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墨書 Inktalez
The roar of waves crashing against the rocks still vibrated in my eardrums as I wiped the sulfur powder from my face. The gear marked No. 493827 felt hot in my palm, reminiscent of the gilded wine cup that Mei Lan had accidentally knocked over while singing "Guifei Drunk."
Neon lights from the casino flickered three blocks away, and the glass revolving door reflected my image in a tailored suit—embedded in the jade lapel pin was a fragment of sulfur extracted from the explosion site.
"Sir, how many chips would you like to exchange?"
The dealer's nails oozed jasmine-scented ointment, identical to that on Boss Lu's Mongoose Robe. I pushed ten eagle dollars across the mahogany table, the sound of silver coins clinking hiding the faint click of a miniature camera shutter.
Beside the third gambling table, a man in a striped vest was manipulating Pai Gow tiles. The chain of his Count's Watch peeked from his cuff, stamped with the steel mark of "Mitsubishi Warehouse" from Suzhou Code.
As the dice cup was lifted, a kimono-clad waitress brushed past me, carrying sake. Her wooden clogs left cherry blossom-shaped water stains on the Persian carpet, perfectly aligning with the Black Dragon Society's secret symbol drawn in Mei Lan's letter.
Feigning a stumble to lean against the gambling table, I let magnesium powder fall from my cuff, blooming into white mist under the chandelier—thirty-seven steps away, the brass doorknob of the VIP room glinted."
"Mr. Zhou enjoys playing blackjack too?"
A Japanese man in a navy suit suddenly blocked my path; the Kiku Pattern on his tie clip refracted seven layers of light from the crystal chandelier. I reached for the Opera Role Placard in my pocket, and suddenly, the snake-embossed scales pierced my fingertip—the juice from Boss Lu's impatiens mixed with blood droplets spread across the green felt table, forming half of Wusong Wharf's Defense Map.
Tanaka Ryokichi's pocket watch chain snagged my stack of chips. "I heard Young Master Zhou has a watch shop on Xia Fei Road?"
In his open palm, microfilm seeped with bloodstains from the French Concession Police Station. I smiled and tossed the dice onto the roulette wheel; ivory dots clashed against the emerald surface, producing a rhythm reminiscent of "Si Lang Tan Mu"—three reds and four whites, precisely matching the code for "intercepted" in Military Intelligence Cipher Code.
Suddenly, the agarwood scent in the VIP room solidified into form. Five Japanese men in standing collar uniforms were passing around documents, cigar smoke outlining a blueprint of Hongkou Power Plant.
I leaned closer to light a cigarette at the mahogany coffee table and caught a glimpse of "The 20th day at Chou Hour" in matchstick light—that day marked the Emperor's birthday when all clock towers along Bund would chime "Kimi no Yo."
"Mr. Zhou should try this."
Tanaka handed me a sake cup with undissolved potassium cyanide crystals settled at the bottom; inside the cup’s wall, lipstick read "Hurry up." I suddenly coughed violently, spraying sake that scorched a hole into the cashmere carpet.
The magnet hidden in my dentures began to heat up; it was a miniature detonator that Mei Lan had slipped between my teeth, now resonating with wires buried within the wall.
As the woman wearing the Xiangyun Silk pushed the door open, the tortoiseshell hairpin in her hair had been replaced by a steel spike from the Black Dragon Society. The Password Book in her hand flipped rapidly, each page covered with photographs of Shanghai's Zhabei District—bridges, granaries, and waterworks—all circled in red ink with formulas for calculating explosive yields.
I pretended to bend down to pick up a lighter, while my pocket camera vibrated continuously against my knee, capturing the last glimmer of light frozen on the number of the Marine Corps Special Pass.
Suddenly, the wail of a fire truck siren pierced through the air outside. Tanaka abruptly overturned the gambling table, documents scattering like snowflakes. I caught sight of a map marked with a red line running through the French Concession—the endpoint was Guangci Hospital, piled high with penicillin.
The moment a man in a vest pulled out a Nambu Pistol, I snapped the Pocket Watch Chain and flung it toward the chandelier. Twelve gear bearings exploded in mid-air, transforming into sharp Kiku Pattern hidden weapons.
"Mr. Zhou!"
Tanaka's roar mingled with the sound of shattering glass as it echoed behind me. As I burst through the fire escape, I caught a whiff of the burning odor from the Password Book.
Dew was condensing on the handrail of the escape ladder, slowly forming into a cryptic symbol that Mei Lan had taught me—a message: "At the third watch, Ballymen will meet."
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