In honor of the Beijing International Literary Festival, raconteur and former Random House Chief Representative Yan P. Zhang takes us on an allusive adventure.

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Midnight Whiskeyed and Wii tennis weary, I hear a rapping at my chamber door. When I peek out, nobody's there, only a placard on the floor. “The Wuya Massage Spa, stress relief for ￥144, nevermore!" It goes in the trash.
12:03 a.m. I entertain being a homebody for the night and seek solace in cyberspace, but my Facebook News Feed has only this: 108 of Your Friends Joined the Group "All Men Are Brothers–A Social Experiment."
12:05 Get text from Jonny Haagen: "Out in Tongli with a simian-looking girl, her fat friend, a dude named Sandy and their effeminate vegan guru, who just asked me if I wanted to trek west to Wudaokou to see a band called Sutra. Seeking rescue."
12:10 Heed Jonny's call to arms. However, the only taxi queuing in front my apartment, which seems to have been there every night for as long I can remember, contains a driver well into his nap. I tap on the window, "shifu zouma?" In a singularly mild yet firm voice, he replies, "I would prefer not to."

Taxi

12:30 Find another cab then get stuck in traffic near Guanghua Lu. We brake just short of a green light. "Wo kao!" says the driver. "So we beat on, wo kao, taxis against the traffic, wo kao, borne back ceaselessly, wo kao, into the past!"
12:34 Near the CCTV Tower, a white Baleno delivery van buzzes by and visibly upsets the driver, who, to my surprise, pulls over and orders me out, lifting up a trouser leg to shows me a wooden peg where foot should be. I don’t argue. The taxi speeds off in hot pursuit of the Baleno.
12:40 Further along the Third Ring Road, hunger strikes. I buy innumerable chua’r and my hands smell like a Berber wedding. No amount of Wahaha water rid them of the smell. I scrub harder. "Out Damned Chua’r! Out, I say!"

Sanlitun

1:15 By foot I reach the entrance of Sanlitun. On one side of the road is a portly woman with an enormous, vacuous mouth, recruiting passers-by to a lady bar. I veer away. On the other side of the street, six mendicant girls, huddled together, besiege me. I surrender six one kuai notes and pass by unharmed.
1:20 A convoy of parked cars blockades the alley to the Tongli ghetto. There is, in succession, a Jaguar, a Peugeot, a Ferrari, no, a Lamborghini, no—‘tis the rarest of rarities—a Cizeta V16T. Awed and rebuffed, I turn and am accosted by a bar hustler, "HellohellohellomynameisVirgilpleasecometomybarclubDiscoInferno!" Succumbing to the cold, I agree.
1:55 Two Coronas later, I cozy up to a coquettish lass and ask her what her favorite book is. She says in a thick provincial accent something about “a mule erecting a tower.” Puzzlement, then a dolorous haze compels me to the restroom.
2:00 While in the bathroom, I see something that drives me crazy. Somebody'd written "Fuwas are just okay" on the wall. It drives me damn near crazy. I think how the bar's ayi would see it, and how she'd wonder what it meant, and then finally some dirty expats would tell her—all cockeyed, naturally, what it meant, and how they'd all think about it and maybe even worry about it for a couple of days. I keep wanting to kill whoever'd written it.
2:05 I emerge from Club Inferno, and Hustler Virgil wishes me “manzou.” I get a text from on-again-off-again paramour Bea P. "Let me know if you want to meet up at Tian Shang Ren Jian/Passions with me and J.C. later on." I politely decline.

Taxi

2:10 In the taxi ride home, traffic slows to gawk at the milieu of a fresh accident. I am not surprised to see the familiar cab, now totaled, wedged like an accordion between pole and wall. The man with the wooden peg is nowhere to be seen. Not far away is the white Baleno van, defiant and unharmed. A crowd gathers. A patron emerges from Rickshaw and makes off with three packs of Camel Lights from a cigarette vendor who'd let down his guard. More commotion ensues.
2:28 Jonny texts back, "Sorry can't make it. The Wuya Massage Spa is offering stress relief for ￥144, nevermore!"

The Verdict

Um, huh? Well it turns out in Yan’s “day” there are buried—some slyly some not so much—references to 13 classic works of literature, 10 Western and three Chinese. If you are as smart as your college degree says you are, name all 13 and win—you guessed it—stress relief massage from the Wuya Massage Spa valued at ￥144. Post your answers to www.cityweekend.com.cn/literaryquiz.