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墨書 Inktalez
The dampness clung to my skin, and I stumbled to my feet, leaning against the brick wall. Neon lights refracted through the pool of blood, casting reflections on the lifeless eyes of a dead rat, highlighting the missing strokes of the character "Lan" on the Ballymen sign.
In my pocket, the Jade Earrings that Boss Mei had torn off before her death were now burning hot. A water sleeve hung from the copper lock at the back door of the Theater, while the faded Gold Thread shimmered under the moonlight, resembling mottled bruises.
Boss Lu burst out of the office holding a Kerosene lamp, the hem of his long gown sweeping away abacus beads. "What a sin!" he exclaimed. His bony fingers pressed against my shoulder wound, and the scent of Jasmine Powder mixed with blood filled the corridor. "The Police Station just came to question the laundress, saying you..."
I shrugged off his supporting hand, pulling at an old rib injury. Three months ago, when Boss Mei taught me how to navigate social situations, that same rib had hurt just as much.
"The soap foam from the laundry brush and the indigo powder on Chief Inspector Chen's shoes," I wiped away the blood at the corner of my mouth. "Which do you think can withstand a splash of tea better?"
The Kerosene lamp in Boss Lu's hand crashed onto the blue bricks. The flame licked at the patches of his dark blue gown, illuminating his tear-streaked eyes. "When Troupe Leader Yunsheng entrusted you to me back then, it wasn't so you could become a wandering ghost!" Trembling, he pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with intertwined lotus flowers. "This is Mei Lan's keepsake... Pack your things tonight and go find my cousin in Suzhou..."
The musty smell suddenly intensified. I stared at the tea stains on the edge of the handkerchief; that day when Boss Mei wrapped a candied pork knuckle in it and handed it to me, wood shavings were falling from the beams of the Stage.
"Do you remember last month's gathering for ' Youyuan Jingmeng '?" I lifted my garment to reveal a gruesome burn scar beneath my collarbone. "When Troupe Leader Zhang tossed a cigarette butt into my teacup, it was Sister Mei who used chilled bayberries to soothe my wound."
A draft lifted the curtain, revealing Boss Mei's favorite headpiece adorned with peacock feathers. In that fleeting moment under the moonlight, I seemed to see her pirouetting lightly: "Yun Sheng, when you flick your water sleeves, let it be like waves on the Huangpu River."
The sweat from our midnight rehearsals dripped onto the blue bricks and now trickled down my back. Suddenly, Boss Lu coughed violently, his hunched back pressing against a gilded opera trunk. The wax seal bearing the character "Zhou" cracked open with fine lines, revealing half a yellowed script—exactly what Troupe Leader Zhang had mentioned about recording dates for ' Dingjun Mountain ' at Ballymen.
Dark red wax dripped onto my hand, burning me with marks reminiscent of those around Boss Mei's neck. "The basement..." The old man's dry knuckles suddenly gripped my wrist tightly. "West Ear Room, third tile from the left—back then, Troupe Leader Yunsheng buried a flag for a Martial Actor there."
His murky pupils reflected shards of glass in my palm. "Down there... lies the last half of Mei Lan's recording for ' Guifei Drunk .'"
The sound of midnight gongs startled crows perched on eaves.
I clutched the Kerosene lamp as I crossed the overgrown Stage, the moonlight stretching my shadow into long, flowing sleeves. Suddenly, rouge-colored footprints emerged on the bluestone slab, winding their way toward Boss Mei's usual dressing mirror. A shard of Red Nail Stain was caught in a crack of the copper mirror, the very piece she had broken off while touching up my makeup that day.
"Yee—ah—"
A haunting melody startled the Kerosene lamp, causing its light to flicker dimly. I gripped the copper nail of the Stage pillar, the rusty, metallic scent piercing my palm. The moonlight was suddenly swallowed by clouds, and white mist began to rise slowly from the center of the Stage. Within the mist, a figure swirled with ten-foot-long chiffon sleeves, each fold shimmering with the candlelight of a still night.
"Sister?"
I stumbled toward the Stage, cold mist seeping through the cracks of the blue bricks. The moment that figure turned its face, the backstage mirror shattered simultaneously—on a featureless visage floated seven jade earrings, corresponding to the missing burial items from Boss Mei's interment.
The White Shadow's sleeves wrapped around my neck, a chill creeping into the cashmere scarf she had draped around me three years ago.
"Underground..." The mist coalesced into blood-red characters that slithered along the pillar, "...there are their contracts for exchanging lives..." A chilling wind lifted the curtain, revealing a dense array of memorial tablets behind it. The last piece of vermilion lacquer was still wet, dripping down along the characters "Zhou Meilan."
The bronze ring on my wrist suddenly grew hot. I yanked free from the sleeves; blood seeped through the Gold Thread embroidered Kiku Pattern on the remaining silk.
"They're using Eastern Foreigner's shikigami techniques to nurture evil spirits!" I screamed at the dissipating White Shadow. "Did you already discover that Troupe Leader Zhang was selling..."
As the sound of clappers echoed again, I heard porcelain shattering from backstage. I rushed forward with the Kerosene lamp and found Boss Lu slumped in front of the shattered Blue and White Gallbladder Vase, clutching a charred stub of a ticket—its date marked just three days before Boss Mei took her last breath during a grand performance.
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