Chapter 652: Dragon

"No! This performance is terrible! It's like a bunch of puppets hanging from strings!"

In the backstage of the Central Cross Theatre, after watching the final rehearsal before the show, a middle-aged man in a crisply pressed double-breasted white suit, not a single wrinkle on his entire body, hurled his top hat to the ground and pointed at the actors, shouting angrily:

"Emotion! Where's the emotion?"

"You're living human beings, not machines reciting my lines! If you want the audience to be lost in your performance, you must first be lost in it yourselves!"

"Stop obsessing over footwork, worrying about gestures, calculating lighting and angles—drama doesn't fear mistakes, it doesn't demand precision, it demands performances that make the audience feel what you feel!"

"A performance with flawless steps and movements more precise than machines has no soul! A long, flowing, ornate monologue—even with perfect trills—can't match the power of a single cry from the heart!"

"You're… damn it! After Andre, the only one worth watching, was boycotted and banned from the stage, what the hell have you all been performing? You're ruining my script! A bunch of idiots! I'd rather just hang you all from strings and make you act!"

The middle-aged man held immense authority in the troupe; though he had been berating them for a full ten minutes, not a single one of the dozens of veteran actors—who had toured half the world and were famous—dared to speak back. One timid female actress even began trembling and softly weeping.

Hearing the actress's sobs, the middle-aged man seemed to realize he'd gone too far. After a moment of silence, he stopped yelling and instead directed the actors to run through Act One of "Twelve Days Together" again.

But sadly, despite the actors' exceptional skill and years of rigorous training, their performances still failed to meet the middle-aged man's bare minimum standard.

Seeing that this rehearsal was still utterly unacceptable, with no one meeting his expectations, the anger he had barely suppressed surged back uncontrollably.

"Useless! Useless! Useless!!!"

As the middle-aged man raged wildly, he hurled his crumpled top hat onto the floor and stomped on it with all his strength, repeatedly crushing it until it was unrecognizable.

After a while, once his disappointment and fury had spent themselves, he wanted to try again—but glancing at his wristwatch, he saw it was already showtime. He sighed deeply with utter disappointment, then extended his hand toward the worthless actors.

"I can't rely on you… then I'll do it myself!"

With his regretful sigh, the row of overhead stage lights blazed on, illuminating the cluttered backstage, and one by one, trembling puppets rose slowly, moving in perfect sync with the man's hands.

On the face of the puppet playing the female lead of "Twelve Days Together"—Agatha, dressed as a waitress—a string of strange tears, formed from solidified wood, rolled down her cheeks, pattering onto the backstage floor.

…

"Hurry, hurry!"

Grabbing Li Ang's hand, Wang Nuwei rushed into the reserved couple's box, pulled up her skirt, clasped her legs together, then bent over with no ladylike grace to adjust the chairs for both of them, hastily taking the best viewing position.

"Come on!"

She patted the empty seat beside her and urged cheerfully:

"Sit down quickly! I already saw the stage manager preparing to announce the show—Act One, Scene One of 'Twelve Days Together' is about to begin! If you don't sit over here now, you'll miss it!"

"..."

Sitting down wasn't the problem… but is this chair really meant for two?

Watching how the single seat, already occupied by Wang Nuwei, took up more than half its space, Li Ang couldn't help but speak up:

"Isn't this box seat… a bit narrow?"

How could it even be called a couple's box?

Hearing Li Ang's question, Wang Nuwei, who had been eagerly gazing at the stage, let slip a sly little smile.

The Central Cross Theatre had no shortage of funds—this narrow seating was intentional. Even two slender women sitting side by side would find it cramped; a man and woman together would inevitably be pressed together by the armrests.

For a play lasting just over three hours, sitting with legs together and posture perfect the whole time was impossible for most people—they'd inevitably shift positions… perhaps one sitting on the chair, the other sitting directly on their lap~

"Not narrow at all! Perfect for two!"

Though she knew perfectly well why, Wang Nuwei, whose intentions were never pure, had no intention of explaining it to Li Ang. After shifting slightly to make enough room for him to sit, she pressed her lips together and urged again:

"Sit down, sit down! The curtain's already open, the opening instruments have started!"

"Alright..."

Though still feeling it was too narrow, Li Ang saw the curtain had indeed risen, so he said nothing more and sat down on the half-space she'd cleared.

As soon as he sat, Wang Nuwei relaxed her posture slightly, and her full, soft body pressed against him. Even through two layers of fabric, warmth and remarkable elasticity radiated through.

"..."

So that's why...

Understanding the reason for the narrow seat, Li Ang instinctively pulled back—but Wang Nuwei, shamelessly, leaned in even closer.

Her icy fingers found his right hand with uncanny precision, forcing themselves between his fingers in a cold, unyielding clasp of ten intertwined digits.

I knew this was a dragon's den and tiger's lair!

"It still feels… a bit tight..."

As his arm was pulled steadily to the right, his elbow brushing against a soft, yielding mound, Li Ang's lips twitched slightly, and he muttered:

"I could just stand to watch..."

"Shh!"

Holding a finger to her lips in a hushing gesture, the triumphant princess feigned sternness, smugly adding:

"You must stay quiet during the play. But if you must talk, you can wrap your arm around my back and lean in to whisper into my shoulder~"

"..."

I'll just stay seated then...

With no way to counter her endless tactics, Li Ang abandoned the idea of standing and sat stiffly in place.

Above the stage, the seaside ballad filled with oceanic atmosphere had reached its final notes. A narrator puppet, jingling a shell bell, recited clearly amid the simulated waves of the ocean organ and surge drum:

"Ankara, this quiet seaside town, has no shortage of tides and sea breezes—or young souls seeking release from sorrow in the vast, beautiful waves..."

As the narrator spoke clearly, a male puppet in a white top, athletic and poised, stepped slowly from behind a wooden prop house and sighed with deep melancholy:

"Twelve days remain... Twelve days from now, I will no longer be a free man, but a caged bird soaring in a foreign prison..."

Wait—something's off...

Watching the male lead, "Elija," lamenting on stage, Li Ang raised a hand and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

Am I watching a play—or a puppet show? Why is the male lead a talking string puppet?

(End of Chapter)