Just drink one more shot and then I’ll give you the antidote,” Chen Gangliang, the founder of China’s only camel milk company, slurs at me. We are in the sandy desert of western China but in the middle of a fish banquet, harvested from the area’s two freshwater lakes, which were supposedly formed from the footprints of an ancient, celestial horse. The plates of freshwater pike, tiny fried silver fish, and dumplings whose wrapper is actually pounded fish have long since been cleared, and now we are deep into the baijiu, the Chinese firewater I once watched a mechanic use to clean the rust off of motorcycle parts. It’s still light outside in this dusty town, where the sun doesn’t set in summer until 11 p.m. Beijing time.