The girls in the private room began to tremble violently.
Under extreme tension, their faces were instantly covered with cold sweat.
Five pairs of eyes stared wide-eyed at the countdown in Chinese characters that kept changing on the TV screen; an invisible fear relentlessly spread through the private room…
The moment the number changed to "一".
In the center of the dark stage, a figure dressed in a blood-red theatrical robe appeared out of nowhere.
He lowered his head, his eyes fixed on his feet.
Lin Fan noticed that the five girls in the private room simultaneously trembled and breathed a sigh of relief.
In the room two doors down from Lin Fan's, on the television, the figure in a red opera robe was looking up.
His face was painted with an extremely festive mask, and he made a mocking expression. He raised his right hand, with the wide sleeves of his theatrical robe, and pointed at everyone in the box.
Inside the private room, the girls trembled, closed their eyes, and prayed frantically, "It wasn't me! It wasn't me! It wasn't me!"
In the center of the sofa, three pot-bellied men sat with long faces and livid expressions.
"What tricks are you playing?"
Are you flirting with me?
"I've already given you a generous tip! Is this how you treat me?"
A man with a pockmarked face was loudly cursing at the girls, but the girls did not react to his insults at all. They lowered their heads, trembling and praying.
"You son of a bitch!" Seeing that the woman was ignoring him, the man broke down in a fit of rage and raised his foot to kick the woman who was kneeling on the ground beside him.
Thump!
He kicked at nothing.
Damn it! You dare to hide?
Just as he was about to continue his tirade, he strangely discovered that he was no longer in the private room.
He stood there—
On an antique wooden stage, another beam of dim sunlight fell from the darkness overhead, shining directly on him.
Like a spotlight shining on the main character on a stage.
That day, the light made him the sole focus of attention on the stage.
He subconsciously looked into the darkness around him.
There stood a figure draped in a blood-red theatrical robe.
A blood-red hood covered his head, blurring the paint on his face and giving him an eerie air.
'Isn't that the person I just saw on TV?'
What exactly happened?
The pockmarked man finally sensed that something was wrong.
His body began to tremble violently, and he instinctively wanted to look away.
But his gaze was fixed on the face of the figure in the opera robe as if nailed down by invisible nails, unable to look away even for a moment.
"Who...who are you?"
"What...do you want to do?"
"Do you know who I am? My uncle is..."
Just as he was about to threaten the other party, he saw the figure in the opera robe raise his right hand, put his index finger up, and block the mouth covered with greasepaint.
"Sh-!!!"
A hiss sounded, and his mouth involuntarily closed, unable to utter another word.
It seemed that with a single "shh" gesture from the figure in the theatrical robe, the act of shushing was personified as a rule, as if it had deprived him of his ability to speak.
His facial muscles twitched incessantly, but he couldn't utter a single word.
His bloodshot eyes twitched incessantly, and sweat, reeking of alcohol, poured out wildly.
"The show has already started."
Are you ready?
"Our audience is looking forward to your performance."
He heard the figure in the opera robe asking him a serious question.
Then his neck twisted uncontrollably, making a creaking sound.
8booK. cOm
He saw it—the neatly arranged black octagonal table below the stage, and the benches filled with black memorial tablets.
Seemingly sensing his gaze, the black memorial tablets jumped up with a thud.
"Look, the audience is already getting impatient."
"Now, begin your performance." The figure in the theatrical robe laughed maniacally, then his form dissipated, transforming into paper cranes made of folded red paper scraps, scattering like snowflakes. "Be serious, or the consequences will be terrible..."
...
In the private room,
Lin Fan, the sorceress, Spider, and the younger sister all tilted their heads, watching the TV screen with curiosity.
They had taken in everything that had just been shown on the screen.
The three guardians frowned simultaneously, pondering and summarizing intently.
We want to find the hidden patterns within it.
Who is that figure in the opera costume?
'Does performing well for the memorial tablets below guarantee survival?'
'Has this pockmarked man died and come back to life? Or is there some other situation?'
Countless questions flickered in their minds, but there were no answers.
...
In the center of the stage, the pockmarked man was on the verge of tears.
"I, I, I can't act."
"I'm just an ordinary person... but my company has a dance troupe, how about I have them perform tomorrow?"
He tried his best to explain, wanting to discuss it with the memorial tablets below the stage.
But his actions clearly angered those things.
"Thump thump thump! Thump thump thump!"
The memorial tablets began to jump wildly, and one of them jumped onto the octagonal table on the left side of the first row.
A mouth is split open on the wooden memorial tablet, and a scarlet wooden tongue sticks out from the mouth.
With a swift, snake-like flick, it snatched a silver paper ingot and a gold paper ingot from the Eight Immortals table.
At the same time, it inhaled forcefully, and some smoke flew into its mouth.
Click! Click!
A sound like a wild beast chewing bones appeared, and the memorial tablet transformed into an old man.
He was dressed in a black shirt and trousers in the style of the Republic of China era, and wore a melon-shaped hat on his head.
A thick layer of grayish-white paint covered an old face, with two round pieces of red paper, each the size of an egg, pasted on either side of his cheeks.
He held a gold ingot in one hand and a silver ingot in the other.
They alternately stuffed the food into their mouths, enjoying it immensely.
The pockmarked man on the stage trembled. He wanted to speak, but found himself unable to open his mouth once again.
He tried to run away, but his feet felt like they were nailed to the ground.
It is completely immobile.
And so he trembled uncontrollably, cold sweat pouring down his body. He was no longer drunk at all.
The old man finally finished eating the gold ingot.
He let out a satisfied burp and clasped his withered, pale hands to his chest:
"My child."
"You little rascal, now that people are dead, the elders are giving you a chance to sing a ghost opera to prolong your life and live. They want you to perform a traditional opera for them, or at least a variety show."
Why are you so disobedient?
"Are you unwilling to perform for the elderly? Or do you think you're still alive?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the pockmarked man in the center of the stage trembled violently, his face filled with shock.
Immediately afterwards, the shock turned into understanding.
"The old man is right. I was already dead a long time ago."
"I was still clueless and didn't know that."
⑧Ьоок． Сom
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