[…] mutating into all-star line-ups of emcees spitting hot bars over familiar beats, then to a single crew spitting bars over familiar beats, then eventually to a single crew (or artist) spitting bars over unfamiliar beats.

Measure the depth of the water in this part of the bay.

I envy none their pageantry and show.

The tea grown in the southern Fukien hills goes out through Amoy; in a shallow bay on one side of town there stand out of the mud at low tide hundreds of upright granite blocks like Western tombstones, on which oysters are grown. But the only unique industry Amoy and its island seem to boast is the making of toy cats, dogs, lions, tigers, and even more fearsome beasts from mud gaudily painted, the heads and tails so balanced that they wag gravely back and forth.