The midnight bell of the old theater rings
The night, like a sheet of ink-soaked rice paper, slowly spread across the sky above Jinling City. Lu Ye, holding an old oil lamp, stood at the back door of the "Yurong Costume" shop. The wooden door was mottled, its brass rings rusted. When it was pushed open, it made a harsh creaking sound, like someone whispering a sigh in his ear.
The old man had already returned to his room to rest. Before leaving, he shoved the key into Lu Ye's hand and said only one sentence: "The backyard was the rehearsal space for the opera troupe back then. Auntie's opera tickets... can only be truly used there."
The yard was filled with a damp, musty smell, tinged with the faint scent of gardenias—but it was clearly late autumn, so where were the flowers blooming? Lu Ye frowned and picked up the oil lamp. The flame flickered in the wind, distorting the shadows in the corners of the wall into strange shapes.
The door to the rehearsal room was ajar, and it was pitch black inside. As soon as Lu Ye stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him. He froze for a moment, then turned to pull, but the door remained motionless, as if locked by some invisible force.
"Qi Chen?" He shouted subconsciously, but only an empty echo echoed in the darkness.
The stage was covered in dust. In the center sat a worn-out opera box. On top of the box sat a solitary hairpin. The tip of the hairpin held a gardenia, its pure white tinged with a hint of yellow. Lu Ye walked over and was about to pick up the hairpin when he suddenly heard a gentle singing voice.
"What can be done about the beautiful scenery and the good weather? Who can enjoy the pleasure in the yard..."
The voice was clear and moving, yet tinged with an indescribable melancholy. Lu Ye looked up suddenly and saw a figure slowly emerging from the back of the stage. She was wearing a white costume and a pearl hairpin. It was none other than Shen Yurong from the photo! Her face was as pale as paper, her eyes hollow, but a strange smile lingered at the corner of her mouth.
"You're finally here," Shen Yurong's voice was as light as the wind. "I've been waiting for this ticket for eighty years."
Lu Ye took out the yellowed ticket from his pocket and handed it over with both hands: "Miss Chen, I brought your ticket."
Shen Yurong's gaze fell on the theater ticket, and a glimmer of light flashed in her hollow eyes. She reached out to take it, but the moment her fingertips touched the ticket, a piercing chill spread along Lu Ye's arm and spread throughout his body. The flame of the oil lamp suddenly jumped and almost went out.
"No... this is not complete," Shen Yurong's voice suddenly became sharp, "My ticket is missing half!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the entire theater suddenly plunged into darkness, and the oil lamps went out completely. Lu Ye felt dizzy, and a noisy sound came to his ears - there were gongs and drums, cheers, and even women crying, all mixed together, like a play out of control.
"Qi Chen!" he cried in panic, frantically reaching for the soul-calming bell at his collar. As soon as his fingers touched the bell, a warm feeling spread throughout his body, and a faint blue light shone in the darkness, illuminating the small area around him.
A vague figure emerged from the bell. It was Qi Chen's outline. Although he couldn't see his face clearly, Lu Ye recognized him at a glance.
"Don't be afraid," Qi Chen's familiar voice came from the bell. Although it was weak, it carried a reassuring power. "Follow the bell and don't be fooled by her illusion."
Lu Ye took a deep breath, gripped the Soul-Calming Bell tightly, and followed the bell's guidance, stepping forward. The illusion around him gradually dissipated, and he found himself standing in the center of the stage. Shen Yurong was standing in front of him, her eyes filled with pain and anger.
"Why? Why did my ticket become like this?" she screamed, her voice piercing her eardrums. "I just wanted to finish the play, why can't you even give me this chance?"
Lu Ye's heart ached as he recalled what Qi Chen had written in his notes—the day Shen Yurong was poisoned coincided with the premiere of "The Soul Lock." She had originally planned to use her tickets as evidence to expose the crimes of troupe leader Zhang Wanlin after the performance, but she hadn't expected to be poisoned backstage.
"Ms. Shen," Lu Ye softened his voice, "I know you're unwilling and wronged. But you must believe that the truth will come to light one day."
"The truth?" Shen Yurong sneered, "Eighty years later, who would still remember me? Remember that unfinished play?"
"I remember," Lu Ye said firmly, "I will help you complete that scene and let everyone know that the Jinling Opera Troupe once had a female lead named Shen Yurong. Her singing voice was unparalleled, and her character was impeccable."
A hint of hesitation flashed across Shen Yurong's eyes, and her figure began to become transparent, like a candle swaying in the wind. At this moment, a cold laugh came from below the stage -
"She'll never finish that scene!"
Lu Ye suddenly looked down and saw black mist seeping out from the cracks in the stage floor. Faces twisted in pain emerged from the mist. A man in a long gown slowly rose from the mist, his face grim and hideous. It was none other than Zhang Wanlin, the former troupe leader!
"Zhang Wanlin," Lu Ye gritted his teeth, "How dare you show up!"
"Why wouldn't I dare?" Zhang Wanlin sneered. "This theater is mine, and this woman is mine too! She wants to expose me? That's sheer wishful thinking!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Zhang Wanlin suddenly pounced on Lu Ye. At this critical moment, the Soul-Calming Bell suddenly made a crisp sound, and a blue light shot out from the bell, turning into a barrier to block Zhang Wanlin's attack.
"Qi Chen!" Lu Ye shouted in surprise.
The figure in the bell became clearer, and Qi Chen's voice came again: "Xiao Ye, be careful! He has become an earthbound spirit and has been trapped here for eighty years. He has a lot of resentment!"
Zhang Wanlin was repelled by the blue light and roared angrily. The black fog around him became thicker. Shen Yurong stood there, her face filled with fear. Her figure became increasingly faint, as if she would dissipate at any moment.
Lu Ye knew he had to find a solution quickly. He remembered what the old man had said: "The tickets are only really useful there." That "there" must be the stage box in the center.
He rushed to the stage box and pried open the lid. Inside was a complete set of costumes, a pair of embroidered shoes, and a yellowed script. On the cover of the script were three large characters: "The Soul Lock."
Lu Ye suddenly had an idea. He took out the ticket from his arms, placed it on the script, then took a hairpin and pricked his finger, dripping a drop of blood on the ticket.
"With my blood, I call your name. Shen Yurong, this is your stage, this is your play!"
As he finished speaking, the bloodstains on the ticket began to spread, spreading along the lines of the script. A burst of golden light burst from the script, illuminating the entire stage. Shen Yurong's figure became clear in the golden light. She looked at her hands in surprise, and her eyes rekindled with brilliance.
"I... I'm back?" she murmured to herself.
"Yes," Lu Ye smiled, "Now, it's time for you to finish this scene."
Shen Yurong took a deep breath, straightened her robe, and walked to the center of the stage. From nowhere, the sound of gongs and drums echoed, perfectly complementing her singing. Her voice was no longer mournful, but filled with power and emotion, as if eighty years of grievance and resentment had been released in this moment.
Zhang Wanlin roared angrily, trying to break free from the golden light, but he could never get close to the stage. As Shen Yurong's singing became more and more high-pitched, the golden light became more and more dazzling, and finally turned into a beam of light that shot straight into the sky.
When the last note fell, the entire theater fell into silence. Shen Yurong stood in the center of the stage, a relieved smile on her face. Her figure gradually became transparent, eventually transforming into tiny specks of golden light and disappearing into thin air.
"Thank you," her last words echoed in Lu Ye's ears, "I finally finished this scene."
Zhang Wanlin roared in frustration, his body completely engulfed by the golden light, dissipating in a puff of black smoke. On the stage, only a single intact ticket remained, lying quietly on the script.
Lu Ye walked over and picked up the ticket. He found that the previously blurred handwriting on the ticket had become clearly visible, and a new line of small words had been added: "The glimmer of life will eventually illuminate the way forward."
As he was wondering, the Soul-Calming Bell suddenly emitted a warm light, and Qi Chen's figure within the bell became clearer than ever before. Although still blurry, Lu Ye seemed to be able to see his smiling expression.
"Xiao Ye," Qi Chen's voice was clearer than ever before, "Thank you. I feel... my life is returning little by little."
Tears welled up in Lu Ye's eyes. He held the Soul-Calming Bell tightly, as if holding Qi Chen's hand: "Qi Chen, I will definitely find your entire soul and bring you back to me intact."
On the stage, the lights gradually dimmed, and the theater returned to peace. Only the gardenia hairpin lay quietly on the stage box, emitting a faint fragrance, as if telling the story of what had just happened.
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