Chapter 299: Traces of the Night Watchman

Cultivators were all holding funerals on the mountains; only eight disciples stationed on the hillside watched over the commoners kneeling in worship.

But as a surge of qi suddenly erupted through the night, all eight disciples blacked out and collapsed to the ground.

At that moment, Ji You landed in a dark corner before the stage and looked up at the platform.

The painted-face actor had already completed his opening entrance, then picked up a bundle from the stage table, as a slow, melodic chant drifted toward them.

"In the dark room, I dress with heart like iron—"

"Tighten my robes, tie my pack, my long sword honed to frost!"

"This body long pledged to all living beings, I cultivate to become a immortal—"

The painted-face actor tightened his sword and turned backward: "Protect the four directions!"

At that moment, an old male role stepped onto the stage, took a few swift steps, and swept up his robe: "Younger brother, wait!"

"Elder brother, my mind is made up—do not worry for me."

"Even cats and dogs under the same eaves feel longing—how much more so for brothers trained together for years!"

The painted-face actor pointed diagonally downward: "Human ghost-fires blaze bright through the night; immortals close their eyes and pretend deafness! I'd rather be the sword guarding wild graves than a wooden beam in the golden hall!"

The old male role's hands trembled: "To go… through a thousand mountains of specters, younger brother."

Beneath the platform, Ji You stood tilted, listening to the drawn-out chant, his eyes shimmering with faint gold…

The Lang family's play is called "The Lang Ancestor Saves the World," said to be performed for nine full nights, beginning each evening at dusk and ending at the rooster's crow at Mao hour.

The daylight hours are reserved for the troupe to rest, and the commoners may return to their fields, coming back to kneel again before dusk.

The first night's play, "Leaving the Mountain," tells of Lang Kun's early cultivation success, his seeing of human suffering, his descent to protect the four directions—sweeping his sleeve to summon rain during drought, raising his arms to move mountains during floods.

At dawn, as the "Leaving the Mountain" performance reached its final scene, the performers on stage began to depart.

From beneath the temporary pavilion, the young troupe master stepped out, bowing to several lead actors and thanking them for their labor.

He had watched half the previous night's performance, confirmed everything went smoothly, then slept for two hours; now, still weary, he saw off the performers and directed his backstage crew to the stage to change the scenery.

Last night's backdrop was mountain peaks and mist; tonight's will be a small town beside a lake.

The backdrops bore signs of age, clearly not newly made—especially the figure of Lang in "The Lang Ancestor Saves the World," stitched onto the stage with mismatched cloth.

Ji You had long since confirmed: this was indeed an old play, performed countless times, not newly composed for Lang Kun.

He had traveled from north to south, then diverted westward, taking a wide detour, listening to all forms of performance.

Shadow puppets, drum ballads, three-stringed lutes… the stories he heard were mostly similar: night-watchers, immortal heroes slaying demons, receiving the kneeling worship of countless people—but this was the first time he heard one singing of their origin.

Ji You knew this troupe's repertoire must know more.

So at dawn, he drifted away quietly, found a secluded place to cultivate his body, then returned at dusk to the stage beneath Wangyang Mountain.

First night: "Leaving the Mountain," second night: "Wandering the World," then "Saving the World," slaying demons.

This play was originally composed to mourn the Lang Ancestor and honor him with the reverence of countless people, so its focus remained on praising his virtues.

Compared to the shadow puppetry, three-stringed lutes, and drum ballads he'd heard before, there was little difference—but Ji You still noticed something unusual.

For instance, when the demon-slaying scenes began, many performers painted with green faces and fangs arrived draped in black cloth.

Before their opening entrance, they would hold the black cloth and circle the entire stage.

Ji You had once suffered insomnia, taken many sleeping pills, listened to sleep music on video sites, and even listened to storytelling and comic dialogues.

One phrase from storytelling stuck clearly in his mind: "The storyteller's mouth, the actor's legs."

Meaning: the storyteller's lips moving together could carry him ten thousand miles; the actor circling the stage once had walked the entire world.

In Ji You's eyes, the black cloth represented night; circling the stage once meant night had covered the entire world.

This bore high similarity to the story told in the book "The Night Watchman."

And his family's haughty ghost had a saying: if too many coincidences occur, they are certainly not coincidences.

"It's unnecessary."

"This newly added character…"

On the fifth night, Ji You noticed another difference besides the darkness.

Still within the demon-slaying tale, a boy suddenly appeared beside the night-watchman-like figure.

The boy's entrance was simple: the immortal guardian rescued him while passing a village, as he had no parents, so he stayed by his side.

But the boy had few lines—mostly about eating and sleeping—with no real significance, making Ji You feel this specially introduced character seemed superfluous.

In all previous performances he'd heard, this boy had never existed, nor had the black cloth representing night been common.

Perhaps other troupes, when borrowing from this play, also sensed the character and setting were unnecessary, and thus removed them.

But Ji You knew: whether this boy or the black cloth, their presence in this play must have a reason.

Otherwise, they wouldn't have been kept.

In all forms of opera, acting is the most demanding—costumes, movements, training; adding one more role multiplies the trouble, so there's no reason to keep them.

On the eighth day, the sky was clear and bright.

Last night's performance still resembled Zhao the Elder's shadow puppetry scene of slaying evil spirits; in the story, Lang Kun acted like a savior, one man, one sword guarding the four directions.

Ji You endured listening to it, then went to find a place to cultivate, preparing for the final performance.

For a grand opera requiring multiple nights of performance, middle segments might be filled with stirring demon-slaying scenes, but the final act must reveal something different.

Yet when he returned from his afternoon cultivation, he found Wangyue Mountain in chaos.

From afar, several small cultivation families who had come to pay respects were blocked at the gates, apparently not allowed entry.

Before long, countless cultivators flew out from Wangyue Mountain, drifting in all directions, bewildered and alarmed.

Looking up, the sky was densely packed with them, like ants moving in a column.

At the mountain's foot, commoners had gathered, trembling with fear; seeing this, they immediately fell prostrate, their shivering bodies radiating dread.

In fact, since the first night, they had noticed: the cultivators guarding them always fell asleep at the start.

So they weren't truly kneeling—they were squatting or sitting.

Because if they truly knelt, they wouldn't need nine days—just one night would cripple their legs.

So when they saw the cultivators flying out of the mountain, they thought their "grave disrespect" had been discovered, and waited trembling for death.

But after waiting a long time, they realized: the cultivators had left.

Ji You now also gazed at the vast immortal mansion on Wangyue Mountain, his third eye slightly furrowed.

For just now, he had sensed a spell's aura flare within the courtyard, then vanish instantly.

This was the grand funeral of the Lang Ancestor; no one should be using martial arts, and mourning had not yet reached nine days—yet these mourners had fled hastily, which was deeply strange.

Nine is always an auspicious number in Qingyun Realm.

Humanity is divided into nine provinces; cultivation is divided into nine realms; leaving on the eighth day seemed illogical.

But Ji You waited to see the final act; seeing the performers, well-rested, gather before the stage, he turned his gaze away, paying no further attention.

"A few new characters…"

"They're dressed in something quite ornate…"

Ji You studied the side of the stage, his eyes landing on the unfamiliar roles, murmuring to himself.

Since this play was meant to praise Lang Kun's deeds—even ones he himself didn't know about—the characters appearing, besides demons, were only commoners awaiting rescue.

The commoners' attire was plain: gray robes, gray trousers.

But these new characters today clearly weren't commoners; Ji You suspected new relationships might emerge.

Yet as the play began, a group of solemn cultivators descended the mountain.

The young troupe master, the young female role just about to take the stage, and the old male role who had played many minor parts were all summoned over; after a few sharp reprimands, their eyes filled with panic, and they returned, ordering everyone to pack up.

Simultaneously, the old male role hurried away with several backstage crew, returning half an hour later with four flatbed carts.

Immediately, the troupe scrambled to load the carts—one for costumes, one for props, two for people—by noon, preparing to whip the horses and depart.

Not performing anymore?

Ji You froze slightly, then stepped toward the lead cart where the troupe master stood.

"Troupe master."

"Ah, Young Master! Mo here, greetings to Young Master?"

The troupe had long noticed him, knowing he came daily to watch the play; seeing his attire, they knew he wasn't ordinary, and spoke with humility.

Ji You glanced toward the mansion on the mountain: "I've listened to your play every day these past few days—it's excellent. Why not perform the final act?"

The old troupe master swallowed hard: "We don't know either. They said we offended heavenly wrath, ordered us to pack and leave immediately."

"Offended heavenly wrath?"