[Interview Transcript Excerpt: The Fruit of Two Million Years of Maturation]
What is the fruit?
I asked.
I don't know; we can only guess the result.
Wang Ning answered very crisply; he was still wearing his mask, barely covering half of his face with its pale blue surgical fabric. His black, short and thick eyebrows were nestled above a pair of small eyes, their pitch-black pupils scanning the surroundings rapidly. Drops of water clung to his closely cropped hair. We sat by the window; in the humid and gloomy winter of Nanjing, it was raining outside. No raindrops were visible, but the transparent streams converging on the glass were apparent. The streets were eerily quiet, and passersby hurried along, holding differently colored umbrellas but wearing masks of the same color.
We met at a KFC, where I ordered two colas and two bags of fries.
