Jiao took a step back to let Shan out of the truck. “The motherland has a responsibility to all her children,” he replied. “And we are well aware that your Yangkar is the closest town to our project,” he added with a gloating expression, then raised a hand in farewell. “Please send Colonel Tan our deepest respects. We look forward to paying him the homage he deserves some day.”

The director seemed relieved as Jiao walked away. “Glad the colonel is finally showing an interest,” he offered in parting. “Tell him to come visit us personally sometime. He’s never bothered to show up. We are going to transform his county.”

Shan drove a mile down the road then waited until a dump truck passed and returned to the compound in its dust cloud, parking at the mess hall. He removed his tunic jacket and donned the old work shirt and wool cap he had thrown in the back seat before leaving Yangkar that morning, then ventured into the dining hall. There would be different shifts for eating, he knew, and a few dozen workers were already in the early lunch line. He took a tray and stood behind them, accepting a bowl of rice and vegetables, then filled a mug with tea and found a seat by a group of men his own age. As he approached he stuffed his left arm into his shirt as if it were immobilized.

He ate in silence, listening to good-natured banter about the weather, equipment breakdowns, and news from distant families. Seeing him struggle to reach a bottle of soy sauce, the man beside Shan pushed it closer. “Flying on one wing, eh?” the worker said.

“Tripped when I fled as that building came down,” Shan ventured. “Could have been worse.”

“Hell, just good fortune that no one died,” the man replied. “No way that big garage should have collapsed like that. A freak wind they said. We can put a new one up easy enough but it’ll take weeks to replace the equipment lost that day.”

“Lucky no one has died anywhere yet,” the burly man across from them put in.

“There’s been other accidents?” Shan asked.

“More than I’ve ever seen on a job,” his neighbor said. “Engines seize up. A sinkhole opened overnight and swallowed a bulldozer. Cement don’t cure right and walls collapse when the forms are pulled away. The cold weather some say, the elevation others claim. Twice they began to cut trees and a wind comes out of nowhere and topples ’em in the wrong direction, taking out a dump truck each time. Some of the Chinese foremen are even suggesting gravity works differently here, ’cause it’s the top of the world. Others say burning all those juniper trees makes smoke that attracts the Tibetan demons. Should never have leveled that graveyard of dead gods, that’s what I say.”

“Graveyard of gods?” Shan asked.