Mang couldn’t be patient any longer. Mei thrashed about her arms and legs, like an injured racehorse in every possible way. Her indefatigable resistance only made Mang press even harder with one elbow choking her neck, the other on her belly like a hammer. She soon exhausted herself. Her breasts were maltreated, her lips were burnt, her tongue was smothered, her womb was invaded by a barbaric force and her secret garden was no longer secret. She cried, cried in horror. Her tears were bound to breed resentment, like violence bred violence. Her knuckles were reinforced; a fist was clenched and her other fingers were performing - pulling the trigger of a rifl e at his skull. The very beginning of her revenge was to turn herself into a wild stone, rough and senseless. The inner force of her panic-stricken bones was in the ghostly shape of a dark shadow arising like a heroic commander, who was ordering her to breathe, to gather a little more energy, to bang her head into his. She tried and failed, tried and failed. For his head was a giant foot clutching her skull. She felt an utter disgrace when his skin was touching every inch of her skin. But she was drained, her struggle had become the air she couldn’t breathe. She collapsed as if on the water. She felt herself fl oating, formless.