The Grand Theater was putting on Shakespeare's classic play Macbeth that evening.
Crystal chandeliers lit the hall as brightly as day, and crimson velvet curtains hung on either side of the stage.
The air was filled with a blend of expensive perfume and cigar smoke.
The auditorium was packed. Dignitaries from all walks of life sat in velvet seats, waiting for the performance to begin.
In a backstage dressing room, the famous actor playing Macbeth was adjusting his costume in front of a mirror.
He was thirty-five years old and the Shanghai-Beijing Drama Troupe's leading actor. His superb acting had earned him countless awards.
At that moment, he wore a dark red velvet costume, his face painted for the role as he repeatedly recited the lines he was about to deliver onstage.
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow..." he murmured, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the makeup table.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar figure appeared in the mirror.
He saw a man standing behind him, though he had no idea when the man had arrived. He wore an ornate, dark-colored tailcoat.
The man had long, pale golden hair, meticulously combed and tied in a low ponytail at the back of his head.
Most striking was the beaked mask covering his face. Its long, curved bill gleamed with a ghastly porcelain sheen beneath the lights.
The eyes beneath the mask were pale gold, like molten gold, and light seemed to slowly swirl in the depths of his pupils.
"I greatly admire your performance," the man said, his voice elegant and composed, with the lilting rhythm of a classical aria.
The actor spun around. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor with a piercing shriek. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"
The backstage area was under tight security.