Lu Qing kicked open Chang Er's door, clutching his bowl of rice.
The air inside stank of cheap lime and pungent wood oil. Through the thick smoke, he saw Chang Er—butt in the air—frantically waving a half-bald brush at something hovering in mid-air.
It was a woman. Or rather, the shape of one. She was a "Socialite," sitting on a three-legged chair propped up by bricks. Half of her shoulder had peeled away, revealing the grey bamboo strips used to weave baskets.
"Don't move! My lady, your bamboo bones are growing green mold! Lucky for you, my craftsmanship is top-notch!" Chang Er shouted, slapping a glob of sticky, purple sludge onto her shoulder.
"Chang Er, what the hell is that?" Lu Qing gagged.
Chang Er jumped three feet high, nearly shoving his brush up his own nose. "Lu Qing! Scared the life out of me! This is a secret recipe from the 'Hall of Variegated Colors.' It's for 'Internal Vacancy'."
"Internal vacancy?" Lu Qing pointed at the bamboo strips. "She's stuffed with baskets!"
"Shh! Keep it down!" Chang Er hissed. "Who isn't stuffed with something these days? Old Wang has straw; the Mayor has old newspapers in his backside. We just slap on a layer of paint and act like civilized people."
The lady turned her head stiffly. Her eyes were painted on, and they weren't quite symmetrical. "Young Lu," she murmured, her voice hollow, "Master Chang's work... is truly... exquisite."
As she spoke, flakes of white powder fell from her face. Chang Er lunged forward, caught the powder in mid-air with professional grace, and smeared it back onto her cheek.
"See? Professionalism!" Chang Er bragged, though Lu Qing noticed a massive blue brick tied to Chang Er's left ankle.
"What's with the brick?"
"Oh, this?" Chang Er kicked the heavy stone. "The 'buoyancy' is too strong lately. If I don't tie myself down, I'll wake up floating in the clouds tomorrow morning."
Suddenly, a sharp, tearing whistle echoed from outside. The "Color Harvesters" from the Hall of Variegated Colors were coming.
Chang Er's bravado vanished. He kicked over his bucket, doused his own head in purple sludge, and shrank into the corner, blending into the wall. "Lu Qing, hide! They're looking for bright colors! That red rice of yours is a death magnet!"
Lu Qing gripped his brush. A civilization held together by bamboo and straw. A world maintained by paint and lies.
"Chang Er," Lu Qing whispered, "when the skin is all gone, do you think we'll finally see who's holding the pen that's stabbing us?"