On the night Pingjin City fell, the Japanese used an iron rod to smash the backbone of Xie Yunting, leader of the Qingxi Opera Troupe, one inch at a time.
Three months later, his young apprentice, Xie An, flicked out his water sleeves, concealing a poisoned blade, to the cheers of their enemies.
As blood splashed across his silver-white stage robe, the stiff uniform of a puppet-army major in the audience stirred.
Fang Zhishi’s gloved hand clamped around his throat. His voice was ice-cold. “Want to die? You don’t get to decide.”
