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Music It's February 7, 1900, in the Chinatown District of San Francisco.

41-year-old lumberyard worker Wong-chut King hurries out the door of a Chinese herbalist

clutching a paper package to his

chest. It's so bright on the street that it hurts his eyes. But as Wong squints in the sunlight,

he can't see where he's really going or what he might be treading in. He jerks his foot back

in disgust as he realizes he just put his foot through the swollen carcass of a rat. He's used to seeing

rodents on the streets, but usually they're scurrying around, feeding on trash. Over the last few weeks,

though, there have been dead rats everywhere, and there's a growing unease that there is something

wrong in Chinatown. Long senses that there's something not quite right about himself, either.

His skin inches, his head pounds, he's feverish, and he's feeling weak.

He hopes the package he just bought from the herbalist will help.

It contains a remedy that's been used for centuries to combat fever and fatigue.

He'll try to take them while on break later, but for now he must hurry to the

lumberyard, or else he'll be late for work. The more Wong hurries, however, the more he struggles.

Despite the cool San Francisco air, he's soon sweating through his clothes. His light jog turns to a walk,

the walk turns to a stagger,

and before long, he needs to lean against a wall just to support himself.

As he tries to regain his strength, the busy streets around him begin to darken and then blur.

...