Deng Chuan and I make sorties with my ‘invisible paintings’, hanging them on clothes lines around Huang Jie Ping. The drying clothes frame them like metaphors for absence. Ciao Q comes along occasionally, but the chaos that inevitably accompanies him scuppers all attempts. He’s lately taken a fancy for the chickens that peck around the little campus gardens and when he’s not chasing them he picks dogfights. On our first afternoon we catch the best light and the fewest chickens.