Killing a fish requires detailed and meticulous conception. First of all, lift the fish above the head, and be grateful to the statue of god for this gift of delicacy. Then drop it heavily. If it struggles, knock it until be unconscious by whacking it on the head with a heavy object, which is anesthesia. To remove its scale, hold the fish by the head and carefully scrape its body with the back of a knife in the current, using a plastic bag to catch the splattered scales. The fish may curl up at this point. Don’t worry, this is its insensitive response and it doesn’t feel pain. Next, place the fish on a cutting board, hold the mouth with your index finger, peel back the gills with your thumb, and hold the knife in your other hand and cut away the dark red gills. When both sides are cut, cut off the head hard, and it will no longer struggle. Then cut open the belly, pull out the guts, cut the fish along the spine, marinate it with cooking wine, add onion, ginger and garlic and steam it, then it becomes a delicacy. I wore my hat and thought day and night about the neat flock of sheep. Until I could visualize each part of the picture, until I could hold a knife to an empty cutting board and repeat the actions with my eyes closed, until I could touch the fish in my dreams, and my struggling compassion, I felt I had full control. Walking down the street, I felt my resolve like the unreadable posters whose feet I would eventually reach. Killing a fish, I brought it back from the seafood market today. Facing the statue of god. What was unexpected is the very first act: the fish struggled violently, slipped out of my hands, and fell to the ground with the statue. The splinters scratched it and left a shallow bloodstain. I hastily picked it up, and the rest of the steps went fairly smoothly, without further mishaps. I put it into a long-horned dish. Not too bad, which expected to taste everything immediately. But I didn’t anticipate my occasional disrespect to god and my intentionally or unintentionally trembling hands. The splinters and the blood were still there, and it was a festival.