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墨書 Inktalez
I curled up at the seam of the ventilation duct, the salty tang of sea salt lingering in my throat. The sound of military boots grinding against the deck penetrated the steel plates, sending a tingling sensation through my eardrums. As the number seven hatch opened, the moment the Tie Xiu unfurled on my tongue, the microfilm in my sleeve suddenly heated up—at the instant when the Zha Bei Defense Map overlapped with the map of the French Concession, Mother Wang's Suzhou Code, written in nitroglycerin on the ground, exploded before my eyes.
The sound of twenty-four wooden clogs echoed in the hold until the thirteenth step, and I tore open the hidden pocket in my lining. The Copper Playbill given to me by Boss Lu pressed against my palm, its carved camellia pattern oozing cinnabar under the moonlight—this was Boss's signal to summon the assassins. "Zhang the Bald is going to move Mei Lan's tomb!"
Boss Lu's Jade Mouthpiece clashed against a Brass Paperweight, and the sparks that flew illuminated new knife marks etched on the back of the Opera Role Placard. Mother Wang squatted beside the Eight Immortals table peeling pears, the spiraling peel falling in a curve that mirrored the Defense Map of Hongkou Dojo, while pear juice seeped down the table leg into the cracks of blue bricks, drawing a bloodline straight to the warehouse of the French Concession.
At three quarters past Xu hour, sixteen balloons adorned with "Fortune" characters rose from the warehouse skylight. As I counted to the seventh crack of a whip, thirteen oil-paper umbrellas suddenly emerged from the shadows at the wall's base—the rustling sound of their ribs turning mingled with the soft whisper of a Judgment Pen being drawn.
Veteran Martial Actor Zhao flicked his Mongoose Robe aside, and his Nine-section Whip shimmered like fish scales under the moonlight. "The seventh beam." The red silk water sleeves of Xiao Cui, the opera starlet, brushed past my shoulder, her concealed Emei Dagger pointing toward a Load-Bearing Column in the southeast corner of the warehouse. The white silk flower at her temple suddenly bloomed, revealing a triangular dart hidden within its petals—exactly like Sister Mei's favorite concealed weapon technique during her lifetime.
A sharp sound erupted from within the shadows piled high with cargo boxes as iron chains were dragged across. Troupe Leader Zhang leaped down from the second floor with a military knife in hand; the gold-leafed sixteen-petal Kiku Pattern on his scabbard sliced through moonlight, casting a web-like shadow across his face. "Isn't that A Qiang? How are the cherry blossoms blooming in Yokohama?"
As I kicked off from a cargo box into midair, twenty-seven wooden crates plastered with Jintan Pills advertisements exploded simultaneously. Amidst a flurry of paper scraps emerged nine glimmers of cold light—Lao Zhao's Nine-section Whip ensnared three gun barrels, and the rhythm of its copper bell at the whip's end drowned out even machine gun fire.
"Did Boss Mei teach you to sing 'Carrying Slippery Loads'?" Troupe Leader Zhang suddenly ripped open his military uniform; a burn scar shaped like Fuji Mountain on his chest was seeping blood under moonlight. He hurled his Nambu Pistol into the air, where it shattered into pieces, and flying springs precisely extinguished three Gas Lamps.
As darkness descended, Xiao Cui's water sleeves wrapped around my waist. Using the force of her red silk, I flipped midair, and a blade hidden in my shoe heel scraped across a cargo box surface, sparking seven inches of flame.
Amid the sharp sound of metal scraping, a sudden whiff of cedar from Hokkaido mixed in— it was the batch of explosives destined for Hongkou Dojo!
"Be careful!"
Martial Actor Fu's Judgment Pen suddenly zipped past my ear, its tip dipped in Cinnabar exploding into a mist of blood mid-air.
As three dark figures fell in response, I caught the lingering scent of cherry blossom ointment from their sleeves— reminiscent of the tar smell at the site of the French Concession bombing.
Troupe Leader Zhang's military boot suddenly crushed a glass bottle at my feet, and the pungent odor of Nitroglycerin instantly filled the air.
As I tore off my tie to cover my mouth and nose, Lao Zhao's Nine-section Whip had already ensnared his wrist.
The whip's scales scraped against the sparks flying from a military knife, illuminating a row of iron boxes in the corner of the warehouse marked with "Tea" seals.
"Did you think you could poke a hornet's nest and still live to watch the show?"
Troupe Leader Zhang suddenly burst into maniacal laughter, his open collar revealing an Electronic Dashboard beneath his collarbone.
As the countdown's red light flickered at 05:00, Xiao Cui's Emei Dagger had already pierced his shoulder blade.
In that instant I lunged for the iron box, Ah Fu's Judgment Pen exploded blue flames at the keyhole.
The moment the lid popped open, twenty-seven explosives tied with fuses pulsed in sync with the red light of the digital timer.
On top of the stack, a bomb bore the embroidered peony seal— Mei Lan's favorite flower— crafted from the gold thread on her blood-stained garment!
"Run!"
As Xiao Cui's flowing sleeves wrapped around me, a roar of engines suddenly echoed from above the warehouse dome.
Three transport planes adorned with the Rising Sun Flag swept past the skylight, their shadows perfectly aligning to form the shape of Troupe Leader Zhang's burn scar on his chest.
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