Chapter 52: Are you happy with the money you earn with blood? (30) Toba Drum...
The solemn and sacred sound of the drums was soothing. The monk followed the sound, walked around three magnificent Buddha statues, and walked into a corridor inside the temple.
The corridor was built very wide and high, but there was nothing around it, and the walls were just white. However, a sweet fragrance filled the air, and the monk knew that it was the smell of honey and milk.
In ancient times, as powerful figures on the plateau, they would paint the walls of their temples with honey and milk. Some of these temples have survived to this day, becoming highly sought-after attractions. Tour guides describe the ingenuity of these walls, and visitors are often amazed.
The monk was grateful to have seen these things in his lifetime. His grandparents had followed the Tumba clan out of China, and decades of conflict had prevented them from even setting foot there. Therefore, even though he had visited temples in many other countries, including one whose culture was closest to his own, separated by a mountain peak, he still regretted not being able to visit China to venerate these ancient wonders.
The monk thought about this and took a deep breath of the sweet milky aroma. He felt a little more reverence in his heart, and his previous fear was completely dispelled.
He became more and more convinced that this was the guidance of the gods, and that the gods were saving him from the evil spirits.
Walking further, he saw a holy white light at the end of the corridor in the distance.
The white light filled the entire end, so dazzling that he couldn't see what was inside the light at all. But who would question such a light?
Even in film and television works, such light only symbolizes justice and beauty, and ghosts will not hide in such light.
Moreover, the sound of the Toba drum also came from the white light, resounding in this empty corridor, enveloping and protecting him.
The monk unconsciously quickened his pace, so fast that even his breathing became a little rapid.
Soon, the white light was close at hand. He saw intricate religious patterns carved on the threshold, and the sound of the Toba drum was much closer, which made it sound less solemn but more intimate.
The monk was overwhelmed by a feeling of impending salvation. A smile appeared uncontrollably on the corners of his mouth. He took a deep breath, stepped over the threshold, and stepped into the sacred white light.
...The next moment, the surroundings suddenly became dark.
It turned out that the white light was only a thin layer, and behind it was a dark room. Fortunately, this darkness was just the kind commonly seen in temples. Although the monk was panicked for a moment, he quickly calmed down.
He looked around. Before him stood another golden statue, over ten meters tall, but this time there was only one. The sound of the toba drum could be heard faintly from behind the statue.
The monk wanted to go directly to look for the sound, but the things placed around the wall aroused his curiosity - he saw many... pottery jars, white, gray, and brown, each half a person's height, with the mouth of the jar sealed with wax paper and neatly stacked at the foot of the wall.
The bodies of these jars look very rough, without even a layer of glaze on the outside, let alone any decorations such as scriptures, which are out of place with the magnificent hall.
Things like this shouldn't appear in temples dedicated to gods.
Driven by curiosity and dissatisfaction, the monk glanced at the statue and walked towards the left wall.
When he walked in front of the pottery jars, a sense of vigilance arose in his heart, so his hand reaching for the sealing wax paper paused, and he lowered his eyes and looked carefully at the nearest pottery jar.
Suddenly, the wax paper disappeared, and a hand covered in white mucus tightly grasped his wrist, which was hanging above the mouth of the jar!
"!" Caught off guard by the fear, the monk was too frightened to scream, but his hands began to struggle frantically. However, although the hand was withered, it was extremely strong. Even if he tried his best, he was still pulled in, until his shoulder was stuck in the mouth of the jar.
"Ahhh, let me go! Let me go!" He finally screamed. As his hand was pulled into the jar, he could clearly feel the sticky, cool, and slippery substance inside. He imagined many possibilities, each one unfriendly. At the same time, he couldn't help but imagine himself being pulled in alive and drowning in the jar...
Where he couldn't see, the thousand-year-old evil spirit was watching his SAN value drop.
Then in an instant, the pulling force in the can suddenly disappeared.
The monk, struggling fiercely, suddenly fell backwards and landed heavily on the ground. He stared at the pottery jar in shock, gasping for breath. He sat there for a long while before suddenly remembering something and staring blankly at his right arm.
He saw that his right arm, which had just been completely pulled into the jar, was evenly covered with a layer of thick white sticky paste. It looked very much like paste, but smelled much better than paste.
It tastes like milk and honey...
"This... this..." The monk murmured, gasping for breath and standing there. Some associations emerged in his mind, but were suppressed by him again.
Si Ling had already prepared for the next step. Although she was impatient, she also had a good deal of patience. She waited patiently for the monk's rapid breathing to slow down and his empty eyes to return to their original state.
Until his breathing returned to normal and he was about to stand up...
Si Ling snapped his fingers.
There was a dull, almost indistinct sound, and withered hands emerged from the countless large clay pots arrayed around the wall. Some waved, others touched the sides of the pots with their backhands, as if trying to crawl out, while others were stretched rigid with nervous spasms. Still others were shackled, and because the shackles were so heavy, the arms dropped heavily as they stretched out, repeatedly slamming against the pots.
"Ah!!!" The monk who had just stood up halfway fell back down again. When screaming was no longer enough to vent his emotions, tears burst out of his eyes while screaming.
“Ahhhhhhh——!!!” He stared in horror at the skinny arms waving around like demons. He had no strength to get up and was dodging frantically by rubbing against the ground.
This picture looks a bit like Cthulhu at first glance, but actually... it's just an arm.
While some were shackled, with a significant number of fingers missing, and some even had their entire palms chopped off, leaving only a semicircle at the wrist, they were still just hands. Furthermore, while the surrounding light was dim, it wasn't too dark. In Si Ling's opinion, such a scene would only be labeled "slightly terrifying" if it appeared in a secret room.
However, the SAN value above the monk's head dropped unexpectedly faster. He trembled all over and the blood color on his lips faded quickly. This reaction seemed a bit exaggerated to Si Ling. She frowned and looked at the monk in front of her in confusion. He suddenly knelt on the ground and bowed to the pottery jar not far away with the standard religious posture of "prostrating oneself".
If Si Ling hadn't been deep in the barrier and knew clearly that he hadn't cast any spells, he would have suspected that he was possessed by something.
Then, she heard the monk muttering in a trembling voice: "Forgive me, please forgive me... At that time, at that time, there was no me... It was my ancestors... No, no, I can't control their thoughts. Every wrong has its perpetrator, don't look for me, don't look for me..."
Si Ling was slightly stunned: He understands?
If he understood, things would be even more interesting.
She smiled and chanted a spell. The monk who was kneeling on the ground heard some unusual noises. He looked up tremblingly and saw... a person crawling out of a clay pot in front of him.
No...it was actually hard to call him a human being. He was so skinny that his bones were visible. He was literally skinny. His skin, covered with white sticky liquid, was tightly attached to his bones. There was obviously no muscle or fat in between, so that even the outline of his bones could be seen clearly.
He was so skinny that his hair had almost fallen out, leaving only a few strands hanging limply. His eye sockets were sunken, but his eyeballs were bulging, staring straight at the monk as he crawled towards him.
“Ahhhhhhh——” The monk screamed and stared at him for a long time. He couldn’t even tell whether he was a man or a woman. Subconsciously, he felt more and more that this was a monster.
"Don't come over here, don't come over here!!!" He waved his arms wildly, shouting in a jumble of English, Chinese and dialect, "It's not me... It's not me! It has nothing to do with me! It was their idea to cast the spell to suppress you. I, I, I..."
I was just following orders—he didn't have the courage to shout it out.
When Si Ling heard what he said, he suddenly understood!
No wonder he felt so guilty, it turned out that he not only knew everything, but was even worse.
Come to think of it, how could he not understand?
Even an elementary school student can imagine what productivity was like in ancient times on the plateau, with its harsh climate. Detailed historical records also document the miserable lives of ordinary people when the plateau was saved.
Under such circumstances, building a temple with walls painted with milk means that countless people will starve to death. Even a fool can understand this, so how could the vested interests not understand this?
Si Ling designed this horror scene just to borrow some inspiration. When she did this, she had no intention of pursuing this sin.
Compared to the later evil deeds of the Tumba family, these crimes committed by building luxurious temples happened a long time ago, and the particularity of the era cannot be ignored.
But now she learned from the monk's words that, knowing full well that this was a sin, the way they, as descendants, dealt with it was not to atone for it, seek salvation, or deceive themselves into selectively forgetting, but to cast a spell to suppress it?
No wonder the King of Hell, who is used to seeing evil people, was furious.
Si Ling shook his head and cast a spell to make the skinny man speed up. The monk, who was already frightened and exhausted, saw the other party's bony hand about to touch the hem of his robe, so he suddenly jumped up and ran to the back of the statue in panic.
Toba drum... Toba drum, he still remembers the leading of the drumbeat!
He didn't dare to look back at all, and stumbled all the way to the back of the statue, and finally saw the person beating the drum.
The man was dressed in the same loose rust-red robe as him, with his right arm exposed. He knelt on the ground, chanting scriptures and beating the leather drum in front of him.
The monk paused, and his running legs immediately turned towards the other party, trying to seek his protection.
The drummer also heard the noise made by the monk, and without stopping beating the drum, he slowly turned his head.
The moment their eyes met...
"Ah!!!" The monk screamed and retreated repeatedly. He bumped into the skinny man chasing after him. He didn't care about being afraid anymore and rushed forward in panic, just wanting to leave this place as soon as possible.
Because at that moment, he saw that the man who was chanting and beating the drum had no skin.
Because there were no eyelids, the eyes were exposed and round, and the flesh on the face was completely uncovered. The beating of nerves and the pulsation of blood vessels were clearly visible.
Where's the skin?
What a skin!
The leather is made into a drum.
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