Free Web NovelChapter 2130: Chapter 1990: What Use Are Fine Carriages and White Horses_5
Three thousand phantoms rotted together, shedding pieces of flesh as maggots writhed across the ground.
Amid Zhao Ruonan’s warriors came the sound of retching.
"True Samadhi Fire, burn the five souls and three spirits, wait but a moment, a guest in Yama’s Palace!" intoned the Old Taoist with a recitation.
"The King of Hell won’t accept them."
A weak and frail voice rose from behind Song Xiaodong and the others, including the Old and Young Taoists.
Song Xiaodong turned around and saw a middle-aged man with a pale complexion, stooped and hunchbacked, dressed in a white long robe and black cloth shoes, holding a ruler in his left hand and an inkstone in his right, slowly walking over.
"Mr. Zhao, joining the ruckus too?"
The Young Taoist turned to this pallid middle-aged man and nodded slightly.
Mr. Zhao unhurriedly listened to the ghostly opera, tapping rhythm and shaking his head as if enjoying it immensely.
"You deliver three thousand wandering souls in a single night, yet have the nerve to say I’m here for the fun?" Mr. Zhao cast a sidelong glance at the Young Taoist.
The Young Taoist smiled without responding.
Mr. Zhao glanced at the Young Taoist’s graying hair and said, "You’re more capable than your master. If it were him, he might have died of old age directly."
"I didn’t die of old age, but it did,"
The Young Taoist showed Mr. Zhao his shattered Jade Seal.
Mr. Zhao nodded, remarking, "What a pity."
"Why won’t the King of Hell accept them?" the Old Taoist asked.
Mr. Zhao, as if not hearing, turned to ask Song Xiaodong, "Which dynasty are they singing about?"
"’Qin Xuemei’s Mourning,’ Ming or Qing Dynasty," Song Xiaodong replied.
"Hmm."
Mr. Zhao nodded in satisfaction, turned around, and pointed at the Dragon Boat, saying, "From Qin Dynasty actors to ’The White-Haired Girl’ after liberation, once they finish singing, they can reincarnate."
"This opera troupe has been around for six hundred years, why provoke it?"
Mr. Zhao asked the Young Taoist.
"Many people have died recently," the Young Taoist said.
Mr. Zhao nodded again, pointing with his ruler at the opera troupe and shouted, "Behave and don’t provoke Yama’s wrath; else you’ll be reduced to ashes and never reincarnate!"
The singing woman stopped, turned stiffly, and gazed at Mr. Zhao with eyes full of malice.
The three thousand wandering souls turned, fixing Mr. Zhao with hollow stares.
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With a loud roar from Mr. Zhao, jerking his head, Song Xiaodong saw a tall phantom rise behind Mr. Zhao, dispersing in an instant.
But that roar sent the air trembling, causing the woman on stage to stumble and fall to the ground.
Such was Mr. Zhao’s might, frightening the woman with a single shout.
The woman lay silently for a long time, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulder trembled, and her water sleeves gently wiped the tears away. The orchestra began again, and the woman opened her mouth, her voice rich with mourning.
"Huddling close, sweat pours like rain from his brows."
"Softly he falls, unable to support his frail body."
"Look at his furrowed brows, breath barely escaping."
...
"Ask, O Heaven, how can you carve the flesh from my heart!"
As the song finished, her once-white water sleeves swiftly turned a yellow-brown color, her beauty rapidly aged. Flesh began to fall from her face and body, her eyes tumbled from their sockets, and maggots crawled from her mouth, nostrils, eye sockets, and ears.
"Ah!—"
Suddenly, with a heart-wrenching scream, the woman in green soared, moving with speed ten thousand times faster than just moments ago, black smoke billowing as she clawed ferociously towards Mr. Zhao.
"Impudent!"
Mr. Zhao shouted loudly, grabbing the inkstone he held and slamming it fiercely into the air. Song Xiaodong saw the giant phantom behind Mr. Zhao reappear—a bust of an ancient official, half his body encircled by black aura, wearing a purple-gold crown adorned with various gemstone jewels, red hair and beard, black face and green eyes, looking fierce, clad in a purple-golden cloak decorated with ghost-face cloud patterns, holding a ruler in his left hand and an inkstone in his right, glaring angrily at the woman in green.
Song Xiaodong recognized it, the very form of King of Hell!
The phantom mirrored Mr. Zhao, lifting the inkstone high and hurling it fiercely at the woman in green.
"Gurgle!"
The woman was struck down by the phantom inkstone, her body buried in sand and soil, her back burnt open wide.
Although not killed by the inkstone, the burnt skin on her back smoked as it healed, and she climbed up again, glaring at Mr. Zhao with hatred, emitting a piercing shriek as she rushed towards him once more.
"Where are the Underworld Envoys?"
Mr. Zhao called out, and Song Xiaodong saw another two phantoms appear behind Mr. Zhao, one black, one white, one holding a metal hook, the other an iron spear, moving to intercept the woman in green.
"Ah!—"
The woman in green let out a sorrowful wail; the metal hook tore into her back, ripping away a large patch of rotting flesh, scattering fragments and maggots, leaving her bloodied bones and decayed organs clearly visible.
The liver, kidney, spleen, and stomach remained, but there was no heart.
The heart lay beneath Master Benwu.
"Kneel!"
Mr. Zhao commanded the woman in green.
The woman did not kneel, still glaring at Mr. Zhao with eyes full of hatred.
"Ah!"
Amid more horrible cries, the other phantom with the iron spear jabbed several bloody holes into her legs and back. Wherever the spear touched, her flesh burned and charred, releasing a noxious odor of burnt meat, and she wavered unsteadily, forced to her knees.
"For ensnaring souls and harming the innocent, you deserve extermination!
Mr. Zhao scolded the woman in green.
"Six hundred years of cultivation, you would exterminate me?" the woman finally spoke in a cold, trembling voice.
