Chapter 458

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

Accompanied by a rapid clapper, a rather evocative narration announced the opening of the drama. Though no one had arrived yet, that voice drew the eyes of everyone in the audience.

To my ears, the narration seemed to carry a tune, although slightly strange! Yet it possessed a sense of vicissitude and sorrow, making people involuntarily sink into it in an instant.

"My light body fears no distant road, my anxious heart dreads being noticed; frightened, my soul fades, my soul fades, in the red dust I have missed my youthful years in Wuling."

When the song reached its fervent passage, the villagers in the audience could not help but clap loudly and shout their approval repeatedly.

On the stage, the actor wore a green-silk knotted headcloth, with two white jade rings linked as sideburn ornaments at the back of his head. He donned a single-layer green gauze robe with round floral patterns, his waist bound by a double-layered turtle-back silver sash. On his feet were a pair of melon-head style black boots, and in his hand he held a sky-pointing spear, portraying exactly Lin Chong, the chief instructor of the eighty thousand imperial guards from Water Margin.

I must say, this dan role indeed possesses considerable skill, and his singing fully conveys the sorrowful helplessness of Lin Chong's night ascent to Liangshan Marsh.

"I once hoped to earn a marquisate and premiership like Ban Chao's ten-thousand-mile exploits, but now I am forced to become a rebel Red Turban, a traitor like Huang Chao. It is as if a falcon has shed its jesses, a hare escaped its cage, a dragon freed from its net. Who will punish the righteous in saving the nation? Who will wield justice like Gao Yao?"

At first, the dan's voice was low, but as it rose, it seemed to pierce the nine heavens, the sorrowful atmosphere stirring the clouds across the sky, thus fully conveying the tragic grandeur of Lin Chong's inability to serve his country and his death at the hands of treacherous ministers.

With the sound of a rapid clapper, the dan shouldered his long spear and walked with a staggered step, lonely and helpless, desolate and bleak.

People seemed to see Lin Chong's proud figure staggering through the snow-filled sky.

I and Pangzi had prepared everything, waiting only for the malevolent spirit to reveal itself and swarm upon us. But as we watched the kunqu, I and Pangzi felt as if we were there, seeing the eighty-thousand-strong imperial guard Lin Chong, harmed by Gao Qiu. His pride, helplessness, and tragic loyalty moved us deeply. In the end, we were utterly captivated by the tune, becoming members of the audience munching melon seeds.

Song Lin had unknowingly come over to us at some point. Sitting beside Pangzi, he carefully explained to Pangzi the origins of this kunqu scene.

"Don't underestimate this little Lin Chong's night escape... In kunqu there is a saying: men fear night escapes, women fear weeping commoners, the young male lead has eight unique traits, and Lin Chong's role is something few can perform." Song Lin munched melon seeds, gazing at the dan on stage, his face glowing with pride.

The dan who can portray Lin Chong comes from the Liu Family Troupe. As a member of that troupe, Song Lin's pride is inevitable.

I stepped over curiously and asked, "Brother Lin, is playing Lin Chong really that difficult?"

"Of course, ordinary people lack this skill. To play Lin Chong, one needs not only a stalwart stature but also bearing and demeanor; the voice must be both loud and resonant, and the face must display complex, delicate expressions." Song Lin took a sip of baijiu, then spoke freely: "Besides, one must have superb martial arts—like the tiger stride, cloud hands, pounding hammer, and bound hands—these minute yet solid basics must be practiced to perfection. Otherwise, they won't match the singing, and one cannot portray Lin Chong's wronged, resentful state, his heart full of hatred, his nighttime flight, and the sorrowful journey."

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

Song Lin pointed at the Lin Chong on stage and explained: "See that stance—one foot straight and still as the axis, the other foot lifted and rotating; in our trade we call that the tiger stride. Both palms start from the chest, left palm up, right palm down, they turn flat and push upward over the head, forming a neat 'holding up heaven' posture; that is the cloud hands. Though these are as basic as the eighteen flips for us performers, to execute them all in a play, and to do so solidly without error, few in our troupe can manage."

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

It was only then that I fully felt the charm of the Liu Family Troupe. Here everyone seemed to share a collective sense of 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 uneasy.

Here, it seems no one abandons another. From leading roles to the struggling clowns in the corners, there is no distinction of status. Nobody would desert another to go their own way; one's honor brings collective honor, one's loss brings collective loss.

Perhaps... Pangzi's decision is correct! In this tumultuous mundane world, everyone strives for fame and profit, scrambling for superiority, and for future prospects they go their separate ways. Such a collective as the Liu Family Troupe is rare. This troupe should not vanish into historical dust; this spirit ought to be gradually promoted with time.

Thinking thus, my eyes were again drawn to the splendid stage. But just then, as I was engrossed, I suddenly smelled a fragrance.

This fragrance was peculiar yet somehow familiar; after pondering for a while, I finally recalled it.

Damn, isn't this the scent of soul-summoning incense? Sandalwood, pine resin, willow twig tips... absolutely correct.

But just as I came to my senses, I abruptly saw, at the edge of the stage, a figure 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 Bao of Kaifeng Prefecture. His legs were wrapped around a villager's shoulder, and he sat upon the villager, watching Lin Chong on the stage, clapping his hands happily.

When the performance grew lively, he lowered his head, greedily inhaling a breath from the villager's body; as he breathed, a faint whitish vapor drifted from the villager and was sucked into his nose.

As soon as that whitish vapor was drawn into him, the villager's body immediately gave rise to a hazy, drifting black aura.

The villager, serving as a chair, was utterly unaware, feeling nothing of a "person" sitting on his shoulder.

"Pangzi... look quick," I kept nudging Pangzi; after he came to, I quietly pointed at the edge of the stage.

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

I and Pangzi are not strangers to this dwarf; accurately, it is a ghost commonly spoken of in folklore, some call it Coal Blight, others directly name it the Misfortune Ghost.

Its harm is not great, but it does suck away a bit of people's wealth and fortune. It loves to crawl onto chairs when people play mahjong, or sit on their shoulders to cause trouble. Its purpose is to draw off a portion of a person's financial qi and pass along misfortune.

Thus some old women playing mahjong will pat shoulders, shake legs, 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 teeth with cold water stuck in the gaps."

However, this ghost generally does not harm people; at most, when it clings, it makes a person unlucky for a while. After that spell, the person gradually returns to normal, with no danger to life.

Could it be... that the troublemaker that night was precisely this dwarf "Coal Blight"?

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

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

There is an old saying: when heaven closes a door, it likewise opens a window; gains inevitably bring losses, abundance inevitably brings shortage.

This dwarf ghost has no formidable abilities, nor any notable tricks, but its strength lies in its extraordinary spiritual perception—ordinary Daoists may not match it; though its combat skill is poor, its escapist talent is top-notch.

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

When we had walked to within two meters of that villager, the dwarf seemed to sense something and glanced in our direction. Although we both timely shrank our figures behind the audience.

Yet the dwarf unhesitatingly leapt from the villager's shoulder; through a gap in the audience's obstruction I saw... the dwarf had transformed into a cockroach, fleeing outward from the stage.

Seeing this, I recalled the soul-summoning incense scent I had just smelled from the dwarf; instantly 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 under the stage, my body had that nauseating, foul cockroach-dropping smell...