Chapter 8

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The summer in the suburbs is strong, and occasionally horses and horses pass by, and the wheels are rolling. No one will pay attention to the ink burning of Fang, who is only fifteen years old at this time.

Occasionally, there are village women busy in the fields, and when they see a particularly beautiful young man, their eyes will light up and stare at them.

The ink burned and smiled, and looked back unceremoniously, straight to see those married women blushing and bowing their heads.

In the evening, the ink burned to the impermanent town, which was very close to the summit of life and death. In the twilight, a red sun was like blood, and the burning clouds lined the towering peaks. As soon as he touched his stomach, he was a little hungry, so he entered the restaurant familiarly, looked at the red-bottomed and black-lettered food brand in front of the counter, knocked on the counter, and said nimbly: "The shopkeeper, here's a stick. jī, a plate of husband and wife lung slices, two pounds of soju, and a plate of beef."

There are a lot of people who are sharp at the moment, and it is very lively. The storyteller is swinging his fan on the stage, and he is telling the story of death and life.

The ink burned and asked for a private room by the window, while eating and listening to others.

"As we all know, our cultivation world is divided into two areas: upper cultivation and lower cultivation. Today we will talk about the most amazing sect in the lower cultivation world, the top of life and death. Hey, you must know, we are here. A hundred years ago, Zuowuchang Town was a desolate and poor town. Because it was far from the entrance of the ghost world, the villagers dared not go out when it was dark. Holding the incense ash paper money, while shouting "people come to separate mountains, ghosts come to separate heavy papers", he passed quickly. But today, it seems that our town is bustling and prosperous, and it is no different from other places. This immortal mansion, it is impartial, just right at the entrance of the ghost gate, lying between the two worlds of Yin and Yang. Although it was established not long ago, but..."

During this period of history, Mo Ran's ears were almost cocooned when he heard it, so he began to look under the window with a lack of interest. Coincidentally, a stall was set up downstairs, and a few foreigners dressed as Taoists were carrying a cage covered with black cloth, playing tricks on the street.

This is much more interesting than the old gentleman's storytelling.

The attention of the ink burned was attracted to the past.

"Look at it, look at it, this is the ancient fierce shòu pixiu juvenile shòu, who was subdued by me. Now obedient like a child, he can also juggle and arithmetic! It's not easy to be a chivalrous person, and everyone who is rich will take the money. If you don't have money to support yourself, watch the first good show - Pixiu is planning to play!"

I saw the few Taoist priests slammed up the black cloth, and the cages were closed, and it was a few monsters with human faces and bear bodies.

Ink burning: "…………"

Just these fluffy bear cubs with low eyebrows and pleasing eyes? ? Dare to call it Pixiu? ? ?

This cow is so utterly broken, whoever believes in the ass's brain.

But it didn't take long for the ink to burn and the eyes opened. Twenty or thirty donkey brains gathered around them to watch the show, cheering and applauding from time to time. Even the people in the restaurant couldn't help but go out and look at it, making Mr. Storyteller Not so embarrassing.

"Now the lord of the top of life and death, that is called a illustrious, famous--"

"Okay!! Another paragraph!!!"

The storyteller was greatly encouraged, and he followed the sound to see that the guest was flushed and excited, but he was obviously not looking at himself, but the juggling booth downstairs.

"Yo, what are you planning to do with Pixiu?"

"Aah, it's amazing!"

"Okay! Jealous! Another piece of Pixiu tossing apples!"

People all over the floor burst into laughter, and all gathered by the window rail to watch the liveliness below. The storyteller continued to speak pitifully: "The most famous thing about the Lord is his fan, he..."

"Ahahaha, that Pixiu with the lightest fur is trying to grab an apple to eat, you see it's still rolling on the ground!"

The storyteller wiped his face with a sweat towel, his lips trembling with anger.

Mo Ran pursed his lips, smiled, and shouted slowly behind the bead curtain: "Don't talk about life and death, come to "Eighteen Touch", and make sure to bring everyone back."

Mr. Storyteller didn't know that the person behind the curtain was the young master of death and life, and he said with dignity: "Rough and vulgar words are not good, not elegant."

The ink burned and smiled: "Is it still elegant here? You are not too embarrassed."

After saying that, I heard a commotion downstairs.

"Oh! What a fast horse!"

"It's the Immortal Monarch at the top of life and death!"

In the midst of the discussion, a dark horse galloped from the direction of the top of the dead and rushed into the juggling circle like lightning!

There were two people sitting on the horse, one was wearing a black hat and a black cloak, which blocked it so tightly that she could not tell her age or gender, and the other was a woman in her thirties or forties, clumsy and weathered. .

The woman cried when she saw the bears. She rolled and climbed off the horse, stumbled and rushed over, hugged one of the bears and knelt down and wailed: "My son! what--"

Everyone around was stunned. Someone scratched their head and muttered, "Yeah? Isn't this the cub of the ancient god shòu Pixiu? Why does this woman call it Er?"

"Could this be the female Pixiu?"

"Oh, it's so powerful, this mother's has been transformed into a human form."

The villagers here are ignorant, and they are talking nonsense over there, but the ink burns and thinks about it.

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