When he opened his eyes, he thought he was still dreaming.
Above the head were unfamiliar wooden beams, blackened by smoke, and cobwebs swayed gently between the rafters. Underneath him was a hard bamboo mat, exuding an old musty smell. Someone was shouting outside the window - "Cooking cakes! Hot cooking cakes!" - The voice had an accent that he had never heard before, and the ending was rising, like singing in an opera.
