Spy war in the Republic of China, peak undercover

There is a sewing room hidden in the basement of the cloth shop.

“This,” the old lady said, “is where Ah Yue last worked.”

Lu Yang turned on the flashlight: "These on the wall..."

Dense red lines form a net.

“She’s looking for clues,” Ye Wanru said, “and each thread leads to a puppet.”

Zhou Qing checked the records: "There were seven girls who disappeared twenty years ago."

“They all make puppets,” Chen Yijun said, “and work in different fabric shops.”

The old lady trembled and said, "At that time, a boss came."

“What boss?”

“I specialize in collecting stuffed animals,” she said, “and I particularly like cheongsam styles.”

Lu Yang followed the red line and looked: "Every missing girl..."

"They were all made into dolls for that boss," said the old lady.

Ye Wanru found a diary in the corner: "Look at this."

The diary belongs to Lin Yueniang, and the last page reads:

"I finally understand why dolls cry. Their souls are sewn inside..."

"Wait," Lu Yang said, "these puppets..."

He carefully turned over the back of a doll.

There was a strand of hair hidden inside.

“Each doll,” Ye Wanru said, “has a girl’s relic.”

The old lady suddenly shouted, "The puppet moved!"

In the corner, a puppet wearing a red cheongsam slowly turned its head.

"Don't be afraid," Lu Yang said, "it's guiding us."

The puppet's finger pointed to the floor.

"Down here..." Zhou Qing knocked on the floor.

"There's a secret room," Lu Yang said, "open it quickly!"

The floor was lifted up, revealing a cellar.

"Oh my God," Ye Wanru covered her mouth.

In the cellar, seven female corpses were neatly arranged.

Each corpse was wearing a cheongsam and holding a doll in their arms.

"She found them," the old lady cried, "Ayue was found."

Lu Yang examined the bodies: "They are all from twenty years ago."

"But why..." Ye Wanru said.

At this moment, there was a noise in the corner of the cellar.

An old man stood up tremblingly.

“I knew,” he said, “you would come.”

"Who are you..."

"The owner of the doll shop," the old man said, "is also their tailor."

He was holding a pair of scissors in his hand.

And this story about puppets is finally about to reveal the final truth.

The kerosene lamp in the cellar reflected the old man's distorted face.

"Do you know why the doll is alive?" asked the old man.

Lu Yang gripped his gun tightly: "Because you sewed their souls in."

"No," the old man stroked the scissors, "they wanted to stay."

"Why?"

"Because I gave them eternal beauty," the old man said, "forever young, always wearing the most beautiful cheongsam."

Ye Wanru looked at the puppets and said, "You are a lunatic."

“Madman?” the old man laughed. “I’m an artist.”

He pointed to the photos on the wall and said, "Look, how beautiful they are."

"You killed them," Lu Yang said, "just for your twisted art?"

"They are my works," the old man said, "every stitch, every thread..."

The old lady suddenly shouted: "Ayue knows, right?"

"Clever girl," the old man said, "but it's a pity..."

He raised his scissors. “She destroyed art.”

"So you killed her," Lu Yang said.

“No,” the old man shook his head. “She chose it herself.”

He unpacked a puppet: "She sewed herself into the final piece."

Ye Wanru checked the doll: "There's a note here."

The note reads:

"I found them, but I can't go back. This is the only way they can rest in peace."

The old man continued, "She used her own blood to complete the final stitch."

"You're crazy," Lu Yang said. "Put down the scissors."

“No,” the old man said, holding up his scissors. “Art needs the finishing stitch.”

At this moment, all the puppets suddenly moved.

"Here they are," the old man laughed manically, "my works."

The puppets slowly stood up and walked towards the old man.

“No,” the old man stepped back, “What are you going to do…”

Red lines extended from the puppet like spider webs.

"This is their revenge," said the old woman.

The red string wrapped around the old man, getting tighter and tighter.

"My art..." These were the old man's last words.

In the cellar, the puppets quieted down again.

Lu Yang watched all this and said, "It's over."

Ye Wanru picked up a stuffed doll and said, "They can rest in peace now."

The old lady knelt on the ground: "Ayue, mom will take you home."

Outside the cellar, it was already dawn.

And this story about obsession and redemption has finally come to an end.

Muppets, no more crying.

The fire in the boss lady's noodle shop is still warm.

"The case is closed," Zhou Qing said. "The girls are buried."

Lu Yang looked at the snow outside the window: "Where's the doll?"

"According to Lin Yueniang's last wishes," Ye Wanru said, "she was buried with them."

The proprietress brought hot tea: "That old tailor..."

"He died in the cellar," Lu Yang said. "Killed by his own 'art.'"

"The coroner said," Zhou Qing added, "that he had been insane for a long time."

Ye Wanru took out a small doll and said, "This is the only one left."

“Lin Yueniang made this when she was a child,” the old lady said as she walked into the noodle shop. “It was her earliest work.”

The puppet is simple, but the stitching is fine.

“She said then,” the old lady stroked the doll, “that every doll should be warm.”

Lu Yang looked at the puppet: "She did it."

"Yes," the old lady said, "she warmed them with her life."

The noodle shop became quiet.

"People," sighed the proprietress, "sometimes they are too obsessed..."

“But some obsessions,” Ye Wanru said, “are for redemption.”

The snow outside the window is getting heavier and heavier.

"I was wondering," Lu Yang said, "why those puppets moved in the end."

"Perhaps," the old lady said, "Ayue is behind this."

“Just like she has always done,” Ye Wanru said, “collecting all the scattered threads.”

The proprietress lit a stick of incense and said, "May they all rest in peace."

The old lady placed the doll on the altar.

“This stays here,” she said, “so it can continue to warm people’s hearts.”

Lu Yang picked up the teacup and said, "A toast to the departed souls."

"Respect the living as well," said Ye Wanru.

The wind chimes in the noodle shop rang.

Outside the door, a little girl looked at the doll curiously.

“It’s so beautiful,” the girl said.

The old lady smiled and said, "Do you want to touch it?"

"May I?"

“Of course,” the old lady said, “that’s what Muppets are for.”

The girl carefully picked up the doll and said, "It's so warm."

The snow outside the window gradually stopped.

The sun shines through the clouds and falls on the doll.

And this story of love and warmth will remain in this noodle shop forever.

Just like that puppet, silently guarding every passerby.

In the twelfth lunar month in Chongqing, smoke from cooking fires rises into the sky.

Red lanterns were hung in the boss lady’s noodle shop.

"There's been a strange thing going on in the city lately," Zhou Qing said.

Lu Yang drank hot tea and asked, "Another strange thing?"

"Some people are collecting old photos," Zhou Qing said, "especially those from the Republic of China period."

Ye Wanru was putting up Spring Festival couplets: "What kind of photo?"

"They're all about opera troupes," Zhou Qing said, "and they have one thing in common."

“What do they have in common?”

"The people in the photos," Zhou Qing said, "are all wearing masks."

Just then, Chen Yijun pushed the door open.

"Something happened," she said, "at the old theater."

“Someone’s dead?”

“No,” Chen Yijun said, “someone saw a ghost.”

The proprietress's hand shook and she knocked over the teacup.

"What the hell?" Lu Yang asked.

"The one wearing the mask," Chen Yijun said, "performing on stage."

Ye Wanru put down the Spring Festival couplets: "In broad daylight?"

“Yes,” Chen Yijun said, “and…”

"And what?"

"That line," she lowered her voice, "is about a murder."

Lu Yang stood up and asked: "What murder case?"

“Thirty years ago,” Chen Yijun said, “a troupe of opera artists disappeared there.”

The proprietress suddenly said, "I remember this."

“You know?”

"I was still a kid then," the proprietress said. "It was a very famous troupe."

"What is your name?"

"The Tianle Troupe," the proprietress said, "is famous for its masked operas."

Lu Yang and Ye Wanru looked at each other.

"Let's go," Lu Yang said, "and go to the old theater."

The old theater in the cold wind looks mottled and dilapidated.

The couplet on the door has faded:

"Spring is everlasting on the thousand-year stage, and the moon is ever-bright on the eternal opera"

And as the Chinese New Year is approaching, a story about a drama troupe is about to begin.

The door of the old theater creaked.

"This place has been abandoned for more than 20 years," Zhou Qing said.

Lu Yang turned on the flashlight: "Do you smell it?"

"The smell of rouge," Ye Wanru said, "is still fresh."

The hall was filled with dust.

But the stage was unusually clean.

“There’s a performance here,” Lu Yang said, “and it’s happening today.”

Ye Wanru picked up a mask and said, "Look at this."

The mask is bronze and exquisitely crafted.

"This is the Tianle Troupe's signature dish," the proprietress walked in. "The bronze mask."

"Why do you wear a mask?" Zhou Qing asked.

"It's said to be a rule," the landlady said, "that actors can never show their true faces."

Lu Yang checked the stage: "There are words here."

On the platform, there are a few lines of small words engraved:

"A play, a dream, behind the mask, is it life or death?"

Suddenly, a bell rang.

"That's..." Ye Wanru pointed to the backstage.

A string of copper bells, ringing automatically without wind.

"There's someone," Lu Yang said, "behind."

There is a bronze mirror in the dressing room backstage.

The mirror was covered with a layer of red gauze.

“These are all new,” Zhou Qing said. “Someone is using them.”

Ye Wanru lifted the red veil: "Oh my God..."

In the mirror, masks are reflected.

But behind the mask, there was no one.

"Look," Lu Yang pointed at the wall, "those photos."

In the yellowed old photo, actors from the Tianle Troupe stood in a line.

"The last one," the proprietress said, "was taken on the day they disappeared."

In the photo, everyone is wearing a mask.

Except for one person.

"This is..." Lu Yang took a closer look.

"The boss," the lady boss said, "is said to have had his true identity discovered."

Just then, the sound of stringed instruments came from the stage.

"Someone is singing," said Ye Wanru.

Everyone rushed out of the dressing room.

On the stage, a masked man is dancing.

The song is:

"The mask is fragile, the truth is hard to tell. Thirty years ago, it was just a dream..."

And in this cold theater, a secret about the mask is being revealed.