By early 2003, rumours of an infectious disease were spreading, and so many people wore masks when they went out. I called my mother, and she said the price of a bottle of vinegar had gone up tremendously, and the shelves and warehouses had been emptied of vinegar. The price of a Chinese medicine called isatis root, normally sold in medicine halls, had likewise skyrocketed and could not be bought anywhere. I said, ‘No wonder there’s been such a soar in pharmaceutical stocks.’

My mother asked me to go home and hide for a while. If one caught the disease, death was quick. She told me that when the chickens got bird flu, they were just standing dozing off in the yard, then fell over one after another. When swine flu struck, the pigs would not eat or move, and spots appeared on their bodies. They died soon after that, too. One year, the river had been full of dead pigs, all covered in white spots. I did not say anything else, but just thought of the napping chickens and the fasting pigs, and their white, spotty corpses. I said, ‘Mother, don’t worry. There are so many people in this country who are still working. Don’t believe the rumours. If there really was an epidemic, the government would issue an emergency notice.’

My mother said, ‘Two people from the vegetable market already died. Xiaohan, don’t let anything happen to you. It’s been so many years since your brother died, but I’m still not over it.’

My mother was not prone to sensationalism.

My eyes were red. I asked my parents not to go out unless it was necessary, to be extra careful about hygiene, and to make sure there was plenty of ventilation. ‘When the turmoil is over, I’ll come back and eat your peppers fried with meat,’ I said.

Several days earlier, my grandfather had suddenly become paralysed. He could not talk, and he was incontinent. It was said that just before he suffered this paralysis, he had lost a large bet and had used that bronze jar for oil and salt sitting at the bottom of his treasure chest to pay his debt. He was already ninety-three years old, and everyone said his time to meet the God of Death had come. My father went ahead and reserved a coffin. Because my grandfather’s back was not bent and he had not shrunk, maintaining his height of 1.8 metres, he could only fit into a standard-sized coffin if his legs were broken.

There were some people who said that my grandfather was bored with life, faking the paralysis – the same way, when he kept drawing a bad hand, he would become bored and just wanted others to draw on his behalf while he sat and watched, until his addiction stirred and he would enter the battlefield once more. My grandfather certainly knew the pleasures of card-playing, and the taste of being alive.

My father disagreed with this speculation, assuming no one would like to sleep in their own filth. My father called his childhood friend Wang to come see my grandfather and feel his pulse.

Wang too was old by then, and his fingers trembled slightly. He said there was no one healthier than my grandfather, whose pulse was jumping like a pot of beans put on to boil. He was very strong, according to Wang. My father was both happy and worried – happy that my grandfather was healthy, but worried the old man would live healthily in bed for another eight or ten years. That would be torture for those around him, just like the time when my grandfather had suffered the deep-rooted boils and was bedridden for two weeks. The whole household was in chaos around him. My father would rather my grandfather get up and go on gambling, feeling the best thing would be for him to die at the card table.

Reality proved harder than what my father had foreseen. My grandfather’s bowel movements were sudden and irregular – sometimes two or three times a day. Sometimes my grandfather would throw up after my father had cleaned up, throwing up even the juices from his gallbladder. My father, with the bitterness still in his mouth, called my brother to come home, then made him take over the dirty work. Having faced the indignities of prison, my brother felt there was nothing that could compare with the suffering caused by the loss of freedom. He happily took over bathing my grandfather, washing the mosquito net, cleaning the house, and deodorising the place.

My grandfather lay peacefully. With his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, he was like a philosopher contemplating the meaning of life. He had a good appetite, especially for meat. Chicken was his favourite. Miserably, my father slaughtered a laying hen. When he had to slaughter a second one, he started cursing and shouting. After consuming three chickens, my grandfather still did not get up. My father put his knife away, and my grandfather became a vegetarian. ‘If he wants meat badly enough, he’ll get up,' my father said.

My father’s trick was very effective. After eating vegetarian food for ten days, my grandfather suddenly appeared in the kitchen’s doorway.

‘I want to eat peppers fried with meat.’ he said, sounding like a child. ‘I want plenty of fat and grease.’

My mother was as shocked as if she had seen a ghost. Still in shock, she immediately went to the market to get some meat, and she fried it with half a red pepper and half a green pepper, heaping the food like a mountain in a bowl. When my father came in, my grandfather was picking at the remains in the bowl and licking the oil from his lips.

‘Eh? You’re up? I knew you couldn’t stand it without meat!’ My father was inwardly pleased, but his expression was angry as he fell into his old habit of digging at my grandfather.

My grandfather did not glance at him or return the unkind tone. He merely looked upward and sighed, saying, ‘Ah, when you’ve recovered from a serious illness, fried peppers and meat are so comforting.’

As he said this, he went back to his room.

My grandfather had been bedridden for two months. My father could not let him off so easily now. He chased after him and stood leaning against the side of my grandfather’s low doorframe. He shouted, ‘You’ve lived to this ripe old age, so why do you still want to torture people like this? When you want to eat chicken, you just say the word, and I slaughter a chicken. When have I ever withheld it from you? Whatever you’ve asked for, haven’t we tried our best to provide it for you? When have we mistreated you?’

Mr Ma was passing by and stopped, looking at my father. He laughed and said, ‘The elder is treated like the babe. Just let it go.’

My grandfather went outdoors then, enjoying the fresh air outside the house. He said, ‘The 800 yuan in my box is gone. I don’t know who stole it.’

‘You still have money saved? You’ve lost your underpants and a lifetime of face gambling. What do you think you have left?’ My father was really fired up. ‘Talk about your 800 yuan . . . even if it was 8000, no one would touch your things! You’ve thought about money until you’ve gone crazy. You just got over your paralysis, and now you’re making trouble out of nothing!’

Feeling he had the duty to mediate, Ma did not dare to leave. He persuaded, ‘Come on, Li, don’t be angry. He’s nearly 100 years old. Surely his mind’s a little cloudy.’

In fact, things would have been better if Ma had left. My grandfather liked to act up in the presence of visitors, and the bigger the audience, the more worked up he became. He decided to employ a ‘selective listening’ technique this time, pretending he had not heard a word my father said.

‘Eight 100 yuan bills. I wrapped them in a handkerchief and put them under my martial arts novels . . . They were new notes. I couldn’t bear to use them . . . ' My grandfather said to Ma. He really cherished this participant in his drama, this witness, this turtle in the urn.

‘Go back and have another good look. Maybe you put it somewhere else. You wouldn’t lose it.’ Ma had to move closer and walk into his role more seriously. ‘You are nearly a hundred. Don’t play cards anymore. It’s the same as giving away money. If you give it away openly, others will appreciate it, but if you give it away at the card table, people just laugh it off.’

My grandfather heard this clearly, and laughed. ‘I didn’t play cards. I played very little this year. My health is bad. I don’t think I have long to live.’

My father was so agitated it hurt. ‘You . . . it’ll be all right if you die. Who enjoys a better life than you? Ma, you don’t know. From last year until now, he brings it up every time he’s free. He always makes it seem real.’

My mother came out then and pulled my father away. ‘You really love to quarrel, too. You know he’s old and confused. Let him be.’

Ma laughed, then slipped away.

My father cleared his throat and spat, swallowing the bullet he had prepared to fire, ending the battle, then turned and walked away. My grandfather was the only person left standing on the terrace. He suddenly seemed lonely.

Staring at the sky for a while, he said to himself, Well, you think I don’t know the mischief your woman and Ma had done?

Then he went into the house and shut the door.