Chapter 186

Desiring to send a gaze that climbs a thousand li, sorrowful clouds low, locking the Hengyang road. Fish letters do not arrive, geese have no proof; several times I wish to compose a lament of autumn. Looking back, the western mountains' sun already slants; the lone traveler at the world's end truly finds it hard to pass. A man has tears but does not shed them lightly, only because he has not yet reached the heartbreaking place.

Accompanied by a segment of quick clapper, a rather atmospheric narration, the drama announced its opening. Though the person had not yet arrived, that voice attracted the gaze of everyone in the audience.

To my hearing, this narration seems to carry a melody, although slightly odd! Yet it possesses a sense of vicissitude and sorrowful chill, making people, in an instant, involuntarily sink deep into it.

My light body fears no long journey, my heart is restless yet I dread being noticed; frightened, my soul and spirit fade away, fade away — in the mundane world I have wasted my youth in Wuling.

When the song reached its enthusiastic passage, the villagers and elders in the audience could not help but applaud loudly, repeatedly shouting praise.

On the stage, that actor wore a cyan gauze horned headscarf, with two white jade rings linked together as sideburn ornaments behind his head; he donned a single-layer green silk battle robe adorned with round floral patterns, his waist belted with a double-layered silver sash bearing a turtle-back pattern, his feet in black boots with melon-seed toes, and in his hand he held an upward-pointing spear, performing exactly the role of Lin Chong, the instructor of the 800,000 imperial troops from Water Margin.

One must say, this female role indeed has considerable skill, yet it is precisely her singing ability that fully and vividly expresses Lin Chong's sorrowful helplessness as he ascends Liangshan Marsh at night.

"Indeed, I once hoped to become a marquis and minister, learning from Ban Chao who traveled ten thousand li; but now, forced by circumstance, I have become a rebel Red Turban, a traitor like Huang Chao. It is just like a falcon shedding its leather straps, a rabbit escaping its cage, a dragon breaking free from its net. Who will punish those who save the nation in distress? Who can wield justice like the sage Gao Yao?"

At first, the female role's voice was very low; later, as his voice rose, it seemed to pierce the nine heavens' clouds, the sorrowful atmosphere stirring the heavens' dark clouds, yet it thoroughly and completely expressed the tragic grandeur of Instructor Lin's inability to serve his country and his harm at the hands of treacherous ministers.

With the sound of a quick clapper starting, the female role shouldered the long spear, walking with a staggered step, lonely and helpless, sorrowful and desolate.

People seemed to see Lin Chong's lone and proud figure staggering across the snow-covered expanse.

I and Pangzi had everything ready, just waiting for the malevolent ghost to reveal itself and swarm upon us. But as we watched the Kunqu opera, I and Pangzi felt as if we were there in person, seeing the Instructor Lin of the 80,000 imperial troops harmed by Gao Qiu. His pride, helplessness, and the tragic grandeur of his inability to serve his country moved us deeply. In the end, I and Pangzi were utterly captivated by this tune, unable to pull ourselves away, becoming one of those eating melon seeds while watching the opera.

Song Lin had somehow approached us without us noticing. He sat beside Pangzi, patiently explaining to Pangzi the origins of this Kunqu opera scene.

"Don't underestimate this little night escape of Lin Chong... In Kunqu opera there is a saying: men fear night escapes, women fear weeping before the altar, young male leads have eight unique skills, and this role of Instructor Lin is such that few can perform it." Song Lin ate melon seeds, gazing at the female role on stage, his face glowing with pride.

The female role capable of performing Lin Chong comes from the Liu Family Troupe. As a member of the Liu Family Troupe, Song Lin's pride is understandable.

I stepped over curiously and asked, "Brother Lin, is it really that difficult to play the role of Lin Chong?"

"Certainly, ordinary people simply don't have the skill; to play Lin Chong's role requires not only a stalwart physique but also dignified bearing, a voice that is not only high-pitched but also resonant, and a face capable of complex, subtle expressions." Song Lin took a sip of second-distilled liquor, speaking freely: "Besides that, one must have superb martial arts skills—crossing the tiger, cloud hands, pounding the mortar, reverse linking hand—these minor yet solid basics must be perfected; otherwise, one cannot match the singing, nor portray Instructor Lin's wronged and resentful plight, his indignation, his nighttime escape, and the sorrowful journey all the way."

"What are crossing the tiger, cloud hands, and pounding the mortar?" Pangzi likewise looked curiously at Song Lin.

Song Lin pointed at Lin Chong on the stage and explained: "Look at that stance—one foot straight and unmoving as the axis, the other foot lifted and rotating; in our trade we call that crossing the tiger. Both palms start from the chest, left palm upward, right palm downward, the palms turn and push upward over the head, forming a neat 'heaven-topping' posture; that is cloud hands. Though these moves, like the Eighteen Flips, are basic skills for us performers, to be able to execute them all in a single performance and do so flawlessly and solidly is rare even in our trade."

Song Lin spoke with self-satisfaction, as if the Lin Chong portrayed on stage were himself. The warm applause from below the stage made him feel the same joy, immersing him in this happy atmosphere.

It was only then that I truly felt the charm of the Liu Family Troupe. Here, everyone seemed to possess a sense of collective honor. When one person is acknowledged by the audience, the other brothers also feel happy. If the drama cannot continue to be staged, everyone will simultaneously feel distressed.

Here, it seems no one abandons another. From the leading roles to the humble clowns struggling in the corners, there is no distinction of self or other, no hierarchy. Nobody would desert another to go their separate ways; shared honor brings collective honor, shared loss brings collective loss.

Perhaps... Pangzi's decision is correct! In this tumultuous mundane world, everyone contends for fame and profit, and for future prospects they go their separate ways. A collective like the Liu Family Troupe is rare indeed. This troupe should not vanish into the dust of history; this spirit ought to be gradually promoted with time.

Thinking thus, my eyes were once again drawn to the splendid performance on stage. But just then, as I was engrossed in watching, I suddenly caught a whiff of fragrance.

This fragrance was quite peculiar, yet it also felt very familiar; after pondering for a while, I finally remembered what it was.

Damn it, isn't this the scent of Soul-Luring Incense? Sandalwood, pine resin, willow twig tips—definitely not mistaken.

And just as I came to my senses, I suddenly spotted a figure on the edge of the stage that ought not to be there...

It was a dwarf-sized person, with a large bump on his forehead, his whole body black as coal, his face resembling the black-faced Bao Zheng of Kaifeng Prefecture; his legs were wrapped around the shoulder of a nearby villager, and he sat upon that villager, watching Instructor Lin on the stage, the dwarf clapping his hands happily.

Seeing him become gleefully excited, he lowered his head, brought his nose to the villager's body, and greedily inhaled a breath; as he did so, a faint whitish vapor drifted from the villager's body and was drawn into his nose.

No sooner had that whitish vapor been inhaled than the villager's body immediately emanated a hazy, drifting black aura.

The villager, serving as a chair, was utterly unaware, not even sensing that a person was sitting on his shoulder.

"Pangzi... look quick," I kept pushing Pangzi several times; after he came to his senses, I quietly pointed to the edge of the stage.

Pangzi followed my gaze and instantly exclaimed, "How could it be this thing?"

I and Pangzi are not strangers to this dwarf; to be precise, this dwarf is a kind of ghost commonly spoken of in folklore—some call it Coal Dust Gloom, others directly call it the misfortune ghost.

Its harmfulness is not great, yet it draws away a bit of people's wealth and fortune. It loves to sneak onto chairs when people play mahjong, or to sit on people's shoulders to cause trouble. Its purpose is to absorb a portion of a person's prosperity and pass along misfortune.

That is why some old women, when playing mahjong, pat their shoulders, shake their thighs, and wear red underwear—these old wives' tricks are not baseless; once entangled by this misfortune ghost, your days can be described as "walking with chills, brushing your teeth with cold water stuck in the gaps."

However, this ghost normally does not harm people; at most, when it clings to someone, it merely brings a spell of bad luck. After that spell passes, the person gradually returns to normal, posing no threat to life.

Could it be... that the malevolent force that night was precisely this dwarf, the Coal Dust Gloom?

Regardless of whether it is him or not, in short, a ghost has appeared, and we must go investigate.

Exchanging a glance with Pangzi, we two began to slip away from our seats, moving our steps feigning indifference as we slowly approached the dwarf.

There is an old saying: when heaven closes one door, it likewise opens a window; what is gained inevitably entails loss, what is full inevitably entails lack.

This dwarf ghost possesses no formidable abilities nor any notable tricks, but its strength lies in its extraordinary spiritual perception—even ordinary Daoists may not match it; although its combat ability is poor, its escape ability is first-rate.

I and Pangzi both considered ourselves careful, yet we were still inadvertently discovered by him.

When we had walked to a point only two meters from that villager, the dwarf seemed to sense something and glanced in our direction; although we had promptly shrunk our figures behind the audience's backs,

yet the dwarf without hesitation leapt down from the villager's shoulder; I peered through a gap in the audience's obstruction... the dwarf had actually transformed into a cockroach and fled outward from the stage.

Seeing this, I recalled the Soul-Luring Incense scent I had just smelled from the dwarf; in an instant my face turned grim, and I felt like squatting on the ground to vomit.

I said, no wonder this morning, when I crawled out from beneath the stage, my body had that foul, nauseating cockroach excrement smell...