My grandfather died behind the shadow puppet theater, leaving only a scrap of ink-stained manuscript among his belongings.
On the night of the wake, joy filled the empty house in Qingshi Alley. The paper-tied bride led her team to the door - she stuffed a red sticker for the children in the alley, and it read: Those who receive the invitation, please take a seat.
My left eye hurt, and I saw the [Rule] floating in the air: Those who leave the table must take the skin of the actor.
I tried to grab it, and tried to tear it apart, but it was a dead end. The solution is to use the soul-renewing scissor that my grandfather taught me - return the favor with red makeup and replace the person with a substitute.
As soon as I saved the neighbor's boy, the remaining manuscript turned to a new page, and there were four words: fragments of craftsmanship·soul soul.
There is a red post at the door with a burnt corner that says: The next play is missing a corner. Shen Yan, you came at the right time.
My name is Shen Yan, the last secular person in Yanxi County. The show is over and I don't plan to step down.
