The sound had been going on for a while, but Wang Yao was so focused on his own body that he hadn't noticed it. Once he calmed down, he was quickly drawn to the sound.
"Go home...go home...go home..." A drawn-out cry echoed outside the house. It came from the elderly, children, but mostly women. The mixed cries gave Wang Yao goosebumps.
"Caw caw... Is that some kind of soul-calling ritual?" Wang Yao was shocked. He stood up and opened the door, only to find that it was already dark. All around him were the shadows of dark stone houses. The cries came from the fields outside the village. Driven by curiosity, Wang Yao tiptoed and closed the door, following the sound.
He activated the "Deceive the Heavens and Cross the Sea" technique, so he couldn't use "sensing" and could only rely on his naked eyes to observe.
Following the direction of the cries, Wang Yao made two turns in the dark village, and then the view suddenly opened up before him. A straight dirt road led to the fields outside the village, where tiny sparks of fire were flickering and dancing.
As he got closer, Wang Yao discovered that there were more than twenty people in the field, including the elderly, women, and children. They were all waving torches and moving between the rows of fields, while making mournful cries.
"Is this to scare the Sweet Potato Demon?" Wang Yao wondered to himself, but he also felt that the demons' behavior was not so simple. Just as he was pondering this, the demons' cries suddenly changed noticeably.
A tall witch holding a torch stood in the middle of the field, her voice suddenly rising and quickly drowning out the chaotic shouts in the field, becoming a solitary, resounding chant.
"Go home, go home, ancestors who perished under the butcher's knife, on the battlefield, on the sickbed, and in the long river of time, your names have not been forgotten by your descendants, your glory has lit up the way home, the offerings are ready, waiting for you to enjoy them in peace."
"Go home, go home, parents who perished under the butcher's knife, on the battlefield, on the sickbed, or in the long river of time, your names have not been forgotten by your descendants, your glory has lit up the road home, the offerings are ready, waiting for you to enjoy them in peace."
"Go home, go home, my comrades who perished under the sword, on the battlefield, on the sickbed, or in the long river of time, your names have not been forgotten by your loved ones, your glory has lit up the way home, the offerings are ready, waiting for you to come and enjoy them."
...
In the flickering light of the torches, the songs were plaintive and heart-wrenching, calling upon ancestors, parents, partners, brothers, sisters, and descendants in a continuous cycle.
Each time a section ended and the witch's singing faded, the other villagers would naturally echo, "Go home, go home, go home..." They would shout and crowd around the singing witch, who would then orderly turn to another field, and the witch's voice would rise again.
As Wang Yao listened, he suddenly realized that they weren't frightening any sweet potato demon at all; they were clearly summoning the souls of the dead from the demon realm over millions of years!
The wind howled across the wasteland, and the torchlight flickered and swayed between the ridges of the fields. The figures of the demons were elongated in the torchlight as they waved their torches, as if they were dancing, performing a ritual, or even praying.
Wang Yao was immersed in the seemingly endless monotonous melody. A sense of responsibility suddenly welled up in his heart. The hardships and struggles of the beings in the six realms were presented to him in a very direct way, as if countless spirits of the dead had suddenly appeared in response to his call.
They wandered between heaven and earth, silently pausing among the gaunt demons, gazing at the world behind them. For a moment, Wang Yao felt as if he were being watched by all the spirits of the six realms, experiencing a silent, fervent longing.
This earnestness was so ethereal, yet so heavy, as if everything Wang Yao had lost, everything he had cared about and cherished, had returned to his side, whispering and earnestly instructing him. Before he knew it, Wang Yao was already weeping uncontrollably.
Suddenly, he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder. Turning his head, he was surprised to find Diao Chan standing beside him with a smile. Wang Yao quickly wiped away the tears on his face.
"Quack quack, are you the only one who arrived?" Wang Yao asked in surprise.
"Teacher Luo is here too. He doesn't want to attract attention, so he's hiding in the back." Diao Chan's voice was hoarse and rough, clearly indicating that she had also used the "deception" technique.
"Quack, quack, I have a stone house in the village, quack, shall we go take a look?" Wang Yao whispered.
"Alright." Diao Chan nodded gently.
Wang Yao took one last deep look at the demons who were waving torches and singing in the fields, then turned and retreated into the village with Diao Chan. Before long, they arrived at the stone house with its door slightly ajar. As soon as he opened the door, Teacher Luo appeared, and the three of them quietly entered the stone house.
After closing the door, Diao Chan and Teacher Luo each found a chair and sat down. Wang Yao wanted to show some hospitality by pouring them a cup of tea, but when he looked around, he found that there wasn't a single teacup in the room. It was obvious that the witch had taken them all because the place had been uninhabited for a long time.
"What are those demons doing?" The singing from the fields still drifted faintly over, and Diao Chan couldn't help but ask curiously after sitting down.
“Quack, quack, they’re working,” Wang Yao replied.
"Working? It looks more like singing and dancing. Besides, I just saw you crying, didn't I?" Diao Chan looked at Wang Yao with her beautiful eyes, inquiring.
"Quack, no, no... quack, it's just that the wind is really strong on the wasteland, quack, the smoke from the torches is enough to kill an immortal." Wang Yao hurriedly stammered to clear his name. He knew that his explanation was very weak, after all, it was really unlikely that the smoke would make an immortal shed tears.
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