The next morning, Qin Shou called.
"Found it." His voice was rough. "The Ouroboros Society has a hideout in the old city. Abandoned theater. Jiefang Road."
He opened his eyes. The water stain on the ceiling hadn't dried. Stared at it for two seconds.
"Sure?"
"I watched all night. Someone went in at two in the morning. Still inside."
He sat up and looked out the window. Dawn. The streetlights were still on. Orange light spilled over the empty street.
"When?"
"Now."
He hung up, put on his shoes, and left. The stairwell lights were still broken. Went down in the dark. The hallway smelled of mold and stale cooking oil. At the bottom, wind slipped into his collar. He shrank his neck.
Jiefang Road. Abandoned theater.
He parked at the corner and killed the engine. The theater's sign had fallen halfway, leaving rusted iron frames. The door was nailed shut with planks, but a side door stood ajar. Qin Shou crouched behind a dumpster across the alley. When he saw him, he stood up. His leg had fallen asleep. He wobbled.
"How many inside?"
"At least two. Heard voices."
He pushed the door. The hinges were rusty. Creaked. Inside was dark. The air was cold and damp, thick with old wood and dust.
The stage was still there. The curtain had rotted, half of it hanging to the floor. The audience seats were gone. Only rows of concrete stumps remained, gray and dusty. He swept his flashlight across the room. Dust rose.
He walked ahead. His boots crunched on broken glass.
"Split up."
Qin Shou went left. He went right. Past the stage, a narrow hallway. Old posters on the walls. The faces of actresses had been torn off, leaving only half-smiles. He walked past them, the flashlight lighting those mutilated faces.
At the end of the hallway, a door. Half open. A handprint on the door, fresh. The dust had been wiped away.
He pushed it open.
A small room. Once a dressing room. A mirror with a crack running through it. On the table, an oil lamp. Burning. The flame flickered in the draft.
"Looking for me?"
He turned.
She sat in a chair in the corner, legs crossed, a thin cigarette between her fingers. Black trench coat, hair pinned up. Her face was hidden behind smoke.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"The one you're looking for." She took a drag, exhaled. "The Ouroboros Society. Weren't you looking for us?"
"Where's the fragment?"
"Fragment?" She laughed. "You think we're after fragments?"
"What else?"
She stood up, walked to the table, and stubbed out the cigarette on the base of the oil lamp. Then from inside her coat, she pulled out a photo and slid it across the table.
He looked down. An old photo. Old Zhou. Standing in front of the Abyss library in his gray Zhongshan jacket. Much younger. His hair was still black.
"What's this?"
"Old Zhou when he was young. Fifty years ago. Back then, he wasn't called Old Zhou. His name was Zhou Yuanshan."
He picked up the photo and turned it over. On the back, a line of handwriting: "The Abyss Gate requires five keys. The fifth key is with Zhou."
"The Ouroboros Society is not your enemy." She looked at him. "We're looking for fragments too. But not the fragments themselves. What they point to."
"What?"
"The fifth piece. Not a fragment. A key."
He put the photo in his pocket.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you've been digging." She turned toward the door. "And you've dug where you shouldn't have. The note at the clock tower — one of ours left it. Not to warn you. To remind you."
"Of what?"
"Don't go. Even if you went, you wouldn't find it. The fragment was gone long ago."
"Who took it?"
"I don't know. But we're looking too." She paused. "What's your name?"
He didn't answer.
"Never mind." She left. Her footsteps faded down the hallway.
He stood there, staring at the oil lamp. Reached out and turned it off. Darkness closed in.
Qin Shou came from the other end of the hallway.
"Found nothing," he said. "You?"
"Something. Let's go."
They went out the side door. The sky was fully bright now. People were out on the streets. Breakfast stalls steamed. He stood by the roadside and lit a cigarette.
"That symbol," Qin Shou asked, "what did you find out?"
"The Ouroboros Society. They're looking for fragments. And something else."
"What?"
"A key. The fifth piece."
Qin Shou crouched down to tie his shoelace. It had come undone. He tied it twice before getting it right.
He stubbed out the cigarette and dropped it on the ground. "Go back. I'll let you know."
Qin Shou stood up, brushed the dust off his pants. "Okay." He turned and walked away.
(Continued in Part 2)