Judith stared with dismay at the four doors marking the end of the labyrinth, each identical save for the small Chinese characters carved delicately into their aging oak faceplates. The centurian guarding the exit seemed distinctly nonplussed by her unexpected appearance. "If you answer the riddle correctly you get to escape," he yawned, "but it's certain death otherwise, so I hope you're good with conjunctions.""But that's totally unfair," Judith exclaimed, the absurdity of her situation dawning on her. "You didn't even pronounce the question properly." She paused briefly, her mind mulling over whether it would even be possible to lodge an official complaint with the Confucius Institute at this point. "It's hardly a test of standard mandarin if you're going to read the riddle like that....""If I spoke fluent mandarin I doubt I'd be working in this joint," the guard replied. "And besides," he said defensively, "your skills would get a bit rusty too after ten years in this place." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of yellowed parchment, its surface covered with grass-script calligraphy. "Why don't I just give you the question on paper." He held it out to her. "I suppose that's fair enough, but don't blame me if you still don't get the answer right."