At Mr. Yi’s request, a Rolls-Royce salesman

picked Weng up the next day,

and they spent most of the afternoon singing in the backseat

to demonstrate the Phantom’s great potential for karaoke.

“Would you like a picnic hamper too?” the salesman asked.

“Or a humidor?”

Weng shook his head. “Maybe next time.”

“How about I show you the upholstery choices? We have
Moccasin or Oatmeal, with Bird’s Eye Maple?

Do you have a time frame in mind for delivery?”

“Next week,” Weng said. “I have to go to Ningbo.”

“Why don’t you fly, Mr. Fun?”

“Because I want to drive. That’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“Of course, of course,” the salesman chuckled. “Driving there is a
luxury few would consider.”

“Do you sell driving licenses too?”

The salesman laughed nervously.

“You don’t have one, Mr. Fun?”