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A moment later, the lane entered an open square. What leaped to her eyes were the tents, the adverts and the flowing people. Here in the middle of the village, before noon, the market was as cheerful as the birds singing.
Mei half pedaled half stopped, dealing with the unavoidable crowd. Through an archway, on the left, outside a mahjong shop, under a red tent, where the noise was on and off, she caught a glimpse of her father-in-law gambling at a square table with money under packets of cigarette. There were three old men watching, including one standing behind him. On the other table, many onlookers with folded arms, sometimes cried out in waves, sometimes kept silent with the only distinguishable mahjong clacks piercing the sky.