Chapter 192: A Brief Clash

The elders' sins are made to be borne by the children; this old madman's life is also bitter!

I sighed, then Pangzi and I walked forward and gently lifted the old madman into the house.

The old madman's home is dilapidated; the tiles on the roof are broken, and half of a wall inside has collapsed halfway. The bedding gives off a damp, rotten smell.

After helping the old madman onto the bed, I sat at the bedside and gasped for breath.

Just then, my spiritual sense felt a chilling yet familiar aura in the dark room.

"What is that!" Instinctively, I thrust my palm toward where my spiritual sense sensed it, and as soon as I moved, I unleashed the Yin Mountain entry-level sigil method, Yin Wind Decree.

After the soundless exchange, the shadow in front flashed and with a whoosh vanished into the air, leaving no trace. Meanwhile, I stared blankly at my own palm.

The thing I just exchanged blows with must be a ghost rather than a person. The weapon in its hand should be a knife, but why is this wound……

"Pangzi, come look quickly!" I pulled at Pangzi, who was standing guard in front of me.

"What's wrong, is the injury serious?" Pangzi turned his head and, unable to help himself, gasped in shock.

"This isn't..." Pangzi swallowed as he looked at the knife wound on my hand.

"Exactly, that's right!" I nodded firmly: "This knife wound is identical to those on several of the theatre troupe brothers, and the feeling it gives me is also a hot, numbing killing-energy wound."

Pangzi and I both fell silent unexpectedly; if nothing else, the thing that just appeared must be deeply related to the theatre troupe's injury incident.

"Search everywhere!" Pangzi didn't dare hesitate; after drawing the floral sigil on his hand, he immediately began searching the house.

We were both tense, gathering all our focus, not daring to miss any detail in the house. If we could really find that resentful spirit that just appeared, we might uncover the cause of the accident on the theatre stage.

Thus, I likewise drew the floral sigil on my hand and together with Pangzi searched the house for the ghost that had just appeared.

But after searching for half an hour, I found no trace of him in the house, not even a hint of an unusual aura. At that moment, Pangzi, who was in another room, suddenly shouted at me.

"Hai Sheng, come over and take a look."

I thought he had found the ghost's trail, so I quickened my pace and ran over—only to see Pangzi cradling a moldy book, engrossed in reading it.

"Why aren't you properly looking for the ghost, and what are you doing with that thing?" I asked curiously.

Pangzi grabbed me and pulled me over to look at the yellowed book. I leaned in and stared at it for a long time, but it seemed to be just a martial arts manual, with nothing else strange.

"What exactly are you trying to say? You know I hardly practice martial arts."

Pangzi frowned and said, "This book should be the cultivation method of the Plucking Plum Blade."

I don't know what the Plucking Plum Blade or Plum Blossom Blade is; I only know that if we can't find that ghost, this matter won't be resolved and the play can't go on. So I turned around and prepared to walk out.

But Pangzi grabbed my hand again and pulled me back.

"Don't go yet, I have something to say!" Pangzi frowned and asked me: "Have you noticed a strange phenomenon? The knife wounds on our theatre troupe brothers are all from deep to shallow. If an ordinary person wielded a knife and chopped straight down, according to force, it should be from shallow to deep. But the wounds of our injured brothers are the opposite."

When Pangzi said that, I did notice the situation! Looking at my palm, my own wound seemed the same; logically, a blade entering flesh should create a shallow-to-deep wound. Unless it's a reverse-grip knife, it wouldn't produce such a wound.

"Exactly, that's right, it's a reverse-grip blade," Pangzi said, nodding heavily, and explained: "During the Republic of China era, there was a school that became famous in the jianghu for its reverse-grip blade. The name of that reverse-grip blade is the Plucking Plum Blade. Moreover, before the school declined, its sect head seemed to bear the surname Yuan..."

I was suddenly startled, pointing at the book in Pangzi's hand and staring at him as I pressed: "You mean, this..."

"That's right, I suspect the Yuan family is the last lineage of the Plucking Plum Blade. And the person who possessed the theatre stage and wounded the brothers is likely a member of the Yuan family—perhaps even Old Madman's father, the deserter from the battlefield, Yuan Zheng!" Pangzi snapped the book shut and speculated.

"You're that sure?" I doubted a little.

"Just a gut feeling! But I think there must be some hidden truth—do you remember, before Old Madman fell asleep just now, he was crying and shouting something?" Pangzi gently guided me.

"Just now..." Pangzi's reminder made me suddenly recall. The old madman seemed to have been saying: "Father, go in peace, don't hurt anyone again."

After I spoke those words, Pangzi nodded heavily: "Exactly, that's what he said. Think about it—if his father's soul had already found peace, how could he say such a thing?"

"Moreover, when the theatre troupe performs, Old Madman is down below the stage; he must have seen something! The ghost that just appeared is very likely his father coming back to see him."

Now I finally understood Pangzi's speculation, and as I followed his line of reasoning, I found what he said was indeed highly plausible.

At once, Pangzi and I spontaneously ran out toward the hall.

Looking at the old madman passed out drunk on the bed, I still felt reluctant! Judging by his condition, unless we splash water on him to wake him, there's really no other way to rouse him. But facing such an elderly man over sixty, can we really bring ourselves to do it?

Just as we were hesitating, the old madman covered his aching forehead and woke up.

Overjoyed, Pangzi and I involuntarily moved closer.

"Elder, wake up!" As we kept shaking him, the elder eventually woke up.

But as soon as he woke, he was startled by us, clutching the moldy blanket, shrinking into the corner of the bedhead, and muttering fearfully, "Don't hit me, don't hit me" and similar words.

"Elder, don't be afraid, we're not bad people—we just want to ask you about your father..." I had just approached and was speaking softly when he suddenly bit down hard on my shoulder, just like last night at the theatre stage edge, biting hard and refusing to let go.

Immediately, the old madman kicked my abdomen with great force, violently shoving me away.

"Get lost, my father isn't a deserter—you are! My father isn't a deserter!" The old madman roared, his eyes bloodshot, seeming mad.

Pangzi quickly waved his hands to soothe: "Elder, don't get agitated; your father is definitely not a deserter, absolutely not a deserter." He said this while moving toward the old madman.

But the wary old madman wouldn't let him get close; whenever Pangzi came within a certain distance, the old madman would either throw something at him or kick him, being very much on guard.

After a long standoff, the mentally exhausted old madman eventually slumped over and fell asleep.

"What now?" Pangzi looked at the now-sleeping old madman and shrugged helplessly.

I rubbed my aching belly and patted Pangzi's shoulder, saying: "Continuing like this isn't a solution. How about this: you go back first, find that dwarf ghost, and meanwhile dig up the willow-wood tablet under the theatre stage. I'll stay here for a night, see if I can get some information out of him, wait a while, and see if his father's ghost will return."

Pangzi nodded: "That works; I'll head back first to deal with my in-laws, think up an excuse to buy a few days. You stay here, be extra careful, and once I've sorted out the theatre stage matter, I'll rush over right away."

"Alright, no delay—go quickly!"

Pangzi turned and ran out of the house, while I just grabbed a stool inside and sat down. Although the old madman hadn't awakened, I didn't dare be careless. Having opened my spiritual eye, I sat cross-legged, cultivating while also carefully sensing the room; any stir of wind or grass inside would surely not escape my spiritual perception.