"Field mouse meat..."
He Qing laughed bitterly.
She pointed at the chunks of ruddy meat that had clearly not been hung up there for long, and said to Feng Cheng, word by word, "Uncle Feng, Feng Cheng. How much crop does our land yield in a year? How much meat have you hung up there? Which family's granary could supply so many, such plump field mice?"
Moreover, if this were field mouse meat, how could there be such uniformly sized pieces? It surely couldn't be that they all weighed the same.
Looking at the village chief, she said with hatred to the old man who had perceived something was amiss, "You think this is field mouse meat? A disabled person, where could he get so many field mice from? This is human flesh! In the child burial pit, the corpses of fifty-eight infants from the past twenty years or so, almost all of them are hung up here!"
