In the 17th year of the Republic of China, the French Concession in Shanghai.
When Shen Yi woke up, there was a scar on his left wrist, and three silver threads emerged from under the flesh, tying three dusty shadow puppets. From then on, he could no longer sleep peacefully - a stage was always lit deep in his consciousness, and behind the white silk curtain sat a dense crowd of "spectators", always silent, always looking at him.
The former shadow puppet master Shen Du died in an alley three years ago, but the third silk thread in Shen Yi's left hand is still connected to his bones. Every rainy night, the thread would get hot, and Shen Du's vague voice would float out from the cracks in the bricks: "Don't act... Someone is watching..."
The hundred-eyed corpse reopened its eyes in the cracks in the wall. Under the neon lights of the French Concession, there were monsters in human skin walking. There were more and more spectators in the guest seats - there were students in Chinese tunic suits, a girl with a sketchbook, and a person who wrote a line of small words in the corner of the paper with a pencil.
The man raised his head and smiled at the curtain:
"Shen Du, stop hiding."
Shen Yi finally understood——
Shen Du did not die in the alley three years ago.
He just... Acted behind the curtain.
And what was tied to the third silk thread was never a corpse.
Three silver threads hold three shadow puppets, and three shadow puppets hold three lives.
One is his, one is the dead man's, and the other is——
It's for spectators.
