Although he said this, his words were full of praise.
"Who could have done this?" The man asked with a frown.
The two fell silent for a moment, then looked at each other and simultaneously uttered a name.
"The white-robed young master from the theater?"
The performer nodded, "It should be him. In the current Ren’an City, there are only a few experts capable of swiftly killing Qing Lao San and Bai Lao Qi. Apart from this young master, it’s impossible for anyone else to have acted!"
The man frowned and asked, "But why would he act?"
The performer smiled, "It’s simple. People from the Shura Hall are notoriously vengeful. When they ambushed me in the theater before and were stopped by this white-robed youth, they must have harbored a grudge. That’s probably why he sought them out!"
The man nodded, "That seems to be the reason, but these people never expected that this youth, who seems barely of age, would be so formidable. Attempting an ambush only to be killed in return can only be described as deserving."
The performer said nothing, merely turned back and picked up a piece of black paper from the table, pressing it onto Qing Lao San’s face.
Then, he extended his index and middle fingers, hovering them above the paper. As he sketched in the air with invisible strokes, a golden seal appeared on the paper with each stroke.
In the blink of an eye, a plex talisman spell appeared on the black paper, its strokes as if soaring dragons and phoenixes dancing.
Once the talisman was pleted, the black paper immediately transformed into dense black mist, which then seeped into Qing Lao San’s corpse.
Qing Lao San’s body trembled violently, as if about to resurrect.
At that moment, the performer pointed at the center of Qing Lao San’s forehead and slowly lifted his hand, drawing out a wisp of black mist.
The performer wore a solemn expression, "This is all the memory left in his mind before his death. Hopefully, it holds the information we desire!"
Having said that, the performer flicked his fingers lightly.
The wisp of black mist then transformed into a black mirror, displaying chaotic and unclear images within.
Initially, the images were blurry but soon became clearer.
The scenes inside were unmistakably the battle between Qing Lao San and Xue An before his demise.
Upon seeing the bare-backed Xue An and the tattoo covering his entire back, the two in the room exclaimed in unison.
"White Bone Saint!"
Immediately, they exchanged glances, seeing the heavy expression in each other’s eyes.
This White Bone Saint is a Deity from ancient times, rumored to possess earth-shattering powers, even fighting those ancient evil beings to a stalemate before being ambushed and falling in battle. Yet, throughout these years, the belief in the White Bone Saint has never ceased.
And judging by the tattoos on Xue An’s body, it was clear he had received the authentic inheritance of the White Bone Saint.
"No wonder he has such great strength at this young age!" the man muttered to himself.
But the subsequent images shocked them even more.
The mysterious and eerie carriage that suddenly barged in sent shivers down their spine when that small round mirror appeared.
"Louwai Lou!"
Then the performer chuckled bitterly, "It must be the courtesan Yun Lingxuan. Judging by the time, she should be here, but I didn’t expect her to clash with people from Shura Hall!"
The following images turned bloody and violent. Xue An decisively dispatched the two, then the scene plunged into darkness, and the black mist disintegrated.
The disintegration also shattered Qing Lao San’s corpse.
The room fell into silence, only interrupted by the slight crackling of the oil lamp’s flame.
Long after, the man sighed softly.
"The White Bone Saint, the Shura Hall, and people from Louwai Lou all made an appearance. This gathering is truly... lively!"
The performer slowly said, "No matter who appears, our operation this time will not change, and it must succeed, not fail!"
As he said this, his expression was plex, marked by determination, fervor, but more so, a sense of relief.
The man solemnly nodded, "Understood!"
"You may go, leave these two corpses to me!"
"Yes!"
The man turned and slipped into the vast night.
The performer stood quietly for a while, his thin silhouette appearing especially lonely under the glow of the oil lamp.
Moments later, he chuckled softly, "Master, don’t worry, soon the two of us will be able to personally exact revenge for you!"
As he said this, there was a glistening of tears in his eyes.
But he quickly took a deep breath, forcibly swallowing back the tears. Then he sketched a few strokes in the air, summoning a flame rune that incinerated the two corpses to ashes.
After the flames died out, the performer collected the ashes and buried them in a flower pot by the window.
The pot contained a sunflower, a mon type of flower in this world, yet this one bloomed with extraordinary brilliance, like a flame in full bloom.
Doing all this, the performer carefully checked again, confirming there were no oversights, before returning to sit at the desk.
On the desk lay unfinished manuscripts, the writing delicate and dense, tinged in a near-blood red, remarkably, a scripture.
The performer first clasped his hands in homage to the scripture, then took the brush on the table and without hesitation, plunged it into his chest.
Puff!
The brush pierced his chest, yet not a single drop of blood flowed out, only ceaseless flashes of blood-red light.
The performer’s plexion paled visibly, but he showed no sign of pain, his eyes instead grew ever brighter.
After a moment, when the entire brush turned blood-red, he withdrew it.
The gaping hole in his chest lay exposed, one could even see the heart beating within.
Yet the performer, full of devotion, bowed down and continued writing the scripture with the brush in hand.
Each blood-red character was filled with boundless endurance and fury.
In a daze, he seemed to return to those days.
Back then, the Master was still by his side, standing aside, watching over him as he studied.
Whenever he tried to slack off, she would flick his head gently and scold him with a smile.
"Boy, if you don’t focus, you won’t get to eat!"
Now he diligently applies himself and will never slack off again, yet Master can never return.
Tears fell, soaking the scriptures below.
And at the same moment, in an inn, Xue An closed the window overlooking the street.
The patrolling night watchman’s scream had just caused a motion, all of which Xue An had heard, but he paid them no mind.
Though he hadn’t looked, he was certain the corpses in that alley would be gone by now.
It was then he felt a sudden, inexplicable thrill, prompting him to smile slightly and loosen his restraints.
In an instant, An Yan appeared in the room.
"Yan’er, you..."
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