To celebrate 除夕 I went to Auntie Xiao's house. I'd started to doubt the sincerity of her invitation but figured I was new in town without any other options so I'd go check it out. Armed with a couple of bottles of mid-market Chinese rice spirit （白酒， literally 'white wine' but better identified as 'rocket fuel') and a bag of Harbin Hapi beer, I went downstairs to where Auntie Xiao runs a furniture shack with her husband, Mr. Zhang, and through to the back two rooms of the shop where she lived.
Mr. Zhang led me to the living room, where, around a small table, piled high with food, perched a motely assortment of guests. A few Russian girls, Auntie Xiao's brother and son (whom insisted I call him 哥 or brother), and Brother Zhang's best friend.
The senior Mr. Zhang was completely hammered already on a potent mixture of local 三星 (3-star) beer, and a brand of 白酒 which he proudly informed me cost the princely sum of 100RMB (£7) a bottle. We chatted, made traditionally excessive toasts to each other (福如东海，寿比南山 or "May your prosperity be as the Eastern Sea, and your life as long as the Southern Mountain"), and enjoyed a thankfully 'normal' spread of food. Apart from the spare ribs, spring rolls, fish, and vegetables, there was a large platter of deep-fried chicken heads which I declined.
While Zhang Senior leaned over and slurred into my ear his thoughts on national pride ("all Chinese are 龙族" or "children of the dragon"); race relations ("Japanese are Chinese too - everything good about the Japanese is from their Chinese ancestry"); and drinking culture ("男子汉 (real men) down all their drinks, all the time!") , we played a simple drinking game involving guessing how many toothpicks were hidden in someone's hand. The 'winner' had to drink to much raucous applause and sarcastic congratulations.
Beer is normally poured from giant communal bottles into tiny cup or glasses like these. Deliberately or not, the effect is that you're never too sure how much you're drinking. Logically, you know that the crates of empty bottles stacking up behind you can't have emptied themselves, but this handy mouthful size makes it much easier to live in a state of denial.At one point, one of the Russian girls mentioned that her father was ill. Mr. Zhang was having none of this, saying that the Chinese concept of 阴阳 (yin yang) was enough to ensure anyone's health. Blearily-eyed he prompted me for some support.
"I'm old, but I've got no problems at all with my heart and lungs. Western medicine doesn't understand yin yang. Isn't that right? That's right, isn't it?"
I didn't know how to respond, at once cautious about offending my host, but wanting to stick up for the girl who by now looked on the verge of tears. I started to say something about surgery being a strength of Western medicine - if you break your leg, Western medicine is surely superior? - but changed tack to say both schools of thought had merit.
Later, I found myself being driven to 爱丽's former host family's flat to bid them a Happy New Year. An extended family ushered us in to their spacious and modern home, and we were offered even more food and beer.
We rushed back at midnight, and Zhang Senior expounded his thoughts on 气功 (qi gong) to me, while claiming that he used to be Harbin's foremost practitioner of the art. He broke off to give his friend an impromptu massage and I returned to the living room / bedroom to eat some dumplings.In the small hours, the Russian girls, who had been drinking steadily and impressively hard, broke down into some heated Russian arguments and I felt it was time to make my exit. I thanked the clan for an interesting time, and hustled the few feet across the ice to my building and the warmth of my bed.
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