At this point, Mei returned from drifting. She came to accept that the Lighthouse, the Gallery, the bridge, the kapok and the like had already become a bore, like a matter of repeated occurrence that no longer interested her. At the entrance of the bridge, there were still men fi shing and many rickshaws waiting as before. But Mei couldn’t like it anymore. Instead of fi nding it a peaceful image, she disregarded the peace as a part of her hatred for Bing. She refused to think further, yet her mind was still attached to his words that had bubbled up and over the top of her fermenting brain.