Our Chinese teacher began class with a simple question: zhōumò guò de hǎo ma? How was your weekend. We babbled like toddlers. In Hangzhou, 200 miles away, we had seen big, new buildings. Or were they buildings new, big. Or buildings that equal new and big. There had been giant raindrops raked with windows, warped tuning forks ready to launch into space, melting eggs with pocked and studded shells. They announce to everyone, anyone, that China is here. The future is here. Duì, duì, duì…true, true, true…our teacher trailed off, nodding. After a brief silence, she touched her collar bone and whispered, almost wistfully, to no one in particular: wǒ de qián, wǒ de qián. My money. My money.