Chapter 232 Sacrifice "What do your gods look like?..."
"What do your gods look like?" Sang Zhitao turned her head to look at the half-demon statue on the altar.
Qinglan was taken aback, seemingly not expecting Sang Zhitao to focus on this.
She looked at the statue, her eyes deep and unfathomable: "The valley's historical records state that she has white hair and white eyes, likes to wear white clothes, is the mother who created us, and is also the one who has always protected us."
Sang Zhitao's face was somewhat pale. She looked at the statue and felt a mix of emotions, whether regret or sadness, welling up inside her.
Ever since she opened her eyes in this world, she had a vague feeling that the person who hadn't left with her was probably already...
“She is my teacher,” Sang Zhitao suddenly said.
Qinglan paused, then looked on incredulously, her eyes flashing with sharpness as she looked at Sang Zhitao and urgently rebuked, "Impossible!"
“Clearly…clearly…” Qinglan bit her lip, she dared not and did not want to believe Sang Zhitao’s words.
If what Sang Zhitao said is true, it means that they not only almost destroyed their only savior, but also harmed the god they revered.
Sang Zhitao didn't offer much explanation. Instead, she looked down at her small hands until Qinglan regained her composure and then asked, "Why did you later cooperate with the four major families?"
Qinglan gave a mocking laugh: "Who would cooperate with such fools!"
However, she quickly closed her eyes, suppressed her anger, and continued, "God told us that the Valley of Funerals cannot be used to set up an altar, and therefore cannot sustain sacrifices, so we need some helpers."
"So, your divine oracle should have appeared earlier than the four great families' oracle, but according to the four great families, their divine oracle appeared even earlier. Didn't you exchange information with each other?" Sang Zhitao suddenly raised her hand to interrupt her and asked in return.
Qinglan choked, a hint of embarrassment showing on her face.
Upon seeing her expression, Sang Zhitao instantly understood that this was simply the result of the established hermit faction looking down on the newcomer.
Stopping dwelling on the matter, Sang Zhitao turned her attention to the earlier mention of God taking them to see the world's edge: "You said God took you to see it, when was that?"
"Before the divine decree came down," Qinglan said.
Sang Zhitao frowned, feeling that something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
"And now? You still intend to kill me? Even though I'm a student of your god?" Sang Zhitao shook her head, no longer paying attention to these questions.
Qinglan pursed her lips and looked at her coldly: "You cannot prove that you are God's student."
“But I can prove that the oracle was fake,” Sang Zhitao said after thinking for a moment with her eyes lowered.
Qinglan frowned: "How do you intend to prove it?"
"God instructed you to build an altar; there must be a main altar, right? Take me to see it."
Qinglan's lips twitched slightly: "You'll see soon enough."
"Aren't you curious why the God of Wish can't kill me?" Sang Zhitao suddenly thought of another way to prove it.
Qinglan slowly shook her head: "Since you are the savior, you naturally have some special abilities. It's normal that the gods can't kill you."
"The Coffin-Holder has been following us for so long, and she has heard what the God of Prophecy said. Shouldn't you be starting to doubt the oracle?"
Qinglan looked intently at Sang Zhitao, but did not reply.
Seeing that she could no longer get anything out of her, Sang Zhitao had no choice but to shut up.
Some time had passed since she woke up, and now, being so delicate and weak, she couldn't bear sitting for so long.
Seeing her suddenly lie down, Qinglan's fingers twitched slightly, and she almost got up to hug Sang Zhitao, but she forced herself to lie down.
Looking at the caisson ceiling above, Sang Zhitao felt like she had forgotten something.
When she first opened her eyes in the dilapidated temple, the sun was still overhead, shining brightly on the courtyard.
When she woke up again, the sun had already set in the west, and the distant sky was tinged with a pink and orange sunset.
"Yuwen?" The first person Sang Zhitao saw when she opened her eyes was Yuwen, who was holding her.
Yuwen smiled at her, a smile as beautiful as spring flowers, making her jade-like face even more radiant.
“Peach…” The coffin-bearer standing beside her hesitated.
Sang Zhitao tilted her head to look at her and found that she was wearing a black dress with silver patterns, but this dress was even more gorgeous than the one she wore when she left the valley. Moreover, her long braid was removed and fell behind her. Some silver strands were mixed in with her black hair, which looked like tiny silver waterfalls mixed in with black rocks from a distance.
Fu Guanshi pursed her lips, holding a bamboo flute decorated with black and silver threads in her hand.
Not far away, Qinglan, accompanied by two girls around fifteen or sixteen years old, was putting the finishing touches on a coffin about one meter in size.
"Let's go..." Qinglan glanced at Sang Zhitao in silence before coldly instructing Yuwen.
Yuwen, carrying Sang Zhitao, brushed past Fu Guanshi.
Sang Zhitao caught a very soft "I'm sorry" in her ear.
Yu Wen smiled as he looked at the various burial objects in the coffin, then glanced at Sang Zhitao, whose body was stiff in his arms, his eyes deep and unfathomable.
It wasn't until Qinglan urged him that Yuwen sighed silently, whispered something in Sang Zhitao's ear, and then placed Sang Zhitao into the coffin.
Sang Zhitao, dressed in a specially made burial shroud, had already been drugged by Qinglan and the others, and could only obediently be wrapped in various jewels and ornaments.
No one knows how much medicine they used, but Sang Zhitao was not only unable to move or speak, but also felt waves of drowsiness rising within her.
She felt the cold touch around her and glanced at the black talismans pasted all over the inner wall of the coffin.
Yuwen seemed to know what she was thinking, and chuckled as he gently stroked her cheek with his fingertip: "Good girl, you'll see what you want soon."
Sang Zhitao watched coldly as his face was gradually obscured by the coffin lid, finally disappearing from sight along with the light.
"Funeral procession!!!" The cries of mourners echoed outside the dilapidated temple.
Unbeknownst to Sang Zhitao, outside the dilapidated temple, both sides of the road were now crowded with people.
Each of them was dressed in heavy mourning clothes, holding a mourning stick in their right hand and a white candle in their left. The candlelight flickered dimly at dusk, creating a desolate and eerie atmosphere.
This procession of people dressed in mourning clothes stretched all the way to the end of the road.
Despite the large number of people, there was no noise at the scene, only shouts of "funeral" echoing in the air.
A mournful, plaintive sound of a flute rose and fell, then slowly faded into the distance.
As the sound faded away, Sang Zhitao felt her coffin shake for a moment before it began to slowly move forward.
And so, accompanied by the sound of the flute playing not too far away, Sang Zhitao's coffin was carried out of the dilapidated temple by four young men.
Yuwen and Qinglan exchanged a glance, then stepped out of the dilapidated temple together.
Sang Zhitao was enveloped in darkness, and her five senses were amplified. She could vaguely hear the rhythmic ringing of bells on Fu Guanshi's dress beneath the sound of the flute.
In a room facing the street, Su He and Jin Mai calmly watched the funeral procession below.
"Aren't you going to make a move?" An Wen, who was standing next to him, glanced at his fifth uncle and Li Feng, who were eager to try, and couldn't help but ask.
Suhe shook her head: "Wait a little longer."
The red rabbit next to it peered curiously out the window at the view below.
The small coffin had reached below their window, and the group of people dressed in mourning clothes were following behind it in an orderly fashion, moving forward little by little.
At the very front of the procession, in front of the coffin, stood the woman in charge of the coffin, dressed in Qing-Han women's clothing, wearing a silver half-face mask, playing a black flute and dancing.
She tumbled in the air, spun on the ground, moved left or right, forward or backward, dancing a ritualistic dance that seemed to be performed for the gods, accompanied by mournful yet eerie music, as she carried Sang Zhitao's coffin and two funeral processions into the distance.
Suhe glanced at the moonlight, made some calculations with her fingertips, then used her compass to do some calculations before saying, "Follow me."
An Wen and the others had already put on black combat uniforms that were more suitable for concealment. Hearing her say this, they obediently followed Su He and joined the group, avoiding the moonlight.
The funeral procession walked for about half an hour before arriving at a wasteland.
A huge altar has been erected here.
People dressed in mourning clothes slowly dispersed to both sides, then regrouped on the other side of the altar, eventually surrounding it completely.
The boys carrying the coffin carefully placed it on the altar.
Standing to one side, Fu Guanshi looked conflicted, while Qinglan beside him had deep eyes and seemed lost in thought. Only Yuwen on the other side was full of interest, his eyes brimming with undisguised excitement.
"The ceremony begins!" Yu Wen waited for a while but Qing Lan didn't speak. His eyes darkened instantly, and he couldn't help but call out.
Qinglan snapped out of her daze after hearing him speak.
She first glanced at the woman supporting the coffin, then looked at the small coffin, and nodded gently.
Fu Guanshi took out a dagger and gently sliced it in his palm, drops of blood falling into the blood trough of the sacrificial altar.
As she moved, the mourners around her all sat down cross-legged, placed the mourning sticks across their knees, and put the candles in front of them, chanting incantations as they looked at the people on the altar.
Yu Wen's expression became increasingly exaggerated, as if he could already see the grand scene after the sacrifice was completed. His hands trembled slightly at his sides.
A grayish-white glow appeared on the altar.
As if drawn by something, the faint light slowly climbed onto Sang Zhitao's coffin.
Then the small coffin seemed to be corroded by something, and in a moment it turned into wood chips, leaving only Sang Zhitao, dressed in her burial clothes, lying on a pile of treasures.
The faint light climbed from Sang Zhitao's feet up to her face, then slowly engulfed her until she was no longer visible from the outside.
Yuwen could no longer hide his excitement and burst into laughter, covering his mouth with his hands.
Even when he saw Su and the others arrive, he didn't lose any of his composure.
When his peripheral vision caught sight of where Sang Zhitao was lying, his expression suddenly changed drastically, and he exclaimed in disbelief, "Impossible! Impossible!"
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