Perhaps taking a lesson from the great fire at Shangri-La Ancient Town, or perhaps heeding a local government ban, the ancient town of Lijiang had prohibited firecrackers and fireworks during the Spring Festival. Without the festive pop and bang of fireworks, however, the New Year folk arts festival at Yuhe Square was alive and flourishing — activities such as learning to write Dongba script, getting colorful braids woven for free, and joining in Naxi communal dances drew large crowds of visitors to stop, watch, and take part.

The New Year’s Eve banquet, whether you were at home or away, ought to be celebrated with ceremony — for this meal was both the period at the end of a complete year and the guiding signal pointing toward the brilliance of the next. The Haitang Yin Guesthouse that evening was no exception: the hosts had invited the dozen or so guests staying that night to gather for a New Year’s Eve dinner together. Several staff members each prepared their best dishes, and one of them, a young Miao woman, suggested setting up a long communal table. Everyone agreed unanimously — even the bulldog kept in the courtyard wagged its tail in apparent approval.

And so: some went to fetch plum wine and rice wine; some went to prepare cured spare ribs; some went to clean and prep the fish; some went out to gather wild mountain vegetables and mushrooms. Ba Yunye, with eight colorful braids woven into her hair, crouched by the well washing a local Lijiang specialty vegetable called “water caltrop greens.” As for Diao Zhuo, he was at the front desk keeping the guests company in conversation — or more accurately, being compelled to keep the guests company in conversation.

He couldn’t possibly have anticipated that, having finally escaped Meng Xiao’ai back in Kashgar, he would arrive in Lijiang only to encounter a whole crowd of “Meng Xiao’ais.” Word had it that six young women, in order to eat at that evening’s New Year’s Eve long-table banquet — or perhaps simply to come inside and make awkward conversation with Diao Zhuo — had checked out of other guesthouses and moved into the Haitang Yin.

Jin Yuling, the guesthouse’s manager, said to Ba Yunye: “Tell your man not to go back to work. Just leave him here to look after the guesthouse — business would be triple what it is.”

Ba Yunye laughed drily. “I wouldn’t dare let him loose in the city of romantic encounters.”

“He strikes me as a man with a very stable character.”

“A man with a stable character wouldn’t have let himself get charmed by me.”

The logic was ironclad.

Sister Jin was Dai, and she often said Ba Yunye reminded her of a Dai girl. In Yunnan, many people said Ba Yunye looked like she was Dai; in Xinjiang, some thought her eyes resembled those of Uyghur women; Long Ge, for his part, consistently maintained she bore a resemblance to the Danba women from his hometown.

Yunnan is a province that is home to a great many ethnic minorities. Pu’er alone has nine ethnic minority autonomous counties, with minority populations making up sixty-one percent of the total. Most of the villages surrounding the area where the old orphanage stood were ethnic minority communities, home to fourteen indigenous groups including the Dai, Hani, Yi, and Wa peoples. As for Ba Yunye, abandoned in her swaddling clothes — whether she had originally come from one of the nearby villages or from elsewhere in Yunnan — there was now no way to know.

Ba Yunye counted on her fingers. “Han, Dai, Uyghur, Tibetan… It seems I really am a ‘four-way misfit’! I truly resent my birth parents — at the very least they could have left me some indication of whether I’m actually an ethnic minority. If I were, a few extra points in the university entrance exam might have got me into university.”

“Exactly how many points short were you?” Diao Zhuo, who had come over using helping out as an excuse to escape the young women chatting him up, asked.

“Just a little short.”

“How little is a little?”

“A hundred-plus points.”

“Whether or not you went to university has absolutely nothing to do with being an ethnic minority.” Diao Zhuo stated this without the slightest tact.

She hugged a basin of water caltrop greens and was struck by a sudden thought. “How many points over the university admission cutoff did you score?”

“Not many.”

“How many is ‘not many’?”

“Over two hundred.”

Faced with a gap that, added together, was more than three hundred points — possibly four hundred — Ba Yunye said with cheerful optimism, “We were from different provinces and different years. There’s no basis for comparison.”

Then why were you so keen on prying in the first place.

A little after six in the evening, everyone hauled out every table and chair they could find in the guesthouse and lined them up in the courtyard — all at different heights, just barely cobbled together into a Yunnan-cuisine version of the long communal table. Ba Yunye grabbed an iron basin, struck it with a large ladle with a resounding clang, and bellowed: “Time! To! Eat!!”

Scalding hot cured spare rib hotpot steamed into the air. Several basins of water caltrop greens, wild vegetables, and mushrooms awaited the pot. The Naxi grilled meat rested on a thick bed of mint leaves. The banquet-grilled fish had a crispy skin and tender flesh, buried under a generous heap of pickled radish and red chili peppers. A great platter of Dai-style hand-packed rice claimed an entire table to itself, ringed by more than a dozen varieties of dipping sauces that Sister Jin had made — it was the kind of spread that set one’s appetite roaring just to look at it.

“Lijiang, Lijiang — where fine food and beautiful people gather as one! The king of kings! The cured ham! One portion more potent than six! Three hundred years of heritage, nourishing kidneys without sugar content, for dessert I choose the finest jelly treats, and for travel guidance you’ll never need another guide!” Ba Yunye was filming a short video and not letting the opportunity to drum up business go to waste.

“Alright, stop fussing and sit down!” Sister Jin, between laughing and exasperation, seized the ever-darting Ba Yunye and pushed her straight into Diao Zhuo’s arms. He caught her and pulled her close, settling her directly onto his lap. Normally stern-faced, he had tonight — infected by the festive atmosphere — let a trace of warmth seep into his eyes.

“Today has been so wonderful!” Ba Yunye threw both arms around his neck. She hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol yet, but her face was already flushed, as though gently tipsy. Her large eyes, already striking and vivid by nature, held an extra touch of allure. “This year my business not only went well, I also accomplished several significant things and gained so much! Especially…” She cupped his face in both hands, grinning, and said nothing more.

“Especially what?” Diao Zhuo looked at her intently, as though the two of them were the only people in the world.

Ba Yunye burst out laughing. “Tricking you into coming here to celebrate the holiday with me!”

“If you’re willing, we can do this every year.”

“Every year? I’ll have to think about that carefully…” Ba Yunye stroked her chin thoughtfully. He reached out and took hold of her hand, pressing it against his chest, letting her feel the strong, steady beat of his heart through the layer of fabric between them. “What is there to think about?”

She was actually a little flustered, and her voice dropped. “I could also come back to Xi’an with you…”

Diao Zhuo pressed his forehead against hers. They couldn’t have been any closer together. “I’m keeping that. That sentence you just said.”

She held out her palm. “Meat-stuffed flatbreads — five of them!”

“Boasting. Drink as a forfeit.” Diao Zhuo filled a cup to the brim, twirling the tiny thing between his fingers with a slight frown. “Why are the cups here so small?”

Ba Yunye shoved the whole bottle of plum wine into his hands. “It’s potent stuff. Don’t believe me? Drink a whole bottle and find out.”

“Playing tricks on me? Finish this cup first, old man.” Diao Zhuo pinched her chin and poured the cup straight in.

“What are you trying to do, getting me drunk?”

“Nothing.” The upright man replied.

Ba Yunye shot him a dangerous look. “You’d better not!”

Diao Zhuo was left speechless. This — this was the true Master Ba.

She wiped her mouth, slid off his lap, and settled onto the low stool beside him. With great solemnity she said, “Diao Zhuo. Tonight I represent Yunnan, you represent Shaanxi. Shall we have a drinking contest?”

“With a capacity of about two liang…” Diao Zhuo gave a derisive sound, his tone dripping with contempt. “Would the people of Yunnan consent to be represented by you?”

Master Ba slapped the table. “Just tell me — are you up for it or not!”

The man from Shaanxi gave a slight smile. “Bring the wine.”

Jugs of rice wine were lined up in a row before the two of them. Ba Yunye wolfed down a few bites of food, then her eyes darted with sudden cunning. “Do you know how to finger-guess?”

“A little.”

The local shark set her trap. “We’re in Lijiang — we can’t use your Xi’an rules. I’ll teach you our way of doing things here. We go by our rules.”

“Whatever you like.”

“Ha, look at you, so confident.” Seeing his completely unconcerned expression, Ba Yunye thought to herself: this man couldn’t possibly be assuming that my limit is two liang, could he? “I’m being upfront about the terms: no welshing when you lose. Anyone who welsches is a shameless coward.”

“Do we go by endurance or by speed?” he asked.

“What do you mean, endurance or speed?”

“Endurance means seeing who holds out longest without going down. Speed means quick-draw chugging.”

“Either.”

“If we’re competing, we need to define what losing looks like. Does throwing up count as losing, or does passing out count as losing?”

She stared at him, full of a wanderer’s bold pride. “If you throw up, come back and keep drinking. You lose when you’re down for the count!”

Diao Zhuo curled the corner of his mouth, raised the small cup, and again appeared to have very little regard for the container’s meager volume. “I’ll go first as a gesture of respect.”

Ba Yunye hated his attitude to the core. She shouted out, “Someone bring this fine fellow a big bowl!”

Diao Zhuo pressed her hand down, adding fuel to the fire. “Since we’re in Yunnan, we should respect local customs. I’m afraid using a big bowl might be too much for you.”

Ba Yunye was incensed — she could have gone and found a wash basin at that point.

Several rounds of clinking and drinking passed, and everyone had picked up a bit of a buzz. Diao Zhuo glanced at the row of empty bottles in front of the two of them and thought to himself: this woman is definitely not a two-liang drinker — she was just playing weak back in Alxa. After a few more cups, she was leaning against him, her cheeks flushed with the rosy warmth of mild intoxication. She pinched his chin and asked, “So? Have you drunk enough to start confessing your true feelings?”

“What true feelings do you want to hear me confess?”

“I don’t want to hear your true feelings — I want to see you actually throw up, hahaha!!” Her laughter rang out wild and unrestrained, as though she were thoroughly drunk.

What she actually wanted to ask him was: when you said earlier that you’d be willing to come back to Yunnan with me to celebrate every year from now on — did you really mean that?

But the words reached the tip of her tongue and couldn’t make it out.

She didn’t believe in future promises more than anyone else here. Since things were good in this moment, she should drink it in with abandon and enjoy it fully. As the saying goes: if wine is here today, drink it today — don’t ask what tomorrow holds.

“If you won’t ask me, I’ll ask you — what’s your actual capacity?” he teased.

“Me?” Ba Yunye pointed to her own nose. “All I can say is I’ve never been drunk to the floor, because I would never in a million years have a drinking contest with someone whose capacity is better than mine!”

“And yet you dared to have one with me?”

“Because even if I black out, I know you won’t let anything happen to me.” Ba Yunye drained another cup, reached out and pressed her hand against his solid chest, rambling on at length, thoughts and feelings spilling out from somewhere deep. “That said — if I do fall for you, I’ll take that fall on the chin. Back in Qiang Tang, Xiao Zi told me that if I made the first move on you, I’d be devaluing myself. I told her: if I don’t make the first move and wait for you to come after me, not only will that not make up the difference, there won’t even be a single chance of anything at all. What makes me, Ba, so special? If someone doesn’t like me, of course I’m worth nothing — what’s there to devalue?”

Diao Zhuo moved all the wine jugs away from in front of her. It wasn’t as if winning or losing had ever truly been the point.

She looked at him. “Any regrets?”

“None.”

“Diao Zhuo…” A coaxing, wheedling note crept into her voice — truly rare.

Diao Zhuo scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward the room.

“We haven’t finished drinking yet!”

“Neither of us looking our best face-down on the floor — better we make a bet on who wakes up first tomorrow.”

“You…” Ba Yunye pressed her lips together, smiling. “You’re just afraid you’ll be the first one to go down!”

“Everything you say is right.” — The stoic, straight-forward man had finally grasped the immutable truth of never arguing with a woman.

The New Year’s Eve atmosphere was warm and gentle. From the television came the sound of the variety show hosts sending New Year’s greetings to the entire nation, followed wave after wave by music and song and dance. Yet Long Ge, far away in Chengdu, and Hippo in Beijing, had both stepped out onto their respective balconies at the very same moment without prior arrangement, each staring up at the heavy, dark night sky with their own private thoughts weighing on their minds. Long Ge’s place was relatively lively, with his parents and siblings having arrived. Hippo’s hotel room was rather quiet and solitary. He opened his phone’s photo album and scrolled through it, one picture at a time — his ex-wife and daughter, Ba Yunye and Long Ge, guests from the road. In the end, he put his phone away and fixed his gaze on the singing and dancing playing out on the television screen, a quiet desolation settling over his heart.