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墨書 Inktalez
The kerosene lamp cast flickering shadows on the blue bricks of the stage, and I stared at the crack in the third tile of the West Ear Room. As my nails dug into the crevice, the copper ring suddenly grew hot, and dark red rust seeped into the wound along my palm—beneath this brick lay the flag of Martial Actor from Troupe Leader Yunsheng, along with the recording wire from Sister Mei's last performance.
As I lifted the blue brick, a musty odor mixed with the scent of jasmine ash hit me. On the lid of an iron box lying in the dark compartment, seven jade earrings formed a fragmented plum branch pattern under the moonlight. I felt for a raised button on the bottom of the box, and suddenly heard Sister Mei's teasing voice from when she taught me acting: "Yun Sheng, your Cloud-Dispersing Hand should be like unravelling a thread."
With my index finger pressing down, I turned the screw three times to the left. The moment the iron box clicked open, thirteen shadows appeared simultaneously in the backstage mirror. The yellowed recording wire was tangled with a half piece of water sleeve, and a piece of indigo costume fabric wrapped around a damp theater ticket—exactly what Sister Mei had torn apart on the day she passed away.
As I pinched the edge of the torn ticket, feeling the indigo powder, I suddenly heard the crisp sound of wooden clogs stepping on the stage above me. "Little Junior Brother." A cold female voice brushed against my neck. "You really found it."
In the mirror, the shadows coalesced into a woman wearing a kimono, her hair adorned with golden hairpins that matched Sister Mei's jade earrings. She pressed her clog against my old injury at my lower back. "What Troupe Leader Zhang wants is not this wire."
I flipped the iron box back at her; the wire stretched taut in midair like a sharp string. Three shurikens flew out from her sleeve, cutting through the wire and sparking flames that ignited the hanging curtain. The fire spread along the gold-threaded Kiku pattern, illuminating the lipstick fingerprints left on the mechanism at the basement entrance—exactly what Sister Mei used when she sang "Youyuan Jingmeng" with impatiens juice.
The copper disk of the mechanism was engraved with twenty-eight constellations, and its central groove resembled Sister Mei's jade collar flower. I pulled out my hot earrings from my pocket and pressed them in; suddenly, the copper disk spun counterclockwise, dark red droplets oozing from where Qinglong's seven stars were positioned.
"At a quarter past midnight, Kui Mu Lang shifts." I silently recited the mechanism techniques taught by Troupe Leader Yunsheng, dipping my fingertips in blood to illuminate Jiao Star's position. Amidst the roaring sound of interlocking gears, a three-foot-wide crack opened in the floor, releasing a stench mixed with Eastern incense.
As I struck a match, I saw seven ceramic jars arranged at the base of the basement wall, each jar's mouth wrapped in blood-soaked costume water sleeves. The talisman on the third jar was written in Sister Mei's lipstick, and atop half-rotted scripts inside lay Troupe Leader Zhang's private seal.
When I flipped to that page of Dingjun Mountain, a photograph slipped out from between layers. Sister Mei was kneeling on tatami mats in a kimono, her neck encircled by ten zhang long chiffon water sleeves—the very ones that had choked me on Ling Night.
On the back of the photograph, written in blood, were the words: "In the twelfth month of the fourteenth year of Showa, Mei Lan at Hongkou Dojo."
Suddenly, the drawer of the vanity popped open by itself, revealing half a box of congealed rouge.
As I dipped my fingers into the rouge to write on the mirror, Sister Mei’s distorted face suddenly appeared: "Run! They’ve raised Shikigami in every urn..."
The sound of wooden clogs activating a mechanism echoed from the basement entrance, and seven urns began to ooze blood simultaneously.
I grabbed the script of Dingjun Mountain and stuffed it into my Costume. As I turned around, I caught a glimpse of a hand reaching out from the last urn—its ring finger adorned with a bronze ring identical to Boss Lu’s.
The blood had already risen to my ankles, with bits of packaging from Dongyang Pharmacy floating in the frothy liquid.
I stepped on an overturned prop box and climbed up to the air vent, hearing a deafening crash as the urns shattered behind me.
Thirteen White Shadows rose from the blood, their kimono hems embroidered with Ballymen’s Gold Thread Kiku Pattern.
"Sister, this production of Burning of Chibi..." I tore down a curtain to bind it to a beam, flames licking up along the Gold Thread towards the rafters. "Let’s perform the full version!"
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