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墨書 Inktalez
The smell of gunpowder clung to my eyelashes, reminiscent of the time Sister Mei taught me to play with a blank gun, when it jammed and left residue behind.
He rubbed his thumb over the Jade Earrings on his keychain, the dark green sheen reflecting the rust on the third button of my suit—specifically soaked in aged vinegar by Boss Lu that morning.
"I am grateful for your kindness, Troupe Leader."
I brushed my palm against the seam of my pants, the specially made silk absorbing my cold sweat completely.
The crisp sound of thirteen wooden clogs striking the fire escape echoed from backstage, signaling the rhythm of Mei Mechanism's lookout. "But these rules of the underworld..."
Suddenly, he lifted his foot and crushed a flyer in a puddle, his military boot scraping sparks from the bluestone beneath.
I focused on the worn leather strap of his holster at the small of his back, marked by years of carrying a Nambu Pistol—its crescent-shaped imprint identical to those found at last week's assassination scene in the French Concession.
"Rules?" Troupe Leader Zhang loosened his collar, the sound of a copper button bouncing into a drain startling a wild cat lurking in the shadows.
The burn scar beneath his collarbone resembled the outline of Fuji Mountain, a memento from last year's Hongkou Dojo explosion. "Tomorrow at noon, a truck delivering ice to the back kitchen of the mansion."
As water sprayed from a fire hydrant over the Stage, I caught sight of Boss Lu signaling with a teapot behind the curtain.
Mother Wang was crouched down cleaning, her rag not dipped in dirty water but in Nitroglycerin capable of corroding iron locks—her hand's rhythm, with veins bulging, matched the counting method "one in for every seven" from the Suzhou Code.
The next day, as a rickshaw rolled over sycamore leaves in the French Concession, cold mist seeped from the seams of the ice truck's cotton curtain and settled on my brow.
Troupe Leader Zhang personally lifted the third ice block; shards fell into his open military coat, revealing an inner lining embroidered with Gold Thread in a sixteen-petal Kiku Pattern.
"I heard you can play this?"
He tossed me a gilded lighter, its Sakura Emblem grazing my calloused palm.
As the flame flickered to life, muffled sounds of metal boxes colliding echoed from deep within the refrigerated cabinet, mixed with the unique resin scent of Hokkaido Cedar—exactly like that from Boss Lu's safe containing confiscated Japanese Army secret letters sealed with wax.
Feigning a cough from the smoke, I let out mist that crystallized into frost flowers on the surface of the ice block.
As my fingertips brushed against the box's surface, my specially made nail polish had already imprinted its lock pattern.
Troupe Leader Zhang suddenly kicked at the ice truck's railing; twenty-seven balloons plastered with Jintan Pills advertisements burst simultaneously, scattering flyers that turned out to be blank.
"Youth," he pressed his palm against my nape, his warmth penetrating through my shirt soaked with icy water and piercing to my bones. "No matter how clever a trick is, someone must be there to appreciate it."
That night in the mansion's study, I froze mid-motion while cleaning the Persian Carpet.
In the reflection cast by copper decorations on the fireplace, Troupe Leader Zhang was using a Cipher Code book as a cushion while eating crab delicacies.
The sound of cracking crab shells perfectly synchronized with the tapping of Telegraph keys; what emerged from Morse Code was tomorrow's cargo ship number at dawn at the docks.
That night, as the torrential rain suddenly poured down, I curled up in the hold of the Coal Transport Ship, the brackish water rising to my waist, soaking the copper key hanging from my belt. The scent of Tie Xiu mingled with the sweet brine of Hokkaido Kombu wafting from the seventh cargo door of the Cargo Ship. Just as I pried open the lock, the copper wire snapped against the third spring, and a bright beam of a flashlight illuminated my back.
"This box of sulfanilamide is a care package for the Imperial Army," Troupe Leader Zhang's voice cut through the damp sea breeze, brushing against my neck.
As I turned, my Pocket Watch Chain snagged on the corner of a hidden compartment in the box, causing five microfilm rolls to slide into my sleeve, chilling my wrist and making my pulse race. Suddenly, he raised his gun and aimed it at my forehead but redirected it at the last moment as he pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past my ear and shattered a fire hydrant, sending a torrent of water spraying into the air. In that cascade, thirteen White Shadows began to materialize from the shadows of the shelves.
Seizing the opportunity, I dashed toward the ventilation duct. The newly pasted newspaper headline at the seam of the metal sheets featured Troupe Leader Zhang's profile from an AFP interview yesterday—the coded message hidden in his bowtie was the date of Sister Mei's final secret order before her death.
"Where are you running?" Troupe Leader Zhang chuckled lightly outside the duct, his military boots stepping on the copper key I had dropped. "Tomorrow, we’ll sail to Yokohama. I'll show you what a real Trick looks like."
As the Cargo Ship's horn pierced through the thick fog, I stared at the oil-slicked surface of the sea where Cherry Blossom Petals floated. The film rolls in my palm had warmed to body temperature; on one of them was a Defense Map of Zhabei showing Japanese Army positions, perfectly aligning with Boss Lu's map of the French Concession tucked away in my sleeve.
When the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, twelve Carrier Pigeons burst from the captain's cabin—each foot ring tied with different colored threads, precisely representing Mei Mechanism’s Rainbow Code for transmitting secret orders.
The briny sea breeze rushed into my collar as I tightened my grip on Tie Xiu on the railing. Below on deck, Troupe Leader Zhang was using his Gilded Pocket Watch to compare with a Sundial projection; reflections danced across cargo box numbers, forming Morse Code that revealed Boss Lu's Tea House's Longitude and Latitude.
Suddenly, amidst the sound of crashing waves came a roar of engines—three Japanese Patrol Boats were cutting through the waves, their Rising Sun Flags snapping in rhythm—perfectly synchronized with Troupe Leader Zhang's Study Room Clock from last night.
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