Food Fairy Lord

Chapter 269 Dream Picture (Part )

White Bamboo Courtyard.

In the quiet room, the candle flame danced silently, and the boy and the man sat at the same table.

Zi Huang rested all his body weight on the back of the chair, staring blankly at the empty space. There was cold tea in front of him, but his lips were dry.

"I like ancient paintings very much, Pei Shaoxia," he murmured, "...that started on July 11th."

July 11th, summer, rain is falling.

late at night.

Zihuang was leaning on the couch, reading the residence newspaper under the candlelight, when suddenly there were three knocks on the door with the sound of water.

Xu Jian stood up and opened the door. As soon as the candlelight came out, there was an old friend who had not been in contact for a long time. He was Zhang Zijing, a famous painter from a neighboring state.

At this time, his clothes were wet and his hair was wet, and the only raincloth was covering the book box behind him. His face was pale from the cold, but his eyes were bright and there was an excited smile on his mouth.

As soon as he saw Zi Huang, before he even had time to enter the house, he couldn't wait to hold the man's sleeve: "Sword fight, there is something about that immortal scroll!"

"The 'Immortal Painting' thing is a legend that is hard to tell whether it is true or not thirty years ago."

With a "squeak", Zi Huang pushed back the chair and stood up. He took a look from the bookshelf and took out a small booklet and placed it in front of Pei Ye. He had read it countless times and opened it to that page.

"Contained in "Yinyang County Chronicles: Xiangxian Volume": Xingfang Tian was born in Yinyang. His father met again at the state military academy. Tian did not like soldiers. He was good at painting since he was a child. He painted dozens of volumes a day and the walls of his room were colorful. When he grew up, He traveled through Zhou County, traveled around the mountains and rivers, and painted stunning paintings, which spread his name to eleven counties in the state."

Zihuang paused for a moment: "This person has extremely high painting skills and is also eye-catching with his spirituality. He is not famous beyond Sanzhou, just because of his remote location. In the past few years, Zhang Zijing and I asked for this person's posthumous writings, and every time we got a volume, we regarded him as Treasure, later we learned from a secret source that his last painting was actually said to be the 'Scroll of Linxian' during his lifetime."

Zi Huang continued to trace down the page of the book with her finger: "In the winter of Chilong Renzi, Tian went into the sky to ask for paintings. After the moon came back, he was crazy and crazy. He entered the house for three days and did not drink or eat. The villagers were worried about it and broke down the door. , I saw a scroll hanging in the hall, standing calmly under the scroll, with the light of a snake shining in the eyes, describing it as haggard, falling to the ground and dying. Those who saw this painting also went crazy and burned it."

Pei Ye stared at the book without saying a word. The black cat climbed onto his shoulder before he knew it, and his green eyes dropped to the pages of the book.

"There are only these records. Zhang Zijing and I visited an academic official who compiled the county annals at that time, and learned that the Yin Yang Chang Inspector of Xianren Terrace handled this matter. It was concluded that the Western Tian spiritual spirit overflowed, and the spiritual mystery was touched. There is no restraint from spiritual practice, so the painting is like spirit brewing ink, which takes away the soul of anyone who sees it, and the local people think of it as a monster and hate to burn it."

"After learning that he was indeed burned, Zijing and I were very sorry. However, there was no way to save him, so we had to let him die without any illness."

"But when we visited his hometown for the last time, we actually saw a fake." Zi Huang slowly closed his eyes.

After a long time, he spoke again: "The disciple of Western Tian was copying on the side when he was painting. He had a slow temperament, and it was not until the painting was completed that he was inspired to go crazy. Because it was the last work of his mentor, he asked his wife to hide it before he became crazy. Good, so he was saved from being burned. When we left, he had been crazy for thirty years and his house was bare. It was his old wife who knew that we were looking for him and wanted to sell this painting."

Zihuang paused again: "She asked for four taels of silver, and I gave her twenty taels. In fact, in my opinion, this painting cannot be sold for a hundred taels."

"This disciple is very good at controlling the brush and is very good at tracing. He has no trace of the legendary spirituality. He just imprinted the dry and old shadow of the masterpiece." Zihuang said softly, "But it is just a skin. It has made me and Zijing suddenly go crazy. The gods are deep and majestic, and the colors and shapes should only be achieved on the Yaochi."

"Obtaining this treasure scroll has been the rarest time in ten years of searching for paintings. But after seeing such a skin, we couldn't help but search for its flesh and blood soul. However, after visiting the old people in the village, we only got the same thing. The truth is that the original painting of Dongfang Tian was indeed burned. After three days of this, we finally planned to leave without any choice, but when we were leaving, we heard this old wife talk about an interesting incident from that year."

Zi Huang looked at the young man in front of her and said softly: "She said that when Dongfang Tian painted this painting, he kept his eyes closed for three days and three nights."

"."

"We have been wondering why this painting is so different from those posthumous works of Western Tian? There is no similarity in style, technique, content, or even length."

"Now we know."

"Because this painting is not his creation, but a description of his memory." Zihuang said softly, "He has seen this painting somewhere, so that is the real authentic work. And this painting in our hands is astonishing to all eyes. It’s just a fake of a fake.”

Zi Huang leaned on the chair and breathed softly.

The room was quiet.

"I'd rather we never found out," he said.

"Following this, we made friends with the local Xianrentai regular inspector. He gave us a look at this small and unimportant case, so we discovered another strange thing - those people who went crazy after seeing the paintings. They all have a common behavior, which is called 'mountain running'." Zi Huang whispered, "As soon as the seven people who saw the painting fell asleep, they would get up in surprise and then run towards Xincang Mountain. For seven days. The regular inspector said that he guessed that there was some kind of spiritual being in the mountain, which was occasionally seen and photographed by Dongfang Tian, ​​and thus affected these people."

"We know that it must be the real picture, or it may be the pen and ink of an ancient immortal." Zihuang said, "However, when we really wanted to go into the mountain to search, we once again encountered insurmountable difficulties - Xin Cangshan Mountain stretches for thousands of miles, and its depth is unpredictable. We are short of manpower, and the traces on the scroll are broken. How can we know where Dongfang Tian’s footprints reached thirty years ago?"

"All those who were crazy back then are now dead. The only survivor is this lonely painter who sells paintings, and he is very old. I asked his wife and she said that he has never run into the mountains in the past thirty years." Zi. Huang said softly, "Even though the scroll is rare, we can't bother and irritate an old and sick person anymore, so we searched aimlessly in the mountains for two months and found nothing, so we had to go down the mountain with regret."

"This happened two years ago." Zi Huang looked at the boy, "We thought it would be a lifelong regret."

"But after all, I am not so lucky."

On the rainy night of July 11th, Zhang Zijing stood at the foot of the steps and looked at Zizhuang. His eyes were so bright in the rainy night: "Jianzheng, pack your luggage quickly and follow me!"

Zi Huang was confused for a moment: "What's the matter? Let's talk about it first in the room."

Zhang Zijing grabbed his arm and said, "That lonely disciple suddenly ran into the mountains again three nights ago!"

"!"
-

When we arrived at the village again, the old man was already haggard and tied to the bed. His old wife has passed away, and the neighbors are taking care of him.

For the first time, Zihuang saw the realistic projection of the word "epilepsy" in the county annals. The old man who could not move seemed extremely painful, and his weak body was able to loosen the hemp rope. He did not drink or eat. He was lucky enough to survive when he was young and strong. How could he have such a good body now?

It was still a rainy night when they arrived. They discussed with the villagers that they would let the old man go to Xin Cang and his party, and they would follow him, try to find the source, and try to cure him and bring him back.

When they heard that this purple-robed Angzang man was the elder Baizhu from the neighboring state and the legendary master of eight lives, the villagers finally relaxed.

"Actually, it doesn't matter whether you can take her back or not." The village chief, who was also octogenarian, said hoarsely. "I have been haunted by this nightmare for half my life. I have been in a state of confusion for thirty years. I don't even know that my wife is dead. She should let him die before she dies. Go take a look.”

But for Zihuang, the so-called "demon nightmare" is often caused by the frailty of ordinary people - the various magical weapons stored in the Immortal Terrace cannot escape the category of spiritual and mysterious energy, but if they are placed on ordinary people, they will also be fatal. of demons.

Zihuang and his two men let go of the old man, force-fed him clear water and dry food, and entered Xincang Mountain in continuous rain that night.

This kind of self-confidence that goes straight in is what Zihuang should have. No matter what kind of evil spirit he faces, Ba Sheng is definitely strong enough. What's more, when Xiang Tian had no cultivation, didn't he also come out with his whole body?

Once you enter the mountain, it's half a moon.

The "mountain run" thirty years ago was said to last only seven days, but now fifteen days have passed, and the old man has not stopped. His life seems to have been forcibly extended by some force, and he has resumed his diet. When he is hungry, he grabs the leaves. He ate immediately, and when he was thirsty, he leaned into the water and drank. Several times, neither of them had time to stop him. Its appearance becomes more and more like a candle in the wind, as if all life has been squeezed out to walk this section of the road, and before this life is exhausted, the scenery of dense forests and deep cliffs day after day finally reveals something unnatural. thing.

Traces of a group of at least ten people walking through.

It suddenly and nakedly appeared in front of them, leaving the two of them stunned for a long time.

This is the ancient deep ridge half a month after entering the mountain. Going forward is not a way out, but an even deeper and vaster place. You should not come here to collect medicine, cut firewood, or hunt for animals. Except for people with extremely special purposes like them, no one should have set foot here for thousands of years.

Yet it just appeared.

Moreover, the traces of identification showed that there were men, women, old and young together.

The two of them had no way of identifying their origins, and for a moment they even suspected that they were the hermits who had lived in the mountains for a long time. They didn't think about it for too long, but the old man beside them had already moved forward frantically for several feet.

The next day, Zihuang, who was already a little exhausted, tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. At night, they encountered similar marks three more times, and they were getting newer and newer.

That night, Zihuang lay awake with his sword in hand.

"The incident happened that night." In the quiet room, the man in front of him looked at Pei Ye with a hoarse voice, "Young Master Pei should be able to guess what happened."

"The fire talisman on the forehead. The body and soul are called."

"Yes." Zihuang looked straight at the window, as if that incredible scene was reappearing there. "Perhaps, if I stopped him at all costs, then turned around and walked away with the two of them, there would still be a chance of survival."

Thick darkness shrouded everything, and the bonfires dimmed. Nights in the deep mountains were always like this, with a unique vastness and silence, and then interspersed with some near or far calls, embellishing its layers and vastness.

In such a night, the corners of Zi Huang's eyes were suddenly illuminated by a glimmer of light of another color.

He turned his head and watched in shock as Zhang Zijing stood up slowly. If it weren't for the blue fire charm on his forehead that was slowly blooming, Zi Huang would have thought it was just a rare sleepwalking.

Zhang Zijing looked past the two people and the bonfire with dull eyes, turning a deaf ear to Zizhuang's shouts, and dragged his stiff steps forward.

Zi Huang pushed him to the ground, strangled his throat and shouted, pouring in Qi, but nothing worked. The fire symbol on his forehead was still bright, and Zhang Zijing could only mutter something incomprehensible and stared straight ahead.

Zi Huang hesitated and let him go.

At this time, the matter of the fairy painting had been forgotten by the man, and the spiritual evil in front of him had climbed up to his friend's heaven. He guessed that he might have encountered some kind of cult that manipulated the spiritual evil and harmed people, and Zi Huang was concerned about these things. There is never any shortage of courage. He pressed the hilt of his sword tightly and followed his friend.

This is a deep mountain where only foxes and wolves walk at night. Zi Huang is like a silent ghost hiding in the shadow of the trees, following his friends farther and farther away.

But in fact, they had only walked for half a quarter of an hour. When they turned around and just lost sight of the campfire, a few black shadows like falcons flew in front of Zhang Zijing despite the sound of wind.

The momentum shown in the movement made Zihuang suppress his figure violently, and his breathing machine was tightly strangled by him.

One eight-year-old. And three full seven-year-olds.

Zhang Zijing's sudden appearance obviously alarmed them, and the force sent to investigate was already equivalent to a sect that could establish a reputation.

Zihuang realized something was wrong when her heart suddenly contracted - it wasn't that she met a colleague while searching for a spiritual painting, or that some shady little cult bumped into her hands. This was A dangerous matter that was far beyond his horizons.

Zi Huang clearly judged that the better choice at this time would be to turn around immediately, but her friend was already in their hands.

Zihuang fell a few feet behind and carefully climbed up. Only half a moment later, a scene he had never seen in his life came into view.

A huge, cold tree-shaped flame was painted on the ground, and the cauldron was burning with cold blue. Seven people with talismans on their foreheads stood stiffly in front of a bronze pole. Zhang Zijing was one of them.

The prayers were solemn and the sacrifices were majestic. Zihuang almost thought that he had arrived at some imperial palace. But when the host turned around and picked up the long bronze pole, and Zhang Zijing stepped forward to hold the green bottle, he finally couldn't wait any longer and glanced at it. And out.

The zhenqi technique in the sheath burst out with murderous intent, and strong winds and bloody light were brought out under the purple robe. Holding the "Bamboo Cutting Sword" of this generation and the highest attainment of zhenqi technique: bamboo folding in his hand, the man broke through with one sword In spite of Ba Sheng's counterattack in front of him, he inserted the sword blade straight into his chest.

Ever since he entered the Eighth Life, he has been working hard without stopping, with Meng Chuyuan as his target. His performance at this time proved that he was indeed the best among the Eighth Life, with more than ten explosions and battles in the blink of an eye. Offensively and defensively, violent blood sprays burst out from his body, but he still did not lose the advantage gained from the sneak attack. When it ended, he had this person firmly under his body.

"Who are you?! Remove what's on their heads!" He pressed the sword blade against the man's throat and asked in a low voice with blood in his throat.

Then his body froze, and the sound of tearing cloth and a low roar came from behind.

It was quiet in the room on an autumn night.

The man who told all this seemed to have experienced such a nightmare again, looking tired and weak.

"Zijing drank that cup of ambergris." He whispered, and he and Pei Ye looked at each other in silence. The chills brought about by that scene appeared in the memories of both of them at the same time.

"Then everything went bad."

Zi Huang cut off the head of the black robe underneath him with a sword, and looked at his evil snake-like friend who froze in place.

He didn't know what to do, and there was actually no time for him to make a decision.

A man in purple robe who found out the movement suddenly appeared in front of him.

He first picked up a bronze pole and penetrated Zhang Zijing's alienated body. The evil spirit melted like a candle. Zi Huang screamed in horror and rushed forward. The man in purple robe turned around, the eyes under the mask only glanced at him, and Zi Huang turned into a piece of tofu that was hit with a heavy hammer.

If it weren't for the restraint of true energy, the whole person would have been scattered in all directions.

He hit the ground like a rag, and Ba Sheng's strong body was as fragile as paper at this time. His bones were broken, his skin was torn, and his flesh collapsed. A large pool of blood and broken organs flowed out from under him.

He watched helplessly as the purple-robed man turned the remaining six people into sticky droplets one by one, and then walked over holding the plump and shiny gourd rod upside down. The mysterious mask looked down on him, and pierced him with one rod. into his abdomen.

"I passed out," Zi Huang said. "I just felt that the cold thing seemed to have entered my body and swallowed my meridian tree."

"Severe injuries are difficult to heal. I have lost all my true energy. I am running out of energy and blood. I can't open my eyes that are stuck with blood. I feel like I have been thrown somewhere." Zi Huang picked up the tea for the first time and trembled slightly. He took a sip and said, "Young Master Pei, I have been in many life-or-death fights and suffered serious injuries that were almost impossible to heal, but that was the first time I felt complete despair, like a pig tied up waiting to be used. "

Then he slowly raised his head and looked at Pei Ye, and said in a daze: "In this desperate coma, I seemed to have seen the original painting."

(End of this chapter)