When Pei Ye returned to the theater, the gates were still closed, and no lights had been lit at the entrance.
The old man had said that the afternoon performance was canceled; now it was evening, and Pei Ye smiled, thinking that the price of theater tickets was even cheaper than lamp oil. It was normal for the theater not to open at night.
He raised his hand to knock on the door but received no response after a long while.
Having seen how understaffed the theater was, he simply pushed the door open—and indeed, it wasn't locked.
Inside, there was no light, but with the help of the moonlight, Pei Ye's whole body suddenly froze in step.
It was as if a hurricane had swept through.
The scene he had seen in daylight was completely in disarray—tables and chairs overturned, some even shattered and split apart; the teacups and snacks from the afternoon's performance had not been cleared and were now scattered everywhere, broken porcelain and wood chips littering the floor.
