For some reason I'm at my old martial art instructor's house where he lives with his wife. I'm there with a faithful entourage of his class members. We venture out onto the streets to join a procession or something. We have various chinese items with us. Someone hands me a large round vase - as big as a basket ball. It looks cheap, as if it had been bought from a tourist shop in China. I immediately notice the vase is cracked all over. It suddenly collapses under its own weight into hundreds of pieces. I've been stitched up by someone. I wasn't responsible, but it looks as though it was my fault. I explain what had happened to the instructor. He remains calm, and feigns generous understanding. Back at the house his attitude changes. He is obviously angry but tries to hide it. He is a passive-aggressive character, and he nonchalantly announces that I'll have to replace it. I'm not responsible but I decide to oblige him to keep the peace. I am ashamed that I'm scared of him, and that I'm weak.