Two young opera singers were shouting "Ya!" and "Eh!" on the street, their amusing acting drawing laughter from the people around them.
Wu Er, who has descended to this mortal world, is also here.
He had just strolled around the bustling city at night and bought quite a few things from the ordinary vendors.
For example, the painted face mask that Wu Er is wearing now, and the somewhat rough lantern in his hand.
These things are neither magical artifacts nor rare items, and their craftsmanship is not very good.
But Wu Er just likes it.
The market here is still as lively as ever, with crowds bustling about.
But Wu Er's heart calmed down, a long-lost tranquility.
Until it was interrupted by a shout from the stage...
"Alas!"
On the stage, a young actor knelt on the ground, burying his face in his hands and weeping bitterly, his sleeves waving wildly, looking utterly miserable.
Then the young actor opened his operatic voice and sang a line:
"A city stretching for ten miles, a people living for a hundred miles, a celestial being sent off across the vast sky!"
The audience below the stage cheered, clearly indicating that the play had reached its climax.
In the crowd, Wu Er gently moved the mask on his face to one side.
Without the mask, a pair of ordinary eyes were revealed.
At this moment, the stage lights were reflected in his eyes, and starlight burned in his black pupils.
Wu Er stared intently at the stage.
On the stage, all the actors stood up, bowed politely to the audience, and then left the stage.
Clearly, the show is over.
After the performance ended, the audience began to disperse, and the crowd gradually thinned out.
Wu Er did not leave; he remained staring blankly at the stage.
His eyes were unfocused; he must be reminiscing about something.
After a while, fewer and fewer people were around, until only Wu Er remained.
"Young man, what are you daydreaming about?"
Someone patted Wu Er, who was lost in thought.
Wu Er blinked suddenly, clearly having come to his senses.
He turned his head slightly and looked at the person who had taken his picture.
He was an old man, sturdy and with gray hair, who looked very energetic.
He was wearing a brightly colored robe, which looked rather comical.
Ordinary people wouldn't wear such comical clothes; they're worn for opera performances. This old man must have been an actor himself.
"Young man, I've noticed you've been standing here in a daze for ages, what's wrong with you?"
The old man waved his hand in front of Wu Er.
Wu Er smiled gently at the old man and said, "It's nothing, I was just engrossed in watching that play."
"Watching a play?" The old man raised his head slightly. "You mean that play about worshipping the banished immortal just now? The script was indeed well-written, no wonder you were so captivated."
Worshiping the banished immortal?
So that's what the play we just saw was called.
Wu Er wrote down the name, then said to the old man, "Especially the line 'Ten miles of city walls, a hundred miles of people, a thousand miles of sky sending off immortals' is really well said, it's the finishing touch."
"Oh, you noticed that?"
The old man looked at him strangely for a moment, then said, "You know anything about opera, kid?"
Wu Er shook his head and said, "I don't understand."
The old man asked curiously, "If you don't understand opera, how did you know?"
Wu Er then said, "Does one have to be an expert in opera to recognize it?"
"Yo ho!"
The old man's eyes suddenly lit up, and a smile appeared on his lips, as if he had become interested.
He leaned closer to Wu Er and said, "Hey kid, got a moment? How about chatting with this old man for a bit?"
Wu Er raised an eyebrow at these words.
It's not that he doesn't want to chat; he's a very free man and would love to chat with people.
Wu Er was not impressed by the old man's use of the term "boy" and his self-proclaimed status as an elder.
After all, no matter how young he looks, he is still seven hundred years old.
In terms of age, Wu Er is quite old.
"So? Would you like to chat with this old man?"
The old man asked another question.
Wu Er chuckled lightly, "Of course I'm willing."
He said half of it aloud, but in his mind he added the other half: I still quite enjoy chatting with children.
Having received consent, the old man chuckled, revealing his teeth covered in age spots, and then casually put his arm around Wu Er's shoulder.
"It actually looks quite nice when I knock on you."
The old man said one more thing, and then he started talking non-stop.
The two chatted for a long time. The old man who sang opera was very talkative, and he kept talking non-stop.
Even if there's no topic, they can still find something to talk about and can talk about all sorts of things for a long time.
Perhaps, all mortals enjoy chatting like this when they get old.
The main topic of their conversation was the play that had captivated Wu Er—the play "Worshiping the Immortal."
The old man spoke, and Wu Er listened.
What I heard was the origin of this worship of the banished immortal.
This play is adapted from a folk tale.
According to folklore, a plague suddenly struck the mortal world three hundred years ago, and demonic beasts also entered the human realm to kill mortals.
At this moment, a celestial being stepped forward, curing diseases, slaying demons, and saving the people from suffering.
But then, suddenly people descended from the sky and captured the immortal who had stepped forward, saying they would kill him with lightning.
The reason for their extermination was that the savior had broken the rules.
Then, when the immortal was taken away, the people knelt down, and people from hundreds of miles around cried out in anguish: "Send off the true immortal! Send off the true immortal!"
The story ends here, with no further developments.
After telling this long story, the old man stretched his arms and legs to loosen up his muscles and bones.
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