Cheng Xiangyang speaks to Alec Ash in Beijing

In 1997, in my village in Henan province, China, people started to die inexplicably. There were certain symptoms they all had in common: fever, diarrhoea, and so on. More and more of us fell sick and died. The doctors said there was no virus - but they didn't test for HIV.

A true story of Soviet killer dolphins and fantasy mercilessly crushed

In the resort towns of the Crimea, Ukraine, holidaymakers from the heartlands of Russia laze on short beaches of lumpy shingle, the Black Sea lapping at their feet. Supine on straw mats, fat red bellies up like beached manatees, there is hardly a gap visible between them. Occasionally one will turn over like a pancake flipping itself on the hob.

The battle diary of an American’s song and dance

“More emotion! Make it natural! Relax!!” the director repeated into his microphone as I awkwardly pranced around the stage, background dancers scurrying to and fro. The advice wasn’t helping: the more I tried to act natural, the more nervous I was at the prospect of appearing on television in China to millions of viewers in a tiny strapless dress, singing “I Want to Marry a Chinese Man” in Mandarin.