Hu Shi was worried. He didn’t like the way his e-mail went last night. Hu was sitting in the kitchen waiting for his wife. He had set out the food: youtiao for him and zongzi for her (she was, after all, from Shanghai). They each had a cup of warmed milk that was cooler by the minute. He looked at his watch, waiting. Time was a rigid commodity just now for Hu. He looked again at his watch and then reached for his warm twisted, juicy dough stick and took a bite.

It was early November and even now the weather was turning cold. Their little kitchen had a black table in the middle with four chairs: two for Hu and his wife and two for company. They had a new stainless steel refrigerator that had been the gift of his father (who worked in a procurement agency concerned with foreign trade).