It Starts with a Death Diary

In 1837, a thick fog engulfed Yadan. On Flower Album Street, the obscure young detective Milai opened his eyes to find an unfamiliar diary on the desk before him. He turned to a page: [Thursday, December 11. The weather is clear. I died in a shooting. The killer was wearing ridiculous red-and-green bell-bottoms…] “What does this mean? Is someone going to kill me?” Milai stared blankly, then glanced at the calendar beside him. Today was Friday, December 10. He had just one day before the murder.