The Nuo ritual mask looked ferocious and terrifying in the sunlight.
It is made of submerged wood, painted in red, white, and blue. It has horns on its head and glares angrily.
Qin Shang looked at the figure that leaped through the air.
The person was wearing a Nuo ritual mask.
Western Rong people.
The Western Rong suffered a defeat at Qingchuan. After Wei Xiao led the Danning army to reinforce Qingchuan, the Western Rong's last illusions about Jincheng were shattered.
They didn't gain any advantage whatsoever.
However, the Shahu tribe, which had been used as bait, actually killed the Prince of Pingxi, the governor of Pingxi, on the border and recaptured several important border towns, greatly boosting their morale.
The Western Rong, as the leader of the Shahu, found themselves in an awkward position, which only fueled their resentment.
It was to be expected that they would send people to harass Jincheng.
Just now at the banquet, the dancing girl was halfway through her dance when she suddenly took out a Nuo ritual mask from her skirt and put it on her face.
Then came the blood splattering among the flowers.
The banquet turned into a battleground.
The Western Rong people had clearly been lying in wait in Jincheng for some time.
At least, they knew who their target was.
The Song family's guards surrounded the head of the Song family.
Some of the Embroidered Robe Envoy's guards served Qin Shang, while others went to capture any Western Rong spies who had appeared.
But those people clearly had a plan in mind.
Those wearing Nuo ritual masks are responsible for attracting attention.
Several others, disguised as guests and servants, lifted their clothes, pulled out weapons, and began to kill indiscriminately.
The commotion was too great, and it seemed more like a bluff. How could these Western Rong warriors possibly stand against the Song family and the Embroidered-Robed Envoy, who were on their home turf?
Before long, the number of people had dwindled to almost nothing.
Qin Shang suddenly frowned and flicked his sleeves.
He shouted sternly, "Go quickly and find Master Daoci!"
…
Inside the library.
Sunlight quietly streamed through the green glass of the window sash.
The stench of blood permeated the cold, damp bookshelves.
A dusty, gray figure flashed in from outside the door.
The man first sniffed the bloody smell in the air.
Then he walked around the victimized maid who was lying on the ground, bleeding black blood.
West 8.
The worm must have been removed and used before she did anything.
This caused her to lose her dignity as a biochemist in front of Dao Ci.
She reached out and checked the maid's mouth and nose.
Black, tiny, water-drop-like things defied gravity and tried to jump onto her fingers.
But sensing something, it trembled and shrank back.
The gray figure pulled a bag of salt from his pocket and sprinkled it on the maid.
Tiny bubbles instantly surged from the black blood, as if it were boiling.
The next moment, everything returned to calm.
Utterly still, like stagnant water.
.
On the stage of Qingyin Pavilion, not far from the Bamboo Garden.
The erhu played softly, interspersed with the sound of a flute.
The once quiet stage has suddenly become lively again.
The female lead, dressed in a bright red costume adorned with butterflies and flowers, wore a red Nuo ritual mask.
The young male lead, dressed in a dark blue official robe costume, wore a black Nuo ritual mask on his face.
There were also young female roles, old male roles, and martial arts roles, all crammed onto the stage.
Wearing cloud-patterned boots and waving flowing sleeves, they walked with shuffling toes. On the bustling stage, however, not a single line of poetry was sung.
Each person quietly enacts their own joys and sorrows, partings and reunions.
Among them was a monk dressed in white, holding prayer beads, standing in the center of the stage.
In this world of absurdity and strangeness, he alone is like a clear stream in a turbid world.
The leading lady, with her flowing sleeves and graceful steps, clung to him with a sorrowful and persistent expression.
The young man glared at him angrily, his resentment reaching its peak.
The monk lowered his eyes, and the prayer beads rolled between his fingers.
No evil in the world can touch you.
…
Shen Qingyu stepped into the water pavilion and saw this scene before her.
He paused for a moment, then clapped his hands.
"Wonderful, wonderful!"
Why didn't he think of playing like this?
Ayan followed behind him, looking up at the stage separated by a stretch of clear water.
"You've arrived just in time. The show hasn't even started yet."
As if hearing her voice, the white-robed monk looked up at her.
His dark eyes were exceptionally cold.
Shen Qingyu looked thoughtfully at the person beside her.
"What? Did you orchestrate this whole thing?"
Ayan laughed: "I'm just a passerby, how could I be qualified to arrange this?"
She found a seat and sat down.
Everything was just going with the flow.
.
The erhu music on the stage stopped.
A large drum with a blue base and intricate patterns painted with blood or cinnabar was moved onto the stage at some unknown time.
Bang—bang—bang—
The deep, strange drumbeats contained a unique rhythm.
When the sound came from across the water, it felt as if one's own heartbeat was gradually being captured by the drumbeats.
It throbs along with it—and then faster and faster!
Everyone on the stage stopped moving.
They prostrated themselves on the ground, chanting incantations.
Different Nuo ritual masks, but the same fervor and piety.
A dagger stained with dried blood was passed from the old female lead to the old male lead, then to the young male lead, and finally to the young female lead.
She held the dagger tremblingly and began to dance wildly.
Like a desperate bird, it flaps its wings helplessly, begging for God's mercy.
Shen Qingyu: "What kind of act is this now?"
Their vantage point offered an excellent view. They could even see the trembling of the mask clearly.
Ayan laughed and said, "This play is called 'Using a borrowed knife to kill someone.'"
Shen Qingyu: "Whose knife should I borrow?"
Naturally, they were using the Western Rong's sword to kill those who deserved to die.
Ayan laughed and said, "I misspoke. This play should be called 'Offering Sacrifices to the Gods on the High Platform'."
The Western Rong people were defeated. They were filled with resentment and unwilling to accept defeat.
If this monk hadn't gone to seek reinforcements, Qingchuan City would at least have been captured.
I've heard that this monk is highly respected and renowned in the Yan Dynasty.
To quell their resentment, they decided to kill the monk to vent their anger.
In full view of everyone, the monk was killed using the method of sacrificial offerings from the Western Rong people.
Firstly, it served to intimidate Jincheng. Secondly, it served to comfort the souls of compatriots who perished on the battlefield.
Shen Qingyu: "So, this master is a kind person. You've come here, perhaps to save him?"
Ayan shook her head.
“Look at this stage and pavilion, on the surface it seems like only the two of us are watching the play.”
Shen Qingyu responded with an "oh".
"Are the others secretly watching from the shadows?"
Ayan: "The Western Rong people have a very powerful hidden weapon called 'Ghost-Scaring'. If you even graze it, it will draw blood and kill you instantly. This thing is as fine as a cow's hair, and when it is shot out, it is as gentle as spring rain, and it is completely silent."
Shen Qingyu: "Oh—no wonder they still have the mood to perform here. They're so confident they have nothing to fear."
.
The drumbeats got faster and faster.
The female lead's dance moves grew increasingly desperate until, in the end, a dagger slashed across her wrist.
Blood stained the blade, washing away all the sins.
The female lead, wearing a red demon mask, held a blood-stained dagger.
He shouted out a phrase in the Western Rong language.
"The children favored by the Mother Goddess will gain eternal life in blood and fire."
She walked toward the monk in the center of the stage.
At the same time, the other people on the stage also gathered around the monk.
He shouted the same words and pulled a dagger from his pocket.
The dagger was raised high, then plunged down—
The monk chanted a Buddhist prayer.
He moved lightly under his feet, and with a flick of his wide sleeves, a burst of energy emanated from beneath his feet, forcing those who were close to him to retreat.
He actually knows martial arts! Ayan, sitting in the pavilion, stared wide-eyed.
The next instant, an arrow flew through the air with a sharp whistling sound, piercing straight through the head of the red-clad female lead who was holding a dagger.
The red demon mask slipped off her face.
Blood splattered on the huge blue drum surface.
It was like a red lotus in full bloom.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com