Chapter 1
“Next for the audition, get ready!”
An entire floor of the Beika Grand Hotel had been booked out. The crew of the highly anticipated drama, Broken-Winged Angel: The Devilish Young Master’s Fierce Love, was in the middle of auditioning for the female lead.
The auditions weren’t going smoothly. By midday, the director had already rejected over a dozen actresses, including several minor starlets with a few credits to their name.
The director’s assistant shouted the next number, his voice hoarse, while looking down to flip through the resume in his hands.
Perhaps due to a staff oversight, the spot on the resume for the headshot was empty, save for a sticky residue. The photo itself had vanished.
The only information the assistant could glean from the resume was the next candidate’s name and age.
Name: Fan An. Age: 18. Hometown: Izumo. Auditioning via a talent scout’s recommendation.
(T/N: As a reminder, her name 犯安 (Fàn Ān) is a pun on 犯人 (fànrén), which means “criminal.”)
A complete unknown from a small town. The assistant’s interest instantly waned.
And when he saw the name of the talent scout who had recommended her, what little interest he had left evaporated entirely.
The recommender was a “Mr. Fan Ren.”
(T/N: Another pun. 犯仁 (Fàn Rén) sounds identical to 犯人 (fànrén).)
犯人 (fànrén) = criminal / prisoner in Chinese.
犯仁 (Fàn Rén) = same pronunciation, but the characters mean to violate benevolence (仁), where 仁 (rén) is the Confucian virtue of benevolence, kindness, humanity.
He was clearly related to the actress—you could tell just by the names. The man was no doubt viewing her through a ridiculously thick filter of bias. Even if his recommendation letter was full of flowery praise, it would be as credible as a grade-schooler’s book report—all fluff and no substance.
She’ll probably get chewed out the second she walks through the door, the assistant lamented internally. The entertainment industry was a cruel place. So many hopefuls had their dreams dashed at the first hurdle: their looks.
“Everyone dreams of being the next Sharon Vineyard or Yukiko Fujimine,” the assistant mused, shaking his head.
He raised his voice. “Is Miss Fan An here? It’s your turn!”
“My apologies!” The stairwell door at the far end of the corridor burst open, and a girl came running, panting. “I had a little trouble checking my luggage. Am I late?”
“No, you made it just in time,” the assistant said, then asked, puzzled, “Why didn’t you take the elevator? We’re on the 18th floor.”
“The elevator was taking too long, and I was worried I’d be late.” Fan An straightened up, her hands on her knees. In just those few moments, she had already caught her breath.
She raised a hand to wipe a light sheen of sweat from her cheek and lifted her gaze to the assistant. “May I go in for my audition now?”
She had kept her head down until now to steady her breathing, so this was the first time the assistant got a clear look at her face.
The girl’s long, raven hair cascaded to her chest. Her eyes were as dark as ink, her lips a rich crimson, as if she were the boldest, most vibrant stroke in an oil painting.
The assistant was completely floored. For a moment, he forgot that this person had apparently just climbed eighteen flights of stairs and, after a mere thirty-second rest, seemed to have her stamina bar completely refilled.
“Q-Quick, go on in,” he stammered. “Next time you submit a resume, make sure to glue the headshot on properly.”
Fan An didn’t notice the tips of the assistant’s ears turning red. She was far too nervous.
Her hometown of Izumo was a small, provincial place. After her parents passed away due to illness, An’an—as she was affectionately called—went to live with her cousin, Hanzawa, and his mother. They took great care of her.
(T/N: Hanzawa refers to the main character of the Detective Conan spin-off, “Hanzawa the Criminal.” His full name is Hanzawa-san, but his given name isn’t stated, so the author uses 犯泽 (Fàn Zé), which sounds like “Criminal Ze.”)
Feeling like a burden, An’an had worked part-time jobs all through her school years. The moment she graduated from high school, she resolved to find a full-time job and become a proper, working member of society.
A few years prior, her cousin Hanzawa had left for Beika Town to make his own way in the world, and he had yet to return.
A city that could make Cousin Hanzawa linger for so long without returning must be an incredibly glamorous metropolis!
Filled with such expectations, Fan An had asked her distant second uncle, Mr. Fan Ren, to help her find a job in Beika Town.
“The job with the lowest barrier to entry is, without a doubt, the entertainment industry,” Second Uncle Fan Ren had declared. “Even someone on the FBI’s Most Wanted list can become an international superstar, and CIA agents moonlight as livestreamers. It just goes to show how inclusive this line of work is.”
Clutching her second uncle’s business card, Fan An used the money she’d saved over the years to buy a one-way ticket to Beika Town. She had rushed straight to the audition the moment she got off the train.
I have to pass this audition. After buying the ticket, I don’t have enough money left for a hotel room, An’an psyched herself up.
She took a deep breath and walked into the room, her arms and legs moving stiffly in unison.
The director was already growing impatient. Seeing someone finally enter, he opened his mouth to berate them. “Time is money! Wasting my time is the same as wasting my money! Do you have any idea how much you owe me—”
The girl with black hair and black eyes, met with this sudden tirade, blinked slowly.
The director’s face flushed. “Hmph! Young people these days, winking at people at the drop of a hat. So flippant!”
“Alright, stop winking! I’m not going to pay you, you know. Ahem.” The director cleared his throat. “Where’s the male lead? Come on, run a scene with her.”
The male lead eagerly stepped forward. Noticing the girl’s nervousness, he spoke like a gentleman, “Don’t be afraid. I’m very easy to get along with.”
This is a senior in the industry! An’an immediately adopted the humble attitude of a student. “Do you have any advice for getting rid of nerves?”
The male lead’s gaze lingered on her face for a good while before he spoke. “The best way is to get into character, of course. Once you’re in character, the nerves disappear. Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. It’ll be quick.”
“Secondly,” he added casually, “it’s like when you’re nervous giving a speech, you imagine the audience as a bunch of carrots. You can do the same thing—immerse yourself in a familiar scene to calm your nerves.”
“Immerse myself in a familiar scene,” An’an repeated, looking thoughtful. “I understand.”
“Let’s do this scene,” the male lead said, pointing to a section of the script. “The male and female leads gaze at each other affectionately. They stare intently, their lips gradually drawing closer…”
The director looked like he wanted to say something but held his tongue. He figured they’d have to film this scene eventually, and a newcomer had no right to ask for a stand-in or a trick angle.
Fan An was new to the business and didn’t know any better, so she raised no objections.
Seeing his little scheme succeed, the male lead immediately took a step forward and stared into the girl’s eyes, like a predator sizing up its prey.
Gazing at a beauty was always a pleasant experience. A faint smile played on his lips.
Soon, he couldn’t smile anymore.
The girl with black hair and black eyes was staring at him intently.
In an instant, her nervousness vanished completely, replaced by a practiced, masterful composure.
This composure was utterly different from the slick, greasy confidence of a seasoned playboy. It was calm, cruel, and devoid of mercy.
It was as if she wasn’t looking at a person, but at a pig waiting to be slaughtered.
No matter how it struggled, how it squealed, how much blood it spilled, its limbs were bound tight. A single knife would plunge into its throat, and fresh blood would splatter everywhere.
The male lead’s smile froze. An uncontrollable cold sweat began to prickle his back.
Hadn’t he just told her to immerse herself in a familiar scene? Why was she staring at him with that kind of gaze… What was she seeing?
He started to hear the phantom sound of a knife being sharpened, scrape after scrape.
The most primal, human instinct for survival seized control of the male lead’s body. His knees began to buckle involuntarily. His feet shifted towards the door. His spine started to curve.
In the script, the distance between the male and female leads gradually shrinks.
Outside the script, Fan An took a step forward.
The illusion of an approaching butcher made the male lead let out a blood-curdling scream, one that sounded exactly like a pig being slaughtered.
Physiological tears shot from the corners of his eyes!
It’s… it’s over! My dignity as a senior actor… Forget dignity, it’s not important! Just hear my scream and stop! Stop acting!
The male lead collapsed to the floor. He looked up, filled with hope, expecting to see a rookie actress bowing and apologizing to him.
‘Have you ever seen a butcher stop just because a pig squealed pitifully?’
‘No, you can’t. A job is a job. Once the slaughter begins, it doesn’t stop.’
‘Be good. It’ll be quicker that way.’
That’s what her jet-black pupils seemed to say.
“Stop, stop, stop! CUT!”
The director frantically yelled “Cut!”, the clapperboard snapping shut with a thunderous crack.
If he didn’t stop them now, the male lead was going to pass out. The whites of his eyes were already rolling back into his head! Couldn’t the female lead see that at all?!
An’an, at least, knew what “cut” meant. It was the director’s signal to stop, that she didn’t need to act anymore.
The girl rubbed her cheeks, looking quizzically at the male lead, who was now writhing on the floor, trying to crawl away. “Senior, are you in a hurry to get off work?”
Why is he crawling on the floor instead of just standing up and walking? Is his ancestral DNA from the Zerg race?
(T/N: “Zerg” is a reference to the alien race from the game StarCraft, known for being insect-like.)
What a chic character concept. An’an, the country bumpkin, was filled with a sense of solemn respect.
This person… has blood on her hands… The male lead would bet his life on it. She definitely had blood on her hands!
So that’s it! That’s the real reason she came to audition for the female lead in “Broken-Winged Angel: The Devilish Young Master’s Fierce Love!”
She’s here to tell the world that the pure, innocent ‘white lotus’ heroine is outdated! The soulmate for a devilish young master should obviously be… a serial killer!
Terrifying. Utterly terrifying. The male lead was so full of regret his intestines were turning green. This girl is terrifying!
Fan An felt that the way her senior was looking at her was strange. The kind of strange that made her think he wanted to call the police and have her arrested.
But my resume is spotless. Did he misunderstand something?
Ring, ring, ring.
An’an looked down and pulled her phone from her pocket. Because the male lead was crawling on the floor, he had a perfect view of the number on her screen.
It was an incredibly familiar string of digits, one that everyone in Beika Town knew by heart.
“Hello, this is Inspector Megure.” The voice of a man known to all in Beika Town came through the phone.
“Is this Miss Fan An? About the boning knife you checked in at the police department…”
The male lead and the director couldn’t process the rest of the conversation.
Even as Fan An meticulously explained to Inspector Megure over the phone—that her part-time job back home in Izumo was butchering pigs, that she’d been butchering pigs for eighteen years, that the boning knife was an inseparable part of her, that if she failed the audition and couldn’t find work as an actress she would continue her pig-butchering trade in Beika Town, that she really had only ever butchered pigs and loved butchering pigs, and that she was not a serial killer or a connoisseur of bloody art—the male lead and the director heard none of it.
“Miss Fan An, I see on your resume that your hometown is Izumo,” the director said, his voice dry.
“Forgive me for asking, but… do you have any plans to move to Beika Town?”
“I do,” An’an replied instantly, without a second thought. “My plan is to work and settle down in Beika Town.”
Cousin Hanzawa had told her that the residency procedures in Beika were easy to handle. She’d go take care of it when she had a spare moment.
Wonderful, the director thought.
The chosen resident of Beika has arrived at her promised land. Beika Town is now well and truly doomed.