“I was a barista at Starbucks,” said Hao Tien. He was my walking partner in northeast China.“What was that like?”“Nothing special,” Hao said. “They don’t really need workers. Machines are programmed to do everything.” He mimicked pressing a button.“Did you get caffeinated?”“I’ve had better coffee,” he shrugged. “But I took all their leftover food home at the end of each day. The sandwiches and cakes. I gave them away to my friends at the university dorm. We were supposed to throw it all away.”Starbucks didn’t like that, he added. But he wasn’t working at Starbucks anymore. He was walking with me on forgotten Qing roads into Dongbei, the frozen borderland where Nurhaci, the first king of the Manchus, was saved by crows. When the Ming army had cornered Nurhaci in some reeds, the king pretended to be dead. A flock of crows landed on his back, deceiving the army into believing that the crows were eating the corpse. Nurhaci later escaped. From then on, all Manchus never killed a crow, and kept them as pets.