The staff member assigned to search my luggage was a woman.

I unzipped my backpack cleanly and handed it over. I wasn’t nervous at all.

There wasn’t much inside: a few sets of old clothes washed so many times they’d faded white; an old‑fashioned radio; a small whetstone with chipped corners; a stone mortar and pestle; a tightly tied bag of “wood shavings”; and two pairs of cloth shoes worn soft from being stepped on.

She flipped through each item. Her fingers even paused on the fabric for a few seconds, like she couldn’t believe someone would bring luggage this shabby onto a show.

In the end, she checked off...