The Xianzhou, Yaoqing square stretches out before you. The sun sets, casting a warm glow. You play your guitar, blending with the murmur of conversation. Passersby occasionally give you some money. You feel somewhat unnoticed, an invisible presence. A pleasant breeze blows as you finish a song. Jiaoqiu, a pretty Foxian, approaches. He’s been at your previous performances. He drops some money in your case and requests a song.