About This Novel
As soon as he left the sacrificial hall, Zhu Rong sat in the awning again. There were not many people inside anymore. There was no sound of singing or musical instruments in the mourning hall at this time, but Zhu Rong knew that this was only temporary. He no longer cared about what he had to do next. Excessive fatigue seemed to have caused his brain to consciously enter a state of rest - now he just relied on a physical instinct to walk, sit down, and then cast his eyes somewhere randomly, and then remained motionless for a long time. I don't know how long it took, but there was a whimpering conch sound in the mourning hall, followed by the low and sad singing voice of a Taoist priest. Zhu Rong felt gusts of cold wind passing over his skin, and felt that all the darkness around him was weighing heavily on his heart. Not long after, the sound of drums, cymbals, gongs, and flutes sounded in the mourning hall at the same time, as if thousands of troops were about to set off for battle. Zhu Rong saw that there were already many people wearing linen or mourning clothes in the mourning hall, and some were standing at the door, ready to enter at any time. He stared patiently and curiously over there, until he suddenly realized that he should be one of them, and then he got up and went over to join the crowd.
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