Lin Page 26 unreal fluorescent light. The sight of it unsettles him, the thought that light will never cease, that every street will someday be illuminated with this device, that the romance of darkness will be lost - Ridiculous, he chides himself. Only the gentry, those with full stomachs and fat heads, indulge in these blatherings. Sword and sheath firm in a silent grip, he enters the tavern. Beneath him, the wooden floor planks creaking as gently as if they were buffeted by the wind. This is the moment; he will subdue this rabble, he will inform the local constabulary, and then he will be gone, no reward expected, no identity given. The virtuous swordsman functions best when he is a mystery, a man without a past or known allegiance. He is panting. Has a fever come over him? No, he has forgotten to breathe. His mouth is swathed in black silk, all the better to conceal his identity. Now the silk is in his mouth, he is sucking on it. This is insanity, one against ten. Surprise must win out. Nothing to prepare for, who knows where each one of them will be standing or sitting when he attacks. Master Lau says nothing, he means nothing. Think nothing. Be nothing but the specter of that hand that tugs on the rusted latch that locks the trap door, and when the door fans open and the opium smoke floods out like boils from a cauldron, that is the time to move as if invisible, limbs as light as air because they cannot be seen, they are too fast to be seen, everything about him will be too fast for this world.