adjunct Researcher at Zhejiang University.