The narrow concrete road was cracked from years of neglect. The low houses on either side had all been illegally extended, each one encroaching by a different amount on the public road. The people standing in the street wore shabby clothes, and their clothes, faces, and the road itself were all a dusty gray.
A man standing outside a corner shop leaned against the doorframe and looked toward the car on the road.
A middle-aged man got out of the car. He wore a bucket hat and was dressed like someone who might sit by a river fishing. Smiling, he greeted the locals and asked for directions.
The person he asked answered in a dialect that was impossible to understand.
The middle-aged man didn't press him. Still smiling, he went to ask someone else.
After asking three people, he seemed to realize he wasn't going to get anywhere. He sighed and gave up.
Just as he was about to get back into his car and leave, people surrounded it.
A young man walked up with a grin and said in standard Mandarin, "You can't just come to our place and leave like that. Hand over anything valuable you've got." As he spoke, he pulled a folding knife from his pocket.
The people around them watched the spectacle, as if waiting to see the middle-aged man beg for mercy.
The middle-aged man looked astonished, then found the whole thing absurd. He put his hands in his pockets and pulled out an object.
It was a wooden stake, about as long as a finger and a little thicker.
The young man looked at it, then glanced back at his friends. They all burst out laughing.
The bystanders laughed too, pointing and whispering.
The middle-aged man wasn't angry. He raised his hand and,