Nightingale Play 1.1

At exactly midnight, a soft sound came from the dome of the Nightingale Theatre.

It was like a rope suddenly tightening, or like the neck of something snapping.

Fan Jinci stood in the center of the stage, his gray-blue pupils reflecting the swaying corpse above his head—Lin Yan, the male lead of the play "Bloody Mask," was hanging on a steel cable in the execution posture of a "traitor" in the play, with his toes exactly seven inches from the floor, exactly as indicated by the script and stage prompts.

"The time of death was when the applause began to fall." His gloved fingertips lightly touched the victim's neck. "The greater horn of the hyoid bone was fractured, but there were signs of secondary strangulation along the edge of the ligature—the killer used a slipknot first, then tightened it completely when the applause started."

The stage lights suddenly flashed, cutting his profile into fragments of light and shadow.

"This isn't right..." Situ Jin squatted in front of the dressing table, picking up a shard of mirror with tweezers. "Ordinary glass breaks with radial cracks, but this—"

The fragments emitted an eerie, net-like fluorescence under ultraviolet light.

"A tempered glass two-way mirror." Jiang Zhaoyan's voice came from the hidden passage behind the mirror as he dusted off non-existent dust from his suit sleeve. "The murderer has been observing the actors here every night for the past thirty days."

The walls of the secret passage were covered with rehearsal photos, each with a close-up of Lin Yan's neck circled in red.

Li Weimian suddenly pulled out a yellowed, tattered page from a script: "Look at this."

A line of text was pieced together on the paper using scorch marks:

"Act One Ends: Traitors Should Be Held in the Public Eye"

Under the operating lights of the Municipal Public Security Bureau's Forensic Center, Fan Jinci's scalpel sliced ​​open Lin Yan's fourth intercostal space.

"There are diffuse petechiae on the surface of the heart." He gestured for Situ Jin to take notes, "But what's really interesting is this—"

The tweezers removed a piece of silvery substance from the trachea.

"Stage-grade aluminum powder, mixed with linseed oil," Situ Jin's microscope whirred softly. "It's the same makeup formula used for the premiere of 'The Blood Mask' thirty years ago."

The monitor screen suddenly flickered with static, and Yu Yan's face appeared outside the autopsy room glass. He was pounding on the electronically controlled door with the butt of his gun: "Fan Jinci! Su Wan received a threatening letter!"

The letter paper developed under ultraviolet light revealed a second line of text:

"Act Two Ends: The Devoted Should Dissect Their Hearts to Prove the Way"

"Check the reports about the fire in November 1993." Jiang Zhaoyan slammed a stack of yellowed files onto the conference table, his platinum cufflinks gleaming coldly under the light. "The screenwriter who died in the fire had a daughter."

The surveillance video rewound rapidly at his fingertips, finally settling on a shot of an audience member—a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat was recording the movements of each actor.

"Infrared thermal imaging shows she was in seat 12 of section B for seven consecutive days." He typed to retrieve the ticket records, "but the electronic system shows this seat..."

"No one has ever bought it before." Wen Lin gasped.

Jiang Zhaoyan chuckled softly, then suddenly pierced the file folder with the nib of his pen, and dark red liquid seeped out:

Because that is—

"The location of the VIP box that collapsed in the fire."

When the police burst into the dressing room, Su Wan's body was lying at a perfect angle in front of the dressing mirror.

The prop dagger stuck in her heart was wrapped with faded theatrical ribbons, and the hilt was engraved with the blurry letter M.

Fan Jinci knelt down to examine the wound: "The blade was deliberately serrated, and it rotated 90 degrees after piercing the flesh." He lifted the deceased's right hand, "There was one-way mirror coating material under the fingernails."

"Before she died..." Li Weimian stared at the bloody scratch marks on the mirror, "she tried to dig through the mirror to find the murderer."

Yu Yan suddenly turned his gun towards the ceiling: "Who's there?"

The sound of something being dragged came from the ventilation duct, mixed with a faint clicking sound similar to an old-fashioned projector.