He drives through a red light and brags, "I bet you had to follow all those dumb traffic laws in the States. I never have to bother here. The sheriff at the police department is my buddy."

I notice that an old pedestrian at the crosswalk stops in fear as President Gao's big Cadillac surges into the traffic. It reminds me of something my New York Times friend Richard Bernstein wrote in his book The Ultimate Journey: Retracing the Path of an Ancient Buddhist Monk Who Crossed Asia in Search of Enlightenment: "The world is divided into two kinds of countries. There are countries where the cars stop for people and countries where the people stop for cars."

"Where do you feel like eating?" President Gao asks me.

"I don't have any particular preference."

"I'm so sick of shark fins and lobsters, I want to take you to a trendy new place, very up market, where all the CEOs go. That place has a delicacy that you won't find anywhere else. Don't worry about the money – it's on me. I've heard that overseas Chinese always go dutch. We locals don't do that."

I know the money President Gao is going to spend is not really his anyway. It is all gongkuan, public money.

"I guess you can afford anything in China," I say, thinking, "I will not give him the chance to buy me anything."

We arrive at an unnamed restaurant in Foshan, the city adjacent to Guangzhou. The owner, a beautiful young lady, greets President Gao in a seductive voice. "Gao Zong, the usual?"

"Yes, please," President Gao says, apparently enjoying being called Gao Zong. As they walk inside, President Gao says to me, "By the way, that bitch wants to be my third wife." In the next twenty minutes, he tries to impress me by eagerly telling me how many women admire him and his money.

When the dishes arrive, I almost faint. Scrambled eggs with ants, fried cockroaches, bat soup… I can't understand why these things are expensive in Guangzhou. In the United States, I saw young people eat this stuff on TV after they were paid $50 each. Apparently, it is not an exaggeration that people in Guangdong will eat anything that has legs except tables and anything that flies except airplanes.

"I can't eat this." I say.

"If you don't like Chinese food, why didn't you stay in America? I know – I bet it's because the white people treat us Asians as a second-class race! I bet you couldn't bear it anymore." President Gao sounds hurt.

I realize the most embarrassing moment for a woman is to meet a vengeful man whom she has rejected – even if she was the only one who had not teased him at school for his family background. But now I smile at President Gao. "It's not that bad, actually. Being yellow in America is at least better off than being a son of a low-ranking civil servant in Jingshan School."

GONGKUAN: Public money, often refers to things that can be reimbursed or paid for by the government or work units. The Chinese are true artists when it comes to writing off expenses to the government or their companies.

After five years of courtship in England and two years of living together in China, Nick and CC broke up: Nick dumped her after their trip to Shanghai. Everybody in his circle of friends thought that Nick would stay in Shanghai and continue to pursue the Portman Hotel waitress with whom he was infatuated.

Instead, he is back in Beijing and has begun seeing Little Fang. CC is very upset after hearing this – especially since we have all been friends with Little Fang. CC comes to complain.

"But doesn't Xiao Fang already have someone?" I ask her as I remember Little Fang's boyfriend, an earnest young man who always seemed to have a GRE English vocabulary book in his hand.

"She's always had the hots for Nick, I guess. Otherwise, why would she have offered him free Chinese lessons?" CC says.

"I suppose you're right," I say, "But Little Fang seemed so nice. I'm sure she didn't initiate this relationship. Perhaps it was Nick."

"Whatever. If the bitch was really my friend, she wouldn't have agreed to go out with him," cries CC.

"Did Nick tell you why he wanted to break up with you?" I ask.

"He said he had decided that he liked local girls better than girls like me who grew up overseas. He said local girls aren't so snooty and stuck-up. Niuniu, do you think I'm a stuck-up, snooty princess?"

"No, CC, of course not!"

"But why did Nick dump me for Xiao Fang? Niuniu, tell me, is it because I'm not as pretty or as sexy as the local girls?" CC asks.

"You're beautiful."

"Then, I guess I'm not Chinese enough. He said I don't have the elegance of a real Chinese woman." CC sighs.

"Sounds like he has yellow fever," I say. "He really does have an Asian fetish. Time to move on, dear. Nick is just a single blade of grass on the lawn, and even as we speak, there are new seedlings blowing in the wind. And in Beijing, the grass grows quickly!"

CC looks pensive and sad, saying, "But maybe he's right, maybe I'm not Chinese enough. Whenever Westerners see me, they all think I'm Chinese, and expect me to speak perfect Chinese, to be a submissive Asian woman and drool over them just because they're foreigners. But I'm not Chinese – I'm a Westerner. I grew up in England; English is my native language. I only speak Chinese when I'm with my parents. I know far more about European culture than I do about Chinese culture. And I'm not about to throw myself at some Western guy just because he has blue eyes and blond hair.

"When I came to China, I thought, if I study Mandarin and learn a bit about kung fu and feng shui, then I'll be Chinese. But when Westerners ask me questions about Chinese culture, I've got no idea. I've worked hard for so many years, but I'm a failure. I don't belong anywhere. Doesn't matter whether it's Nick or those men I met in Asia, so many of them want someone exotic. If they go out with a local girl, it gives them a colonial sense of victory, of conquering and taming the mysterious Orient. But me, I'm too Western, too similar to them – I see myself as one of them, as their equal. I'm not exotic enough, so these Western men don't think being with someone like me is sufficiently romantic. Am I right?"

"Why are you so worried about what Western guys think of you anyway? If they don't understand you, if they don't appreciate you, then why don't you go out with a Chinese guy instead?" I suggest. "You're pretty, smart, funny, there must be loads of Chinese guys who want to go out with you."

"I don't know – I've never been out with Chinese men before."

"Why not?" I demand.

"Somehow we just don't click. It'd be like dating one of my brothers or something. And Western guys are always so much funnier, laid-back, not so stressed about pleasing their parents. And Western guys have got much better bodies!"

"Hmph, you can blame Nick for having yell ow fever, but it seems to me you're just as fixated on Western men," I say to CC.