Peking Opera Cat: I Became A Zi's Brother

The wind suddenly changed its flavor.

The aroma of oil and salt from the snack stalls at the corner of the alley and the sweet fragrance of osmanthus candy from the peddlers' stalls on the corners of the street were originally the most alluring warmth in the illusion, but now it suddenly faded like tea mixed with cold water.

"..."

A very faint smell of iron seeped in - it was the unique cold fragrance of the spear tip behind Mo Yun, mixed with the dust on the stone ridge, penetrating the layers of barriers of the illusion, and piercing into the overlapping consciousness of Bai Tang and the other three like a fine needle, stirring up tiny ripples in the originally stable illusion.

Bai Tang staggered, and the rosary in his palm suddenly became hot, as if being burned by red-hot charcoal in the stove. The pain made his fingertips curl up and his knuckles turn white.

In his chaotic consciousness, images that had been repeated dozens of times surged: the old lady selling sweet cakes at the alley corner handed him snacks with a smile, a blurry figure patted his shoulder and said "come on", and those recurring "same frequency" rhythms were like entangled green vines, tightly binding his judgment.

He shook his head vigorously, and the sweat on his forehead fell to the ground without causing any splashes - in the illusion, even the sweat seemed false and empty.

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration pierced through the fog: in the gaps between the countless previous bell ringings, there was a lack of the most crucial "emptiness" - not the dead silence of the pendulum, but the rough pause of the wind blowing through the cracks in the stone in the real world, carrying dust and rubbing against the rocks, and the inevitable "imperfection" in the fireworks of the human world.

"wrong……"

He uttered two words in a hoarse voice, his voice as thin as a silk thread about to break, but it unexpectedly penetrated the noise of the illusion.

The silver thread wrapped around his throat suddenly trembled, as if burned by these two words, and its coldness slowly faded, and his throat, which was tightly squeezed, loosened a little.

He took the opportunity to take a deep breath. The sweet fragrance lingering at the tip of his nose became fainter, while the iron smell became more distinct.

At the same moment, the bell on Wu Song's waist suddenly rang with a clear "ding".

This time, the sound did not fall into the deep well of nothingness as usual, nor did it bounce back like hitting a mirror. Instead, it was like a short knife tempered with rhythmic power, with a sharp sound that broke through the air, fiercely slashing at the silk thread wrapped around his arm.

Those silk threads that were shining with cold light were stretched straight. When they heard the crisp sound, white smoke suddenly came out. They were like cotton threads burned by a fierce fire. They suddenly shrank an inch and a slight burning pain came from the places where they stuck to the skin.

Wu Song's eyes widened. The bitterness he felt when his mother's phantom vanished still clung to his chest. The heat in his eyes hadn't faded yet, but suddenly, the image of his childhood stick training flashed through his mind:

When his mother was alive, she never called him "Song'er" in a soft voice when he was lazy or playing tricks.

At that time, he always hid the stick technique manual when his mother was not paying attention. After being caught, his mother would stand in the yard with her hands on her hips, calling him "Xiao Wu" with a bit of sternness, and her eyes were filled with the expectation of disappointment. It was nothing like the dull doting in the fantasy.

"Fake! It's all fake!"

He let out a low shout and exerted force with his arms. The light blue rhythmic energy flowed along his meridians to his fingertips and crashed into the silk threads like a tide. The silver threads were shaken violently by the rhythmic energy and shrank a few inches.

Da Fei squatted down, holding his chest. The cold and muddy smell churning in his stomach suddenly faded away, replaced by the familiar smell of firewood by the stove in his memory - that was the warm fragrance of dry pine wood crackling in the stove when he was guarding the medicine furnace to boil medicine, mixed with the slight bitterness of herbs, it was a real warmth engraved in his bones.

The scene in the illusion was still before his eyes: the blurry figures of his family members sitting around the table, the fried cakes in the bamboo basket were steaming. He was so hungry that he rushed to grab them, but he always got nothing. His hands were filled with biting coldness, without even the slightest aroma of food.

Now that he was somewhat more awake, he remembered the past days:

At that time, he always brought a small stool and stood by the stove, watching the porridge in the pot slowly boil. The fragrance of the porridge was wrapped in the warmth of the firewood. His family would smile and push the hot sweet potatoes and steamed cakes in front of him, and even help him blow the hot food to cool it down, and never let him fight for it in such an embarrassing way.

The warmth is transmitted from the fingertips to the heart, rather than the empty temptation in the illusion.

"Do not lie to me!"

He let out a muffled shout, and the heavy weight on his shoulders suddenly became lighter. The silk thread wrapped around his ribs was tightened by the sudden burst of ochre-colored rhythmic energy, making a slight cracking sound, and the stuffiness in his chest also dissipated for the most part.

The rustling whispers in Xiaoqing's ears suddenly stopped. The sound, originally the groans of a patient in a fantasy world, haunted her intermittently, reminding her of the injured she hadn't been able to save, and her heart was filled with anxiety.

She still held the thin strap of the medicine bag between her fingers. The coarse linen fabric rubbed against her palm, with a rough touch after being exposed to the sun, and it was extremely clear - the illusion could accurately reproduce the pictures and sounds, but it could not imitate the temperature of the human fabric after years of wear and tear, sun and rain, nor could it imitate the unique scent of licorice and angelica mixed with the thin strap in the medicine bag.

She looked down at the thin ribbon on her palm and suddenly remembered what she said before she died:

“A doctor can save the living, but he cannot save the past; only when he can preserve the present can he be said to have done his best.”

The phantom of the patient's agonized, twisted form still lingered in her mind, but the stinging pain in her fingertips brought her completely awake. She suddenly raised her hand, gripping the thin band tightly in her palm. The edge dug into her skin, and the sharp sting instantly dispelled the last trace of confusion.

"I can't save the past, but I can protect the present."

Her voice was no longer dry and trembling, but carried the calm firmness of herbs. With a flick of her fingertips, the medicinal powder hidden in her sleeves sprinkled onto the silk thread wrapped around her wrist - it was the evil-repelling powder she had prepared in advance, originally made to prevent monsters, and it came in handy at this moment.

The light green powder fell on the silk thread, instantly igniting tiny flames that sizzled at the foundation of the illusion. The silver thread kept twisting and shortening in the flames.

The four people's "Strange Four Voices" that were originally controlled by the illusion were completely messed up:

The sound of Wusong's bell suddenly rose in pitch, like an arrow piercing the clouds, exploding several times in succession, each one full of rhythmic power. Baitang's rosary was so hot that he could hardly hold it, but he still held it tightly in his palm. The rosary vibrated at an increasingly rapid rate, emitting a faint golden light.

Dafei's heartbeat was as steady as a drum, and the ochre-colored rhythmic energy flowed through his blood vessels throughout his body, forming a halo around him; Xiaoqing's fingertips kept popping out medicinal powder, and green flames spread on the silk thread, and even a faint medicinal fragrance floated in the air.

On the stone ridge, Mo Zi's pair of glowing eyes suddenly lit up.

She held the folding fan in her fingertips and was about to raise her hand to activate the magic to assist her, but she saw Mo Yun beside her suddenly move.

His body, which had been leaning against the rock, straightened up, and the spear behind him was firmly grasped. The spear shaft vibrated slightly due to the force, which attracted the surrounding air flow and swept up the dust in the cracks of the rock.

The moment the spear tip cut through the darkness, it actually pulled out tiny flashes of lightning from the sky. Purple and silver arcs of light flowed on the tip of the spear, and a cold breath blew in his face, and even the wind on the stone ridge became biting.

"It's now."

He spoke in a low voice, not loud, but like a heavy bell, accurately striking the rhythmic gap of the "invisible bell" - it was the "real aerial beat" that the four of them had found together.

The arc of the spear tip perfectly overlapped with the vibration frequency of the sugar beads, the lingering sound of the Wusong bells, the emphasis of Dafei's heartbeat, and the crackling sound of the burning Xiaoqing powder.

Four different colors of rhyme power (gold, blue, yellow, and red) converged along the tip of Mo Yun's gun, condensing into a dazzling silver light, exploding in the darkness like a small sun, illuminating the entire stone ridge.

"break."

The moment Mo Yun's voice fell, silver light surged into the surrounding illusion like a tide.

The silk threads wrapped around the four people were instantly transformed into flying ashes when they encountered this ray of light, without even a trace left.

The shouts from the alley entrance, the warm light from the inn, the phantom of the stove, the groans from the courtyard... all the illusions were like popped bubbles, shattering and dissipating one after another, leaving only the "humming" sound of the cold wind blowing across the rocks on the stone ridge.

Bai Tang and the other three suddenly opened their eyes, their chests heaving violently, their breathing rapid but with real energy.

They subconsciously touched their bodies. There was no bondage from the silk threads, only fatigue and soreness from the exhaustion of their energy.

Bai Tang looked down at the rosary in his palm. It was still slightly hot, but the burning sensation was gone. Instead, it had a gentle warmth.

Wu Song shook his arm. A faint red mark remained where the thread had laced it, but it no longer hurt or itched. Da Fei stood up and stretched his muscles. The tightness in his chest completely disappeared, and his nose was filled with the smell of dust from the stone ridge. Xiao Qing loosened the thin band around her palm and looked at the mark, her eyes clear.

When he looked up, he saw Mo Yun standing on a high stone platform holding a spear. The lightning on the spear tip had not completely faded, and the patterns on the spear shaft were faintly visible in the dim light.

Mo Zi stood beside him, put away his folding fan. The anxiety in his eyes had long since turned into a relieved smile, and there was obvious approval in his eyes as he looked at the four people.

Mo Yun slowly retracted his spear, and the lightning on the tip of the spear gradually faded. He stroked the cold spear with his fingertips, and looked at the four people with a little more recognition in his eyes.

"Illusions are best at trapping you in 'obsessions.' They don't hurt you directly, but rather rob you of your ability to judge 'reality,' allowing you to wallow in the images you most desire, slowly draining your energy."

He paused, his eyes sweeping across the rosary in Bai Tang's palm.

"That rosary is an ancient artifact that can help you sense the rhythm of the illusion, but your own clarity and determination are the key to breaking the illusion. If you remain unwilling to break free from your obsession, no matter how good the magic weapon is, it will be useless."

Mo Zi took two steps forward, with a bit of lightness in his voice:

"He's been guarding you on the ridge for nearly an hour. He wasn't waiting for a chance to strike, but for you to break free from your obsession. External forces breaking the illusion are only temporary solutions. Only by awakening yourself can you truly break free from the illusion's constraints. If you encounter such magic again in the future, you'll be able to protect yourself."

The wind blew across the stone ridge again, sweeping away the last trace of sweet fragrance left in the illusion, leaving only the coldness of the rock and the chill after the lightning dissipated.

Bai Tang clenched the rosary in his palm and exchanged glances with Wu Song, Xiao Qing and Da Fei - the confusion in the four people's eyes was gone, leaving only the clarity of surviving the disaster and an increasingly determined look.

They nodded gently, both understanding that this trip to the Stone Ridge had not only broken an illusion, but had also revealed their inner weaknesses and strengthened their mutual understanding. They would surely be more responsive to temptation and confusion in the future.

Mo Yun's gaze had already passed the darkness at the edge of the stone ridge and looked into the deeper fog in the distance.

Thick clouds rolled there, blocking the faint light in the sky. Apart from the faint fluctuations left after the illusion dissipated, it seemed that something that had been dormant for a long time was slowly waking up with the silver light that broke the illusion.

A faint movement gradually emerged in the air. It was not wind, nor rhythmic energy, but more like the breathing of some huge existence, spreading over slowly and oppressively, even the rocks on the ridge trembled slightly.

Mo Yun instantly tightened his grip on the spear, the faint light at the tip of the spear lit up again, and the aura around him became solemn.

Mo Zi also put away his smile, pressed his fingertips on the folding fan again, and looked into the depths of the fog with a vigilant expression.