ABSTRACT
On May 17,1986,1 once again stepped onto Guangxi soil. Accompanying me was my literary friend, Bei Ming, who specializes in literary theory and has a fervent interest in cultural anthropology. She intended to learn about the carefree and romantic southern culture, for which she has great respect, and, of course, she would help me in my explorations to understand Guangxi. A longing of mine was finally to be realized; I was excited and yet at the same time I felt a sense of absurdity. How dramatic—here we were, on a fine sunny day in the 1980s, at the end of the twentieth century, planning to investigate the occurrence of cannibalism. The Thousand and One Nights! The tragedy had already been verified, but the beautiful sunshine of southern China made me feel like a jaded cynic, a victim of neurosis.
