The teahouse itself was constructed of unfinished wood, aged to a nice 
gray. It looked rickety but evidently wasn't. It was narrow and tall, two 
stories high with a proud winglike roof. One entered through a low narrow door, 
built by and for the chronically undernourished. The interior had the ambience 
of a rustic cabin on a lake. Judge Fang had been here before, in mufti, but 
today he had thrown a robe over his charcoal-gray pinstripe suit—a 
reasonably subtle brocade, funereal by comparison with what people used to wear 
in China. He also wore a black cap embroidered with a unicorn, which in most 
company would probably be lumped in with rainbows and elves but here would be 
understood for what it was, an ancient symbol of acuity. Dr. X could be 
relied upon to get the message.