Cicada Shell Art

The poison in his body was rather potent. His inner strength did little to suppress it. After the numbness peaked, it began to recede, but like unraveling silk from a cocoon, it was agonizingly slow.

Qin He reckoned he would probably have to spend the night lying on the ground.

But with the danger gone, he did not mind. Sleeping was sleeping, wherever he lay.

With that thought, Qin He actually fell asleep before long. He used his inner strength to protect his heart meridian just in case, then stopped bothering with the poison.

As for Xu Chang'an and the other three, they had truly run into rotten luck.

Who knew what trick that wanted criminal from the imperial court was using? The bloodstains and footprints stretched onward all the way. They had pursued him for several hours. By rights, with that much bleeding, any normal person should have long since bled dry.

Yet that wanted criminal had not. Despite such grievous wounds, they simply could not catch him.

But if they could not catch him, then why was the blood on the ground so fresh all along the way? One look told them it had only just been spilled.

At first, it had seemed hopeful, but after several hours passed, Xu Changshou began to feel that something was wrong. Nine times out of ten, they had been played.

He had friends everywhere and had heard plenty of strange tales, but he did not dare say it aloud. The sky gradually began to pale, while Centurion Chang's face grew darker and darker.

Clearly, that wanted criminal mattered greatly to Centurion Chang. Otherwise, given the Flying Fish Guard's usual ways, they would have called it off at most once they had chased beyond Tongzhou's borders.

Under normal circumstances, this lot could not even be bothered to leave the capital.

Yet they had long since left Tongzhou. Following the Grand Canal south all the way, they had reached Tonghui.

There was no use saying more. They gritted their teeth, lowered their heads, and kept chasing.

And so, the group of seven or eight pursued for another half an hour or so.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo..."

Just then, from who knew where in the desolate wilderness, came the crow of a rooster.

Then they heard a thud ahead, the sound of something collapsing to the ground.

Everyone perked up. Their waist sabers slid from their sheaths as they surrounded the source of the sound.

It was not far—just a few dozen paces away.

There lay a "person" on the ground, its arms full of bloody mess. Its face was smeared red and green, with eyes, nose, ears, mouth, head, body, hands, and legs... Hah. Its skin was yellow paper, its bones bamboo, and on its feet was a pair of embroidered shoes.

It was a Paper Soldier!

It was clutching a dead muntjac, whose blood was still flowing.

Everyone was dumbfounded. They had chased all night, only to chase down this thing.

Centurion Chang's face went completely black.

There was no need to look for the man anymore. After being toyed with all night, even an ant would have long since escaped.

Things had come to this. No matter how unwilling they were, they could only leave it at that.

The group found a wharf. Centurion Chang showed his command token and requisitioned a boat, leaving Xu Changshou and the other three behind as he returned north empty-handed.

It was not that he had deliberately abandoned the four of them. The boat was simply too small to hold that many people.

Xu Changshou and the others had no wish to share a boat with Centurion Chang while he was in such a foul mood, so this suited them just fine.

Only, the fare was a little steep. The four had to pool their money just to scrape together enough for the boat, unlike Centurion Chang, who only had to flash his token and requisition one at will.

They were both paid by the government, yet the difference was this vast.

On the way, the four naturally could not help discussing that Paper Soldier. It was truly eerie. If one had the gift of gab, one could set up a stall at the mouth of an alley and make a living as a storyteller with this tale alone.

As they spoke, the old boatman at the stern suddenly interjected, "Sirs, could what you're talking about be the Cicada Shell Art?"

The four immediately became interested and hurriedly asked what the Cicada Shell Art was.

The old boatman was a talkative man, and he told them of its origins.

Hundreds and thousands of years ago, the eighteen provinces of the Han lands in the Eastern Land had split into three dynasties.

Zhuge Shenji made six expeditions from Qishan, launching northern campaigns against the Central Plains, yet never succeeded. At last, during his sixth northern campaign, worn down by years of toil, he fell ill and died in the army at Wuzhang Plains. To prevent the Shu Army from suffering losses on the road back to Hanzhong, Zhuge Shenji secretly imparted a strategy for retreating to Jiang Wei before his death.

Following Zhuge Shenji's instructions, after Zhuge Shenji died, Jiang Wei ordered craftsmen to imitate his likeness. They used the cast-off skin of the Golden Cicada as paper, yellow bamboo as bones, burned willow as ink, and fox armpit fur as a brush to paint the Paper Soldier's features, creating a Paper Soldier.

The exact secret art was unknown. On the day the Shu Army withdrew, Zhuge Shenji was seen wearing a feather fan and silk headscarf, sitting calmly in his carriage as he directed the army's assault and slaughter, no different from usual.

From afar, the enemy saw the Shu Army's ranks in perfect order, its banners and drums spread wide, and Zhuge Shenji commanding with unruffled composure. They did not dare act rashly.

That night, Zhuge Shenji became even more imposing, actually appearing before the enemy camp. The enemy soldiers were seized by doubt and alarm, fearing an ambush. They reinforced their camp and huddled inside like turtles, refusing to emerge.

Thus they remained locked in stalemate through the night. At dawn the next day, a rooster suddenly crowed, and the enemy discovered that Zhuge Shenji had abruptly fallen from his horse, while the guards and soldiers around him paid no heed and rode away at full gallop.

The enemy commander hurriedly sent men out of the camp to investigate. They discovered that the figure who had fallen from the horse was actually a Paper Soldier.

Only then did the enemy commander realize he had been deceived. He hastily led his troops in pursuit, but it was already too late. The Shu Army had withdrawn overnight, and the camp full of torches contained not a single person.

Only much later did word arrive that Zhuge Shenji had already passed away on the night before the Shu Army withdrew.

This was the origin of the Cicada Shell Art.

This art originated from the Zhuge secret arts, then spread among the common folk and gave rise to many unorthodox schools.

By imitating a person's appearance, words, actions, and mannerisms so that people could not distinguish truth from falsehood, one could escape alive by shedding one's shell like the Golden Cicada. Thus it was called the Cicada Shell Art.

Only after hearing it all did the four understand what they had spent the entire night chasing. It had truly broadened their horizons.

Though they had gained nothing, they at least had one more amusing tale to discuss over tea after meals.

Late autumn had not yet arrived, and the south wind still blew. With favorable wind and current, the boat swiftly returned the four to Tongzhou Wharf.

After disembarking, they hurried back to the Corpse Burning Facility.

They had missed their watch last night. If anything went wrong again, it would be deeply troublesome.

Fortunately, the Corpse Burning Facility had remained peaceful through the night. Only then did the four finally heave a great sigh of relief. Exhausted after a sleepless night, each was limp with weariness. They forced themselves to collect the ashes and hand out the copper coins, then went home.

Before leaving, Xu Changshou remembered Qin He. That silly boy went out last night. Wonder if he came back.

Xu Changshou was a loyal enough friend, so he went to Qin He's Corpse Burning Room.

When he pushed open the door and looked inside, the silly boy was indeed there, holding a bowl beneath his nose and sniffing it.

"What are you smelling?" Xu Changshou asked curiously.

"Sir, it's... uh, sour milk." Seeing Xu Changshou enter, Qin He set down the bowl.

By then, the poison had been neutralized and his mouth had returned to normal. He had been preparing to eat breakfast when he discovered that the sour milk smelled rather strong.

He did not know whether it was a problem with the technique or the ingredients.

"Sour milk?"

Xu Changshou's curiosity was piqued.

He often drank sour bean juice, but this was the first time he had heard of sour milk. Milk, he had heard, was something the Rong Tribe people of the grasslands drank. Occasionally someone sold dried milk in the markets, and it was quite expensive.

Xu Changshou lifted the bowl, sniffed it, and asked, "Can it be drunk?"

After chasing all night, his chest was nearly stuck to his back from hunger. Besides, Qin He had fleeced him badly the last time, and he had just paid another boat fare. Now he did not even know where breakfast would come from.

And here was a bowl of milk, ready to drink.

"It should be fine, I guess. It's milk." Qin He said uncertainly.

"Then I won't stand on ceremony."

Xu Changshou did not treat himself like an outsider at all. Tilting back his head, he gulped down the sour milk in one go. He licked his lips, handed the bowl back to Qin He, and said, "Your milk isn't sour. It's just a bit strong—kind of goes straight to the head."

Qin He took the bowl and scratched his head, unable to figure out where the problem lay.

At the same time.

The cattle market.

Shopkeeper Miao Yongde had slept in for over half an hour. Having washed up, he was slurping noodles when a waiter rushed in, panicked. "Shopkeeper, bad news! That breeding bull of ours, for some reason, isn't doing well."