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"Don't move." Dabin's voice suddenly became very tight, "Don't hit, don't chase, don't touch with iron objects. Let it go by itself." The yellow-skinned man squatted there, tilting his head, and looked at the people in the yard one by one. When it saw Xiulian, its eyes paused - Xiulian was also looking at it. She didn't hide back, she just put her hands on her knees and looked at it quietly, like an ordinary wild animal that she had seen many times in the village. Huang Pizi stood up and walked step by step in the direction of the mourning shed, passing under the table with flowing water mats, passing by the cook's feet, and going around behind the old lady carrying the bowl. It walked under the funeral shed, stood next to the coffin, lowered its head and sniffed the red paint on the corner of the coffin, then suddenly raised its front paws and pressed lightly on the corner of the coffin - like a person who came to express condolences and bowed in front of the coffin. Then, it turned around, got out from behind the funeral shed, and disappeared into the shadow of the courtyard wall. The courtyard suddenly became quiet for a moment. Everyone looked at each other, their chopsticks hanging in the air, and they forgot to chew the food in their mouths. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, the sound came back—but lower than before. No one in the whole yard spoke loudly anymore, everyone was muttering in a low voice, all muttering the same sentence: "Huang Pizi is coming." He said it over and over again, as if repeating this sentence would keep him safe. In the afternoon, Chen Jianguo and the others did not leave. Ciling is at night, and according to the rules, you have to wait until dark. Relatives of Lao Sun's family were busy coming in and out, the ever-burning lamp in the memorial shed was refilled with oil, and the incense in the incense burner was changed. The filial sons and grandsons have already gone to the temple three times that day. According to the customs of the Northeast, after a person dies and is buried in a coffin, the eldest son should take the lead and line up with the whole family to report to the temple. The so-called temple is not necessarily a real temple. Most of them are found at an old well at a crossroad or at the entrance of a street. They burn paper and incense toward the southwest and cry aloud. This is considered as registering the deceased's residence in the underworld. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and again in the evening. There are more people on each trip, and the cries are hoarse than the last. The first trip is to recognize the way, the second trip is to settle down, and the third trip is to say goodbye. Chen Jianguo and the others squatted at the entrance of the alley, watching the Sun family's temple registration procession walking past the street. The eldest son walked in the front, holding an earthen basin in his arms, with spiritual flags inserted in the basin. The flags cut from white paper fluttered in the wind, like the dead branches of a tree bent by snow. Followed by filial sons and grandsons, with white cloth tied on their heads and hemp ropes tied around their waists, one by one, weeping with their heads down. Behind them are the female relatives of the old Sun family. The daughter-in-law is being held up by two people. Her legs are so weak that she can't walk. Her voice has become hoarse from crying. Her mouth is open, and no sound can come out, only anger. The makeup on her face was all gone, and her eyes were swollen into slits. A few trumpeters followed behind. The suona played "Weeping the Emperor in the Sky". The tune was high-pitched and long, hovering in the gray-blue mist of the evening, like an invisible big bird flying in circles overhead. Neighbors stood on the roadside watching, some wiped away tears, some sighed, and some whispered, "Mrs. Sun is so lucky, so many filial sons sent her to her when she left." The procession reached a crossroads and stopped. The eldest son put the earthen basin on the ground and knelt down, and the people behind him knelt down in a row. He struck a match and lit the paper money. The flames danced a few times in the dusk. Then he placed the incense in front of the pile of paper money and led the whole family to kowtow three times. The suona stopped. All the streets could be heard were the rustling of spiritual flags blown by the wind and the strangled cries of the female relatives. The eldest son knelt on the ground, his head lowered, and his shoulders twitching. After kowtowing for the last time, he stood up, held the basin in his arms again, turned around and walked back. The procession followed him, and the crying began again. "This is the third trip." Er Fei whispered, "When we get back from this trip, it's time to say goodbye." It was completely dark. In the yard of Lao Sun's house, all the lanterns in the funeral shed were lit - one at each corner, and one in front of the coffin. The flames of the five lanterns were burning steadily under the canvas shed, illuminating the entire funeral shed. The red lacquer coffin became brighter and brighter under the light, and the gold powder on the lotus was illuminated as if it was about to flow down. The figures on the coffin's twenty-four filial piety figures were looming in the swaying light and shadow, as if they were also coming to life. The yard outside the mourning shed has been cleared, and the offering table has been rearranged - the rice bowl has been moved to the middle, the ever-burning lamp has been filled with oil, new incense has been inserted into the incense burner, and the three sticks of incense have all been burned. There is a row of straw mats placed in front of the coffin, which are used for filial sons and grandsons to kowtow to. The straw mat is newly woven and twisted from corn peel, and it still smells like hay. Lao Zhaitou stood in front of the memorial shed. He is from Shaoguotun and is in his early sixties. When he was young, he sang as a clown in a two-person troupe. Later, he lost his voice and switched to dancing. He is not the kind of serious master who has established himself as a master. In his own words, he is a "half-way monk" - he learned the ability to deal with people when he sang duet, and he also learned the ability to deal with ghosts and gods when he danced. The two sets of skills put together are unique in this industry. See him for everything red and white. During the wedding ceremony, he acts as the "host" - that is, the host at the wedding ceremony, arranging the process, directing the filial sons and grandchildren, taking the lead in crying when it is time to cry, and shouting "stop mourning" when it is time to stop. But he is different from ordinary Zike. An ordinary supporter only cares about personnel matters, but he can also sing a magical tune. He was wearing a gray cotton robe that reached his ankles, with a white cloth belt tied around his waist. He wore an old felt hat on his head, with the brim very low, covering most of his face. He was not tall, and his shoulder bones were so thin that they protruded from under his cotton robe, but he stood very straight, like a stake driven into the ground. He took off his felt hat, revealing a head of sparse gray hair and a dark red face - deep and dense wrinkles, and two dark red masses on the cheekbones. The eyes are not big, and the eyelids droop downward, but when you lift them occasionally, you can see that the eyeballs are bright and lively, unlike those of people in their sixties. He took out a drum from his pocket. It's not a small leather drum, it's a single drum - smaller than the basin, covered with sheepskin, with a coiled snake painted on the drum, with the snake's head facing outward, spitting out red seeds. There are several red cloth strips tied to the handle of the drum. The cloth strips have faded and are either gray or red. There are also a few copper bells hanging on them. They jingle when they are shaken lightly. The drum whip is a thin bamboo stick with a red cloth wrapped around its head. The red cloth is worn until it becomes hairy. He raised the single drum and spoke slowly to the people outside the funeral shed. "All the relatives and neighbors of Lao Sun's family should stand forward." The crowd surged forward. The filial sons and grandsons were already kneeling on straw mats - with white cloths on their heads and hemp ropes around their waists, kneeling in two rows. The eldest son is at the front, head lowered and shoulders slumped. His daughter-in-law was kneeling next to him, her eyes were so swollen that there was only a slit left, and she could no longer kneel. She fell crookedly to the side and was supported by the people next to her. Lao Zhaitou lightly knocked on the single drum, and the sound of the drum spread far and wide in the night. "Tonight is the last night for Mr. Li Taijun of the Sun family to pay his respects. The filial son has paid his respects to the temple three times, and the ever-burning lamp has been refueled nine times. Tomorrow, when the rooster crows three times, the spirit will be raised for the funeral. Dear relatives and neighbors, it is a honor for the Sun family to come to see the old lady on her last journey. I bow to you on behalf of the young and old of the Sun family." He bent down, lightly but quickly, until he finished. Then he turned towards the coffin and raised the drum. The first drum beat was very soft, like knocking on the door. The second drum beat was a little heavier, as if it was calling the door. The third drum beat was softer again, as if waiting for a response from the person at the door. When the drum whip hits the sheepskin, the sound is not crisp, but muffled, with a kind of elastic reverberation unique to sheepskin, thump - thump - thump -, and each blow is followed by the tinny sound of copper bells, jingle bells, jingle bells, like silver threads filling the gaps in the drum sound. His toes began to tap the ground. The soles of the gray cotton shoes hit the frozen ground, making a muffled sound. The rhythm is not fast, it is the cross step of the old-school Yangko - click your left foot forward, click your right foot back, your body sways slightly with the steps, and the tassel of the white cloth belt around your waist also swings. He spoke. The voice was developed by two singers. It is neither high nor bright, but full of charm. Every word seems to grow out of the black soil of the Northeast. "Hey - the sun sets and the sky turns dark - every house closes its door -" he dragged out a long tune, and the drums followed his lyrics. He sang one sentence and struck twice, and the copper bells jingled under the vibration of the whip. "There are nine out of ten houses with locks - only one door is left open -" His footsteps moved slowly in front of the coffin, not walking around the coffin, but standing still, turning himself to the side of the coffin little by little with his toes. The single drum was slightly tilted in his hand, and the snake on the drum flashed in the firelight. His eyes were not looking at anyone, nor at the coffin. He was staring at the darkness outside the funeral shed, as if there was someone standing in the darkness. "I say goodbye to Oriental Jiayi Mu - Old Immortal, look to the east - there is a Wangxiang Terrace in the east - there is no one on the Wangxiang Terrace - dead man, please don't look back -" The filial sons and grandsons kowtowed. His forehead hit the straw mat with a dull sound. "Second words: Bing Ding Fire in the South - Old Immortal, please move to the south - there is a Naihe Bridge in the south - water is surging under the Naihe Bridge - dead man, you are walking steadily -" Kowtowed again. The flame of the Changming lamp flickered slightly, and Lao Zhai glanced in the direction of the lamp without stopping. "Three words of Western Geng Xin Jin - Old Immortal, you go to the west - there is a Yama Hall in the west - the ghost gate is open in front of the Yama Hall - don't be afraid of the dead -" When she kowtowed for the third time, the daughter-in-law had already cried so much that she couldn't stand up. Her forehead hit the straw mat and she didn't lift it up. Her shoulders twitched and intermittent sobs came out of her throat. "Four words to the Rengui River in the north - Lao Xianjia, please retreat to the north - there is a Naihe Bridge in the north - the souls of the dead are crying under the bridge - the dead people, please don't listen to their cries -" Old Zhaitou's voice suddenly raised a tone on the three words "crying and wailing", and the word "howling" dragged out for a long time, floated out of the funeral shed, and hovered in the night sky. The voice didn't sound like singing, but like shouting for the person in the coffin - shouting something she didn't shout when she was alive. "In the center of the five words is Wu Ji Tu - old immortal family, you count to the middle - there is a Tu Tu Temple in the middle - name the deceased in front of the Tu Tu Temple - you remember the deceased accurately -" The filial sons and grandsons raised their heads after kowtowing for the fifth time. Everyone's forehead was red, and the eldest son had a swollen forehead. Lao Zhai walked to the front of the coffin and stopped. He put the single drum under his arm, rubbed the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and then raised the whip again. The drumbeat changed - from a slow cross-step rhythm to a lighter and more broken beating method. The whip bounced quickly on the sheepskin surface, like raindrops hitting the window paper. He opened his mouth to sing the last part of the soul-sending tune. "Three souls are returning to the underworld - seven souls are leisurely ascending to the west - there is a lotus seat in the west - recite the Buddha under the lotus - leave the world today - get up tomorrow morning in Yinshan - there is a gate in Yinshan - look back at the gate of ghosts - see your children crying in front of you - dead man, please don't fall in love with the world - follow the old immortal forward - go to the end - it is Jiutian -!" He flicked the word "Nine Heavens" upwards, and his voice paused on the highest note for a moment, and then suddenly fell down. The drumming stopped. The last lingering sound of the copper bell dispersed in the night wind. He stood in front of the coffin, facing the lotus carved on the head of the coffin and the steady burning lamp, and said in a very soft voice that was completely different from when he sang the divine tune just now: "Let's go. Stop over there." No one in the yard made a sound. The daughter-in-law had stopped crying. She was kneeling there, looking straight at the coffin, and her lips were trembling. Lao Zhai turned around and said to his filial sons and grandsons: "A filial son returns the courtesy. Kowtow." The last one kowtows. Ci Ling is over. The people inside and outside the memorial shed slowly dispersed. Some went to help the filial son who was kneeling on the ground, and some began to pack up the things on the altar table. Lao Zhai walked to the chair next to him and sat down. He took out an enamel jar from his pocket and took a sip of water. His face returned to the relaxed expression unique to an old man who was used to the world. A neighbor next to him leaned over and handed him a cigarette. He took it and clamped it to his ear without lighting it. The person who spoke to him asked something in a low voice, but Old Zhaitou only said two words: "Gone." The person keeping watch set up a brazier in the yard. A few relatives of Lao Sun's family stayed behind, and some of the neighbors also stayed. They sat in a circle around the brazier. The fire pit was burning chopped firewood, and occasionally two pieces of paper money were thrown into the firewood. The firelight shone on everyone's face, clearly illuminating the wrinkles on the face and the bloodshot eyes. Lao Zhai didn't leave. He was sitting on the edge of the brazier, holding an enamel jar, being pulled along by several old men to chat. Chen Jianguo and the others also found a seat next to the brazier. Dabin got a handful of melon seeds from somewhere and squatted beside the brazier to eat them. The melon seed shells were thrown into the brazier, making a sizzling sound and a puff of green smoke. Xiulian sat next to Chen Jianguo, holding her knees with both hands, and the firelight stretched her shadow. An old man knocked his pipe pot on the edge of the brazier. "She's asking the Gray Fairy to open her books. She can't bear it." After saying that, she stuffed the cigarette bag into her mouth and smoked. Old Zhaitou continued: "The gray fairies on this street have been around for a long time. When I was an apprentice on Sandao Street when I was young, I heard my master say that before the houses were built on Sandao Street, there was a cemetery, and there were various things buried underground. Gray fairies are different from other fairies. They live deepest in the ground. No matter what happens above, no one can hide what happens below ground." He put the enamel jar on his knees and folded his hands on it. The firelight reflected on his face, making the wrinkles on his face deeper. "I was sixteen when I was liberated. I saw something on this street. " When he talked about "the year of liberation", everyone around the brazier leaned forward. "In the autumn of that year, the Soviet Red Army had just left, and the streets were in chaos. One night in the middle of the night, at the old well in the west - the well that is now abandoned, there was still water in the past - someone heard a child crying on the well, and he cried for most of the night. At dawn, he went Look, there was nothing on the well, just a pile of rotten grass. Then for three days, someone heard crying every night. On the fourth night, a few brave young people stood by the well, and in the middle of the night, a yellow-skinned man crawled out of the well. " When Lao Zhaitou said this, he raised the enamel jar to his mouth and took a sip of water. A piece of firewood crackled in the brazier. "The yellow-skinned one had something in its mouth - it was a child's bellyband. It was made of red cloth and embroidered with lotus flowers. A few young people bravely chased it for half a street until they reached the location of the original Japanese shrine - now in the Higashi Sanjo area - the yellow-skinned piece was gone, and so was the bellyband. Later, someone inquired with the Kwantung Army prisoners and said that there had been a Japanese family home in the area of the shrine. Before the liberation, One year, a Japanese child fell into a well and drowned. When he was fished out, the bellyband was still on him. But no one came to claim the body, so for some reason it was thrown into a mass grave, wrapped in a straw mat, and buried less than three feet deep. The next spring, someone saw a yellow man running out from the direction of the mass grave. " Lao Zhai put the jar on his knees and stared at the flames. "Huangpizi is petty but trustworthy. Whoever kills its cub will remember you forever. If you are nice to it, it will be polite to you. It never messes around, but likes to borrow things from others - borrowing a child's bellyband, borrowing a dead person's skull, and sometimes borrowing something from others. It's not that it wants these things, it's that it likes to wear something used by people, like clothes. If you see a yellow-skinned person running in the snow, it's not trying to harm you." Xiulian suddenly spoke. Her voice was not high, but everyone around the brazier could hear her. "I've seen it." Everyone's eyes fell on her. Chen Jianguo turned his head to look at her. She hugged her knees, the expression on her face could not be seen clearly in the firelight, but her tone was calm. "In Shaoguotun. When I was ten years old. In winter, the snow was heavier than this year. One morning I came out of the house and saw a yellow leather man squatting on the wall of the courtyard, with a white cloth filial hat on his head. The filial piety hat was new and white. It was squatting on the wall, wearing the filial piety hat upright, with its two ears piercing through the gaps in the cloth, trembling. It looked When he saw me, he just squatted and looked at me. Later, when my grandma came out, it jumped off the wall and walked away. My grandma said that someone's new grave was dug up - the yellow-skinned boy was crying for his dead son. Later, I found out that there was an old lady in the next village who buried it the night before. The grave was dug up the next morning, and the shroud was missing, too." No one around the brazier spoke. Lao Zhai looked at her with a hint of caution in his eyes, and then nodded, as if confirming something with himself. It's late at night. When Chen Jianguo and Xiulian came out of Lao Sun's house, the moon had already risen in the sky, like a thinned silver dollar, sticking to the gray-blue sky. The entire Sandao Street was dark, except for the dim door light at the door of Lao Sun's courtyard that was still on, illuminating the white cloth hanging on the door frame. The alley was dark, and the courtyard walls on both sides cast heavy shadows under the moonlight. Two people walking side by side. Xiulian walked on the side of the wall, her hands tucked into her sleeves, and her cotton shoes made a squeaking sound on the frozen slush. Chen Jianguo was walking on the side of the road, with his hands in his pockets and his head lowered, looking at the road under his feet. Neither of them spoke, but their steps were in the same rhythm. "Don't sleep in the waiting room at night from now on." Chen Jianguo said suddenly. Xiulian didn't look at him. "Where to sleep?" "Let me think about it." He kicked his foot forward and kicked away a piece of broken ice. "Let me think about it," he said again. Xiulian buried her face in her scarf and said nothing. But she walked half a beat slower. "I'll bring you a lunch box tomorrow." Chen Jianguo said, "I have corn pancakes at home. Bake them on the stove and you can eat them." "Yeah." "And pickles." "Yeah." The moon moved a little to the west. The wind picked up at the entrance of the alley, causing the electric wires to whine. The two people walked out of the alley and walked to the intersection of Sandao Street and Shengli Street. The street lights swayed overhead, and the dim halo of light swayed on the road. Xiulian stopped under the street lamp. "Don't give it away," she said. Chen Jianguo also stopped. She glanced at him and moved her mouth, trying to say something, but in the end she just rubbed her feet on the ground. Then she turned around and walked towards the train station. After walking for more than ten steps, she suddenly turned around. Chen Jianguo hadn't left yet, but was still standing under the street lamp, with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. She said nothing, turned back, continued walking forward, and never looked back. Chen Jianguo stood under the street lamp, watching her go further and further away, the red wool at the end of her braid flickering in the dim light. Finally, the red wool thread disappeared into the darkness and merged with the fog in the direction of the train station. He took his hand out of his pocket, put it to his mouth and took a breath of hot air. Cold. Then he turned around and walked toward home.
I have hundreds of thousands of words, and I don't know how long I can keep going. I feel like it's better to subscribe. It only costs a few cents in total. It's better to watch ads by myself.
This book is really beautiful! ! ! ! I like this kind of novel with a light sense of reality, and from the author's "The author has something to say" column, I can see that it is adapted from a real person, and not only the title of the book, but also the subtitle of each chapter is well-organized. The slight feeling of sadness really pokes me
Recommended by "Ming 1572" The year 1572 became a watershed in the fate of the Ming Dynasty. Longqing died, the young emperor Wanli ascended the throne, and cabinet conflicts completely broke out. The novel revolves around the Renshen coup, and details Zhang Juzheng's maneuvers in dealing with the Queen Mother and Feng Bao to bring down Gao Gong. The book truly restores the Wanli New Deal, confronts the obstacles at every level from the powerful gentry and conservative civil servants, and takes into account the disputes in the court and the living conditions of the people. The writing style is realistic and thick, and the characters' good and evil have their roots. It truly shows the endless struggles and regrets behind a national-saving revolution.
The new book is about to set sail. If I am not good at writing, please give me some pointers. If you want to ask questions in the maze, it will be a long and peaceful night.
Recommendation index: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Suitable for the crowd: Friends who like apocalyptic group portraits, multiple CPs, non-bloody characters, and a combination of fun and sadism, feel free to rush!
Happy New Year everyone, this book is dedicated to every reader who is working hard for their dreams and wishes. If you are still insisting on what you want, I hope my words can bring you some strength, so that we can move forward together towards the tomorrow we hope for.
Look at the children, Tomato gives me traffic, the babies who leave comments are making money every day, making tens of billions, trillions, and trillions a year [send heart][send heart][send heart]
Is it really possible? The character of the protagonist, let me say it again today, is neither a saint, nor stupid, nor hesitant, nor normal, nor a villain, nor decent, nor does he do good things, nor does he do serious things, nor is he diligent, nor a gentleman, nor a saint, and most importantly, he is not a good person even if he does not do human things! The devil was resurrected and everyone was trembling. No system, no harem, just a female ghost and a folding fan. More than 4,000 words are updated daily, there are saved manuscripts, and updates are stable. Warning: Don't watch this while eating. On a rainy night, tomb robbers pried open the coffin. There were no bones inside, only a young man wearing a red robe, sleeping. Ten years later, he returned. The emperor was frightened and fainted, all the officials lined up to pay the money, and the four dandies knelt and called Master. There was a piece of human skin in Qingzhou, and more than a hundred skins had been peeled off, waiting for him to collect it. If you were the emperor and found that the devil you killed ten years ago climbed out of the coffin again, what would you do? He chose to faint. If you were four dudes and heard that the most terrifying demon had been resurrected, what would you do? They chose to kneel down to worship. Others come back from the dead: low-key development. He came back from the dead: beating gongs and drums to tell the whole world - "I am back." Others have systems, but he does not. Others have golden fingers, but he does not. Others have a background, but he does not. But he's strong enough. Beginning: Resurrection in the coffin. Within 3 chapters: The emperor fainted from shock. Within 5 chapters: Accept four apprentices. Within 10 chapters: Skinned a bully. There are no peeing spots in the whole process, and each chapter is enjoyable. Ten years ago, twenty-three people killed him, and twenty of them died. Ten years later, he climbed out of the coffin and no one dared to stop him.
Please write a review for this author and show the rating. It's really good to read. I really like reading it, but there is no rating. I just want to help the author. Please give the author a rating, please.
If you don't know what to look at, look here. "Top Magician" is suitable for those who like orthodox magic, and "Awakening of Bloodline" is suitable for those who like evil tricks. No matter which taste you prefer, these two can satisfy you.
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