Chapter 461

I and Pangzi had run back with all our strength, but when we returned we found we were still a step late. The second play in the theater had already begun; without any mishap, not long after it started, another accident just like the previous one occurred. When Pangzi and I returned, what met our eyes was a scene that could only be described as tragic.

The troupe's brothers lay on the stage, while the townsfolk below fell into chaos; after a panic, many gathered around the stage edge, pointing and chattering.

Obviously, after we chased that dwarf ghost out, something else came to cause trouble on the stage.

"Brother, hold on..." Pangzi rushed to Song Lin's side and began bandaging the wounded.

Liu Guozhong stood aside with a grim face; seeing Pangzi return, he frowned and demanded: "Xiaoqiang, didn't you say you'd already settled everything?"

"I'm telling you, our Liu family troupe won't perform this play! Hurry up, pack up and go back to Guangdong—don't you dare set foot in this mess again!" Liu Guozhong shouted, furious.

"Uncle... I!" Pangzi lowered his head, stammering, unable to speak.

"Uncle Liu, actually we just went to chase whatever was causing mischief on the stage. Now we've figured out the cause: there's a killing god beneath the stage, so something emerges during the performance to wreak havoc and injure our troupe members." Under Pangzi's astonished gaze, I stepped forward, fixing Liu Guozhong with a determined stare.

Yes, I was lying, concealing the truth from Liu Guozhong. Although I wanted to clarify the cause and effect, more importantly, I wanted the spirit of resisting Japan to endure forever on every piece of land.

During eight years of war, we shed too much blood and tears. Countless men took up arms and rode to battle, fighting desperately on the battlefield; the horror there is something we, living in today's peaceful prosperity, can never comprehend.

In Hong'an, this place is itself a famed anti-Japanese locality; it has produced countless generals and countless workers' and peasants' Red Army. Zeal and fearlessness have long permeated the bones of the older generation; pride has already eroded every inch of land.

However, the younger generation may not necessarily remember this past, this history.

Some things fade away if hidden; some spirit, if not reminded by external factors, will soon be corroded by the decadent, materialistic world. Someone must remember and pass it on, so that this spirit may endure forever.

Liu Guozhong heard my words but remained doubtful; he stared at me and pressed: "Is what you say really true? Or are you deceiving me?"

"It's true, that's how things turned out!" I nodded without hesitation, then altered the dwarf ghost's account. Using the excuse of a willow-wood tablet suppressing the theater's evil position, I concealed the truth. I lied to Liu Guozhong, saying the stone tablet beneath the theater was a killer device, and that finding it would resolve everything smoothly.

"Really?..." Liu Guozhong remained doubtful.

I could only continue the play to the end, feigning sincerity as I told him: "If you do as I say tomorrow, Uncle Liu, you'll know the truth."

"Alright, I'll do as you say tomorrow; I hope this time no one gets hurt." Liu Guozhong staggered, turned, took two steps, then turned again, sighed, and looked at me earnestly: "Remember, no matter when, you must protect yourselves—money can be lost, plays can be skipped, but people must never come to harm."

Pangzi quickly nodded beside him: "Uncle, rest assured, I and Hai Sheng both understand!"

After Liu Guozhong left, Pangzi hastily took out his silver needles and began treating the wounded troupe brothers.

Pangzi glanced at me gratefully; I nodded and lightly patted his shoulder—an exchange of looks that conveyed our mutual understanding.

"You tend to the brothers' wounds first; I'll go check beneath the stage." I whispered into Pangzi's ear, then hurried down from the stage.

Quietly forming the hand seal, pinching the sword finger, I opened my spiritual eye and spiritual sense, carefully examining every corner around me to see if I'd missed any trace of aura.

Yet nothing stirred around; only the air's aura felt strange—giving me a sense of desolation, as if a huge stone were pressing hard on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

This sensation came only after I opened my spiritual eye and took something to strengthen my spiritual sense; thus the phenomenon is likely not ordinary, possibly even related to a spirit body.

If Murong Jiaja were here, she might notice something! But Murong Jiaja is healing in the Spirit-Gathering Jade, having long cut off contact with the outside world, and Little Fat has overused his Fate-Tracking ability, still lying in a stupor.

Perhaps this strange aura in the air could bring me some new clues, who knows.

I just stood quietly at the stage's edge, using my spiritual sense to savor this strange air, hoping to glean some clue from it.

"Madman, step aside, don't scare the kids"—just as I closed my eyes to quietly sense that lingering trace of special aura, a villager's cursing rang in my ears.

I opened my eyes toward the sound's source, and involuntarily frowned.

Not far ahead, several villagers shoved aside an old man with white hair, while some children nearby grabbed stones and hurled them at him.

Because the night was dark and the distance far, I initially couldn't see clearly; but as I approached, I realized the old man resembled a madman—his clothes and pants were ragged like a beggar's, grime coated his feet, his hair was disheveled, as if he hadn't bathed in days.

Even from afar, as I drew near, I could smell a foul stench emanating from him, like a dead rat in the house.

The old man's mind seemed off; he grabbed stones and threw them back at the attacking children, while shouting incoherent nonsense that ordinary people couldn't understand.

"Enough, stop it!" I ran to the middle, waving my hands to halt the children still throwing stones. My heart still felt a bit angry. Even if he's a madman, you shouldn't treat him like this.

"Young sir, I advise you to step back quickly—this old man, when he goes mad, could kill someone," a woman shielding a child advised me.

I stared at her coldly: "I don't know about lives, but I only want to ask: is it really right to treat an old man this way? Don't you ever grow old yourself?"

Perhaps my icy gaze and sarcastic tone deeply provoked the woman; she snorted coldly, threw down a harsh "no good deed goes unpunished," and led the child away.

After they walked away, I turned back, supported the mad old man, and tried to soften my tone.

I asked: "Old sir, are you alright? Where do you live? I'll take you home."

The mad old man ignored me, his gaze unfocused on the stage, muttering: "Injustice, a great injustice, grievance, a great grievance."

Following his gaze in surprise, I saw the stage was just an ordinary stage, nothing strange about it.

"Old sir, what did you just say? A grievance? Anti-Japanese dramas are always like that, common enough..." Just as I turned my head, my shoulder felt a sharp pain—the mad old man seized the moment and bit down hard on my shoulder.

"Holy shit, let go, hurry up and let go!" I strained to break free, shoving the mad old man hard. My heart felt utterly vexed—I had meant to do a good deed, yet he suddenly bit me back. Moreover, the old man was quite old, so I dared not push him with force.

"Hahaha, I'm a soldier, from the common folk, who defeated the Japanese invaders and wiped out Chiang's bandits!" At last the old man released his bite. He then threw his head back and laughed loudly, proceeding to sing the song "I Am a Soldier."

After the old man ran off, his tone suddenly shifted, and he began to sing…

"I want to go to school, never be late, love studying and loving labor,"

His voice rang out bright and cheerful, as he skipped and hopped away on quick steps.

Only I remained standing there foolishly, my lips twitching, my thoughts in disarray amidst the wind…

That old man—his madness is too full of substance, too rhythmic…