I get transported into the two hundred volumes of stories in San Yan Er Pai, taking on a different identity in each volume.
In the first tale, I'm a shop assistant at the Jiang family's pawnshop. The owner has gone out to collect debts, and the old woman Xue from next door starts dropping by. She says she's bringing dates for the young madam, but her eyes are fixed on the Jiang family's heirloom pearl-embroidered robe.
The whole lane believes her. No one would trust a mere errand boy. But I have a broom, a back door, and twelve days.
Then I'll use their rules to slap them in the face.
The first volume is done. In the second, I'm a clerk at the county yamen, guarding the testimony in a wrongful conviction case. Someone wants me to change "I didn't do it" to "I did it." In the third, I'm crouched beneath the walls of Ash Bridge Market, waiting for a young master who brought about his own downfall to tumble out of the room next door.
Across two hundred volumes, I keep the lamp lit for others, and search for a way home for myself. Every volume, I think I'm nearly done, but something always seems to be missing.
Which volume am I still missing? I can go home only after I finish it. But the further I go, the more I feel that it's not me walking through these volumes. They're waiting for me to return.
