Chapter 464

The elders' misdeeds, yet the children have to bear them—this old madman's life is also bitter!

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

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

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

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

"What is that!" Instinctively, I thrust my hand toward where my spiritual sense detected it, unleashing the Yin Mountain entry-level talisman method, the Yin Wind Command.

After a soundless exchange, the shadow ahead flashed and swooshed into the air, leaving no trace. Yet at that moment, I stared blankly at my palm.

The thing I just exchanged blows with should be a ghost, not a person. The weapon in his hand ought to be a knife, but why does this knife wound…

"Pangzi, come look!" I tugged at Pangzi, who was guarding in front of me.

"What's wrong, is the injury serious?" Pangzi turned his head and couldn't help but gasp 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 troupe brothers, and the feeling it gives me is a hot, numbing killing-energy wound."

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

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

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

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

But after searching for half an hour, I found no trace of him in the room, not even a wisp of 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 training 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, preparing to head outside.

But Pangzi grabbed my hand again and yanked 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 troupe brothers are all from deep to shallow. If an ordinary person slashed with a knife, going by force, it should be from shallow to deep. Yet the wounded brothers in our troupe have their wounds the opposite way."

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

"Exactly, that's right, it's a reverse-grip knife," Pangzi nodded heavily and explained: "Back in the Republican era, there was a sect that became famous in the jianghu for its reverse-grip knife. That sect's name is the Plucking Plum Blade. And before the sect declined, its sect head seemed to be surnamed 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 inheritor of the Plucking Plum Blade. And the one who possessed the stage and slashed the brothers is likely a member of the Yuan family—perhaps even the old madman's father, the battlefield deserter, Yuan Zheng!" Pangzi snapped the book shut and speculated.

"You're that sure?" I felt doubtful.

"Just a gut feeling! But I think there must be a hidden story here. Do you remember, before the old madman fell asleep earlier, he was crying and shouting something?" Pangzi gently guided me.

"Just now…" Pangzi's reminder made me suddenly recall. The old madman had seemed to say: "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 rested, how could he say such a thing!"

"Furthermore, when the troupe performs, the old madman is down beneath the stage; he must have seen something! That ghost that just appeared is very likely his father coming back to see him."

Now I finally understand Pangzi's speculation, and when I follow his line of reasoning, I find his hypothesis is highly plausible.

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

Looking at the old madman drunk and collapsed on the bed, I still felt reluctant! Given his condition, unless we splash water on him to wake him, there's really no other way to rouse him. But to lay hands on such an elderly man over sixty—can we really do that?

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

Pangzi and I were overjoyed and instinctively moved closer.

"Old man, wake up!" With our constant shaking, the old man eventually came to.

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

"Old man, 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, the moment the words "your father" left my mouth, the old madman fiercely bit down on my shoulder, just like last night at the stage's edge, biting hard and refusing to let go.

Immediately after, the old madman kicked my abdomen with lightning speed, hard, shoving me away.

"Get lost, my father isn't a deserter—you are! My father isn't a deserter!" The old madman's eyes were bloodshot, roaring like a madman.

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

But the old madman, now on guard, 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 wary.

After a prolonged 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, patted Pangzi's shoulder, and said: "This can't go on like this. Here's what I think: you go back first, find that dwarf ghost, and meanwhile dig up the willow-wood tablet beneath the stage. I'll stay here for the night, see if I can get some information out of him, wait a while, and see if his father's ghost returns."

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

"Alright, no delay—go quickly!"

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