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墨書 Inktalez
The water in the copper basin rippled, the droplets of blood falling onto the surface creating delicate waves. I slumped against the white jade tiles, watching as my senior brother's black boots crushed through the pool of blood, dragging dark red stains from the hem of his costume. As Chief Inspector Chen stepped over the threshold with his baton in hand, Boss Mei's hairpin rolled out from the makeup box, its pearls shattering against the blade.
"Don't move!" The heel of Chief Inspector Chen's leather boots clicked against the broken porcelain shards. He lifted Mei Lan's blood-soaked fish scale armor, the copper buttons spinning under his fingertips. "The wound is two inches and three tenths deep, with an entry angle of seventy-five degrees—clearly a suicide."
The theatrical martial artists gathered around the ornate door frame, whispering among themselves. I focused on the jade ring on Chief Inspector Chen's thumb. The green glimmered under the kerosene lamp, reminiscent of Boss Mei's freshly dyed nails from yesterday. Suddenly, my senior brother yanked my arm. "A Qiang, why are you trembling?"
The blood characters on the wall began to darken, the last stroke of "Yu Ji Farewell" trailing into a winding shadow. Chief Inspector Chen's baton struck against the copper mirror frame. "What are those chanting women crying about? Boss Mei must have gone to join Hegemon-King of Chu in death!" In the cracked reflection of the mirror, I saw a petal from a White Begonia flower stuck to the back of my neck.
The night wind carried a heavy scent of smoke through the window, causing Yu Ji's crown to tremble gently on the dressing table. mother Wang suddenly collapsed at Chief Inspector Chen's feet, her forehead thudding against the blue bricks with a loud bang. "Official, please see! The young lady was supposed to go to Commissioner Zhang's residence for a performance at dawn..."
"Smack!"
The sound of the baton striking mother Wang's shoulder blade made my teeth ache. Chief Inspector Chen pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his finger ring. "I understand the rules of the theater; even if a star dies, we still need to sell tickets for three days using gimmicks." He picked up a blood-stained script with his boot tip. "Tomorrow we'll say it was bandits who attacked; the more tragic it sounds, the higher we can sell tickets."
As the watchman struck three on his clapper, I heard my senior brothers in the backstage scrambling for costumes. I crouched in the props room counting red silk when a shadow suddenly blocked out the moonlight streaming through the window. mother Wang entered with a kerosene lamp, her face half-illuminated by its shade showing an image of a lady.
"A Qiang, young master." Her voice sounded as if it had been scorched by charcoal fire. My hand trembled, causing Yu Ji's jade belt hook to fall into a Tong Oil barrel, splattering oil that stained her skirt in patterns resembling plum branches. Ten years ago, on that night when I was sold into the theater troupe, my legitimate mother’s skirt had also been marked with such stains.
mother Wang pulled out a silk pouch from her collar; its apricot-yellow satin was embroidered with intertwined lotus flowers. "The young lady prepared this at the beginning of the month; she said it was for someone fated." Her gnarled fingers brushed over the silk pouch’s clasp, and suddenly it sprang open, dropping out half a piece of blood-stained jade earrings—identical in quality to Chief Inspector Chen ’s finger ring.
From the back alley came sounds of wild dogs tearing at something. The kerosene lamp wick crackled and sputtered. mother Wang suddenly gripped my wrist tightly, her nails digging into yesterday’s wound inflicted by Mei Lan’s armor. "The Bi Luo Chun that Commissioner Zhang gifted last month—she took one sip and vomited all over her costume..."
The attic floorboards creaked ominously. We both looked up to see half-faded red silk hanging down from a beam—the prop that should have been displayed on stage for Youyuan Jingmeng. mother Wang blew out the oil lamp abruptly; as she shoved the silk pouch into my arms, it still held her warmth. "Be careful of those singing Martial Actor..."
Her footsteps faded around the corner of the staircase. I clutched the Silk Pouch and retreated to the window, where the moonlight illuminated the shadow crouching on the opposite eaves. As the figure stood up, the brass buckle of a baton at their waist glinted coldly.
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