CHEUNG LI PICKED UP THE CARD she found bundled with the CD-ROMs with the latest package from Brett Weir. Torn and dirty, it appeared to be a playing card of sorts -- yellowed and ancient. On the back, swirling figures danced upon an oddly tilted landscape -- vaguely Chinese style watercolour mountains in the background, willow trees in the mist. A huddle of coolies smoking opium and lying by the side of a tranquil pond. At the top, a simple Chinese character, five connected horizontal and vertical strokes forming a kind of "I/E" combination -- it was the Chinese character for "truth". Staring at the card, figuring it was some sort of clue (or why else would Brett Weir have sent it to her) -- staring at the card it seemed to Cheung Li that a wry smile suddenly developed on one of the coolie's faces. This coolie held aloft an opium pipe over his head, and light glowed from one end. Maybe it was just the comedown from last weekend's expedition to the clubs, but Cheung Li could swear the coolie's pipe light actually emanated out from the card, and into the polluted air of the apartment. There was some kind of devilry at work here! The other smokers stared into space, into the exquisitely dreamlike mist. Suddenly, Cheung Li realised they were not alone: in the centre of their huddle a woman was dancing, Ming Dynasty style or something -- wearing vibrant robes and dancing slippers and whose long black hair flew out from her head as she spun. Strange I didn't notice her before Cheung Li thought, confused.

Cheung Li pocketed the card shaking her head to clear it of the image of the dancer. Shit, I'm late! she thought. She hastily gathered up her things and dashed to the nearest subway.