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墨書 Inktalez
The shadow outside the window suddenly vanished, and as the moonlight streamed back in, my back was already soaked through three layers of clothing. The Silk Pouch that mother Wang had sent pressed against my ribs, the outline of the Jade Earrings protruding beneath the fabric, resembling a piece of glowing coal.
The sound of boots crunching dry leaves echoed down the corridor. I pressed myself against the wall and moved towards the wood shed, the sweat from my palms soaking the apricot-yellow satin into a muddy hue. As the Old Elm Door was bolted shut, a drop of oil fell from the Cured Meat hanging from the beam, landing squarely on the lock of the Silk Pouch.
At that moment, the Silver Buckle sprang open, releasing a mingling scent of Copper Smell and Jasmine Powder that filled my nostrils. The bloodstained Earrings rolled into a pile of straw, underneath which lay an Green Jade Bi Disc —its luster surpassing that of Chief Inspector Chen's ring by a margin, with tadpole-like symbols etched along its edge, reminiscent of the brow embellishments Boss Mei painted while singing "Luo Shen."
"Ding!" The jade disc suddenly struck the copper basin at the corner, the echo vibrating through my eardrums. It reminded me of ten years ago when I was sold to the theater; that night, as my Legitimate Mother stuffed silver dollars into my arms, her bracelet had clinked against the nanmu box with the same sound.
I flipped over the jade disc; fine scratches on its back formed the character "Lan"—the very design Boss Mei painted on her forehead daily. My molars clenched tightly, and I tasted Tie Xiu in my mouth.
From the attic came the buzzing sound of a broken Erhu string. Clutching the jade disc, I crept toward the Stage, where moonlight illuminated Yu Ji's self-immolating sword still resting on the drum rack. The blade reflected petals of begonia behind my neck, now turned into brown scabs.
Chief Inspector Chen's footsteps echoed at dawn. He brushed off sunflower seed shells from his police uniform; his Jade Ring shimmered in the morning light like a clam's pearl. "Little brat slacking off again? Boss Mei's coffin needs a third coat of Tong Oil," he remarked.
I stared at the calluses on his right hand, fresh scabs still tinged pink—shaped just like the scratches at Mei Lan's Fish Scale Armor collar. The jade disc burned in my sleeve pocket as I bent down to lift a Coffin Board, hearing the sound of his copper buckle scraping against the coffin.
"Official," I deliberately let the Coffin Lid crash to the ground, stirring up dust mixed with incense ash. "Yesterday while tidying up Boss Mei's Makeup Box, I found half a box of Jasmine Hair Oil."
Chief Inspector Chen paused for a moment in his dusting motion. I pulled out a Porcelain Box wrapped in red silk; as I opened it, the scent of Makeup hit him sharply, causing him to squint—at the bottom lay a strand of hair entwined with Jin Si, gently swaying in the morning breeze. Ten years ago when Legitimate Mother tied me up in a rickshaw, my hair bun had also been wrapped with such Gold Thread.
The police baton crashed down onto the Coffin Lid with a loud clang.
Chief Inspector Chen rubbed his thumb against the inside of the ring, where a fresh scratch marked its surface. "No wonder Boss Mei raised such a little monkey; its eyes are sharper than the hounds at the Police Station."
Suddenly, he leaned in, the scent of camphor mixed with tobacco wafting into my ear. "Do you know how many performers drift down the Huangpu River every day?"
Before I could react, a burst of applause erupted from the front. Boss Lu strode into the mourning hall, his water sleeves swaying as he entered, his phoenix eyes glancing sideways. " Chief Inspector Chen, what a mood! Are you planning to give us an encore of 'Zhong Kui Marries His Sister'?"
As his wrist brushed against the coffin, a sudden snap echoed as the thread broke, sending eighteen beads rolling into the incense ashes. The sound of Chief Inspector Chen's ring scraping against the Coffin Board was jarring.
While Boss Lu bent down to pick up the beads, the hem of his crimson costume swept across my knees—something light fell gently into my mourning shoes.
"A Qiang," Boss Lu said as he stood up, offering me a hand. His palm was damp enough to wring out water. "Troupe Leader Zhang's people came by this morning; they want to change the performance to 'Farewell My Concubine.'” His voice trailed off like Boss Mei’s tremulous tone when she sang, “I urge you to drink and listen to the song of Yu.”
I felt something hard underfoot, shaped like half a Tiger Tally.
As the sun climbed above the eaves, Chief Inspector Chen's boot steps faded at the end of the long street. I slipped into the restroom and took off my mourning shoes. Inside the insoles, an oiled paper wrapped around a stack of silver notes, with Troupe Leader Zhang's private seal on top—the Panlong Pattern missing a corner fit perfectly with the engraved edge of a jade disc.
Boss Lu's water sleeves still hung on the spirit banner, fluttering in the wind like a white ribbon demanding a life.
I touched the jade disc in my sleeve pocket and suddenly recalled how Boss Mei had drawn on my face yesterday, her pinky dipped in rouge mixed with gold dust. "A Qiang, this world allows no True Overlord."
She had drawn a circle on the mirror that matched exactly with the size of the jade disc.
From backstage came shouts and curses as Martial Actors fought over costumes. I bit my fingertip and drew a crescent on the back of the oiled paper—identical to the missing piece of the character "Lan" on the jade disc.
When the rickshaw bell rang for the third time, Boss Lu signaled me from outside the moon gate with three fingers—a secret code agreed upon by Boss Mei and Troupe Leader Zhang during her lifetime.
As dusk painted red over Stage's couplets, I tucked the jade disc into Yu Ji's sword tassel.
Across the street on the second floor of a teahouse, a man wearing a copper basin hat was tapping on the window frame with his pipe—three long taps followed by two short ones, identical to those footsteps that had echoed from the attic that night.
When the watchman struck his first gong for curfew, Boss Lu's carriage pulled up in Back Alley.
A face dusted with white powder peeked through a gap in the curtain. "Troupe Leader Zhang loves 'Night Run,' claiming he entered Shanghai Bund singing this very play."
He handed me a script folded around a photograph—a man in military uniform embracing Boss Mei at her waist, his sword adorned with a piece of Green Jade Bi Disc.
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