A searing pain in the back of her head, as if she'd been struck with a heavy hammer, jolted Shen Yan awake. She struggled to open her eyes. First came the smell of face powder mixed with incense and candle smoke; then the cries and wails all around her. The mournful Beijing accents, steeped in old-fashioned gloom, made her frown. A red silk veil dimmed her vision, the phoenix crown's dangling beads dug into her temples, and the heavy wedding robe pulled painfully at her shoulders. She didn't even need to look to know that no modern office worker could afford to wear an outfit like this.
