The night Lin Xiaoxi kept watch over the opera stage, he was startled by a low-level Wang. He fell and hit the back of his head. When he opened his eyes again, he was in a pit outside the city.
He had died once, then returned to the troupe in silence, as if nothing had happened.
His master said nothing, his senior sister avoided him, and his junior brother didn't dare ask.
No one dared mention how he died. No one dared say he was no longer alive.
Dark figures often watched from outside the window, while Wang shadows lingered in the darkness.
He didn't shout or fuss, didn't resent or rage. He simply swept the floor, sorted the costumes, and kept watch over the stage.
Now and then, he would hum a line from an opera, and every Wang would retreat.
The world feared Wang, but he lived alongside them.
While the human world trembled in fear, he quietly guarded his little opera stage.
As chaos and phantoms swirled through the world, he used his stillness to gently cut through its illusions.
[The thrill of watching the show... continues to rise]
