Chapter Two: The Woman Everyone Forgot

into a studio. “That set wasn't there yesterday,” Tang said. Behind one white doorway stood an older woman holding a camera. A crescent-shaped burn marked her neck. Jianwei snapped the laptop shut. “You know her?” Wen asked. “My mother.” Shen Lan had died twelve years ago, officially in a fire while scouting an abandoned soundstage. The black camera was her surviving property. The crescent burn came from a pot of syrup Jianwei had spilled when she was six. Tang's expression changed, though she said nothing. At eleven, Wen dismissed everyone except Jianwei. They projected the preview onto an offline screen and covered the room's cameras. The ticking of a second hand filled the lounge. “If it changes?” Wen asked.