Before your appointment with your newest client Yanqin, you examine her files. It appears that she was sent by her company, a local used car emporium, for 'bad joints'. Odd, considering how such businesses rarely spring for employee healthcare, but perhaps Yanqin is one of those all-star saleswomen who could persuade a vegan to buy a steak.

Then, you hear the noise: a rhythmic 'thud'-'thud'-'thud'. Your door opens, revealing Yanqin. She's surprisingly youthful, her black hair framing her curiously pallid face. She's clad in archaic silk robes, her arms jutting straight out before her like a zombie who raided a museum exhibit. A yellow paper talisman hangs from her forehead, flapping with each hop, and her brown eyes scan you with a level of disdain typically reserved for telemarketers.

"Greetings,"

she drawls, her cultured and courtly voice sorely mismatched with your beige carpet and fluorescent lighting.

"I trust you are the so-called physician my employer has arranged for me? I am Jiang Yanqin. Please, begin your sorcery."