Years of Red Dust by Qiu Xiaolong

cups in their hands. The guests kept toasting to their happiness, and the young couple, especially the bridegroom, had to drink to their toasts or the guests would lose face. So I had to act as the wine guard, drinking on his behalf. It would be a shame for the bridegroom to get drunk tonight. Indeed, one minute in the wedding room is worth tons of gold.”
    Small Bowl then brought out a pile of firecrackers, arranging for some to be set off at the lane entrance; some, at the center of the lane; and the rest to be set off by himself in front of the
shikumen
door. It was considered auspicious for the couple, and the more firecrackers, the better luck.
    Upon the Red Flag limousine’s arrival, the whole lane was overwhelmed by a joyful outburst of firecrackers.
    Now, there’s no story without coincidence.
    As the bride was stepping into the house, the long bunch of firecrackers in Small Bowl’s hand failed to explode.
    â€œThis one is rotten,” Small Bowl grumbled in the awkward silence that instantly shrouded the air. “Let’s start a new one.”
    â€œWhat? What do you mean?” Old Qian exploded. “You cannot be humiliating us like that.”
    â€œCome on. It is only a bad firecracker. You know the quality of those products nowadays.”
    â€œA bad firecracker at the moment my daughter steps into your home as the bride? It’s not just humiliating, but downright unlucky too.”
    â€œHow can you say that today?” Bamboo Chopsticks shot up like a firecracker herself. “Your mouth needs to be cleaned thoroughly with a chamber pot broom!”
    â€œDamn you, you black-hearted-and-black-lunged capitalist wife,” Old Qian shouted, as if miraculously transported back to the days of the Cultural Revolution, a white-haired working-class rebel cursing in front of a door decorated with red signs of happiness. “You are good at nothing except exploiting people. How much have you made from the red envelopes? We working class are still the leading class in socialist China. Don’t you forget that!”
    â€œWhat have you done, you old idiot?” Small Bowl was furious. “You have not paid a single penny out of your own pocket. You are the cheapest dirt.”
    â€œNobody did it on purpose,” Steamed Bun said. “It was only because of the quality of the firecrackers.”
    â€œThe quality?” Old Qian went on relentlessly. “Couldn’t you have chosen something better? You have money, don’t you? How dare you to treat my daughter like dirt! Yes, we are working-class people, but we won’t save money on the firecrackers for the wedding.”
    Now all the neighbors poured out to watch the scene. They tried to calm down both sides, but without success. Apparently, the firecracker was only the fuse that finally set off the long pent-up feud between the two sides. It was clear that nobody—except perhaps the bride and bridegroom, who had already evaporated into their room—would be able to put an end to the fight.
    But the couple did not come out.
    They might not have heard it at first, but when no one followed them into the wedding room, the couple should have noticed. It was a time-honored convention that the guests would “celebrate by turning the wedding room upside down.” No one in the street, however, paid any attention to the ritual, what with the increasingly intense drama of the brawl.
    Finally, in the middle of the chaos, Big Bowl came rushing out, pushing his way through the crowd, striding toward the lane exit, shouting with both arms raised above his head.
    â€œYou all can shut up now. Everything is finished. I’ve killed her. Now I’m turning myself in to the police bureau.”
    People were stunned into silence. It did not look like he was making a joke—a very bad one—but no one could believe it. Old Qian was transfixed with his fist banging at the air, as if turned into a stone