Free Zero and Other Fictions by Huang Fan Page A

school that day. Our group of explorers left through the side gate and went down a narrow path through entwined bushes, trees, and a bamboo fence.
    I saw the path again in 1983 (the year I was called up for military service) and again in 1985 (after completing my service) and again in 1987. Since then, I have spent a couple of afternoons a year walking around the area.
    It was probably between 1985 and 1987 when the bushes were dug out to make room for a cobblestone road that motorcycles could use. Nonconforming buildings made of steel and wood were erected on either side. In 1989, the nonconforming buildings were torn down, the road widened, and long. narrow, three-story residential buildings erected on either side. It was at that time that the ditch was moved underground.
    Four years later, I bought a Ford and that very day went to see the old neighborhood. I slowed down and circled the school.
    The school looked small and cramped. Then I went down the small path, or, I should say, the avenue, a four-lane street with seven- and eight-story buildings on either side. In a matter of minutes, I arrived at the former site of the big ditch.
    I stopped my car, planning to relive some childhood events there above the ditch. Unexpectedly, a horn sounded behind me. That sound is one of humiliation in the big city, but all the more so in the suburbs. I finally parked my car thirty meters away in front of a coffee house. I spent the entire afternoon inside, staring blankly out the window.
    The five of us continued on, leaping and shouting as we went, as if we wanted to let everyone know how happy we were.
    After a while, we stifled our laughter and breathed deeply through our noses because the foul odor of burning trash filled the air.
    A while later, we smelled chicken manure (perhaps it was dog shit— it’s hard to be certain after the passage of so many years). After that stink, light and shadow flickered before our eyes. It was a small dirt mound in which were embedded pieces of broken glass, slag, and chunks of brick. We carefully climbed to the top of the mound of dirt and stood in the bright light and the breeze, which smelled of dry grass, and looked down at the big ditch snaking away at our feet.
    4
    When I thought about giving a complete picture of the big ditch, an idea suddenly came to me: Why not draw a picture of it?
    So I put down what I was doing and ran to the stationery store, where I purchased a box of colored pens and a sheet of paper.
    (The previous lines were written upon my return from the stationery store. If a reader should ask why I chose a box of colored pens and not crayons or pencils, my reply would be that the stationery store sold only colored pens or that upon entering the store all I saw were colored pens. They cost eighteen yuan .)
    I will now begin to draw!
    Note: the ratio of this picture is approximately 100–150:1. But, dear Reader, please don’t take out a ruler to measure the width of the ditch in this picture and then multiply that figure by 150. In doing so, it would be you, not the author, me, measuring the ditch. As to the color, there will be some difference from reality. And if the editor rejects my suggestion, the picture will be in black and white and the ditch will be gray. It will be the same as the color of the river you saw recently. But the color of river water was different in those days, as was that of the ditch water. At this point, I’d like to remind everyone: do not let Chang E laugh at our dirty river water.

    5
    I was quite satisfied with the results and felt it could help explain the matter of how to measure the width of a ditch. So I inserted the picture in an envelope in preparation for finding someone on whom its usefulness could be tested.
    At this point in the story, many readers might feel impatient. If that is the case, I have a number of suggestions:
    1. You can immediately stop reading and think of a way to forget what you have read.
    2. You must