Lan cast one last glance at her reflection. As always, she was in her white silk qípáo, plain and flat compared to the other girls’ luxurious dresses, and just as she liked it. Better to stay hidden as a plain dove than stand out as a peacock in these times. She was the lead—and only—singer for the Teahouse shows, eternally playing the part of the Teller of Tales. The Madam had taken one look at her scrawny appearance ten cycles ago and declared that she wouldn’t be wasting any fine cloth on “a curbside fox.”
