"Your play shouldn't be just about crying."
Backstage at the theater late at night, the troupe leader's fingers brushed across Jing Xuan's shoulders, and the black line slipping out of his sleeves swam like a poisonous snake.
Jing Xuan lowered his head and wiped the corners of his mouth for his brother who was coughing up blood. Blood beads formed talismans on the peeling wall. "Master, what's the next show?"
"'Broken Silk'." The class leader's laughter sounded like phlegm, "Or 'Stretching the Thread'?"
The law enforcer's brass bell in the distance shattered in the wind. Jing Xuan looked at the bronze mirror and found that his shadow was suspended by countless transparent silk threads. The playbook left by her parents on Jingming's pillow automatically turned to the page with the painting of Liulic City.
"Brother," Jing Ming murmured in his sleep, "do you hear the stage crying?"
At this moment, a glass-like whisper floated out of the window:
"Those who hold up the thread will eventually be pulled by the thread.
Liulicheng is waiting for you to come home. "
Use silk thread as the pen and human heart as the curtain
In this gray city where everyone is a puppet
The only truth is hidden beneath the deepest lies
