Three thousand phantoms rotted together, shedding pieces of flesh as maggots writhed across the ground.
Amid Zhao Ruonan's warriors came the sound of retching.
"True Samadhi Fire, burn the five souls and three spirits, wait but a moment, a guest in Yama's Palace!" intoned the Old Taoist with a recitation.
"The King of Hell won't accept them."
A weak and frail voice rose from behind Song Xiaodong and the others, including the Old and Young Taoists.
Song Xiaodong turned around and saw a middle-aged man with a pale complexion, stooped and hunchbacked, dressed in a white long robe and black cloth shoes, holding a ruler in his left hand and an inkstone in his right, slowly walking over.
"Mr. Zhao, joining the ruckus too?"
The Young Taoist turned to this pallid middle-aged man and nodded slightly.
Mr. Zhao unhurriedly listened to the ghostly opera, tapping rhythm and shaking his head as if enjoying it immensely.
