The four scrambled up the high riverbank to escape, but Mei Sijun, usually aloof and elegant, seemed reluctant to leave. He stared blankly at the river and murmured:
"A stage for the living, Dead-Person Opera for the dead... tie up lanterns, craft paper figures, white paper filling the sky, turning into money as it falls into the water... that's the Southern Branch Troupe's Yin Opera. It's them... it's the Southern Branch Troupe!"
Yang held him back. The handsome young master of the Pear Garden Family seemed possessed. Even as the river churned and Corpse Remains crawled ashore, he still tried to rush toward the river for a closer look.
"Mei Sijun, do you have a death wish?"
Yang gripped his hand tightly. Though his muscles did not look particularly bulky, he was extremely well trained, and Mei Sijun could not possibly resist his strength.
Pinned down on the high riverbank, Mei Sijun kept struggling and talking nonstop. "The Mei Family's ancestors drew on the strengths of a hundred schools to establish their own style. They mastered every opera of the living, but Dead-Person Opera, true Dead-Person Opera... only the Southern Branch Troupe knew it. They wouldn't teach it, and no one else could understand it..."
"Now this grand opera is unfolding before my eyes. For an opportunity like this, what does it matter if I lose my life? Don't stop me. I need to get a proper look..."
"What good would getting a proper look do? If you die, who's going to tell everyone else how to perform Dead-Person Opera?" Yang held him down, refusing to let go. "You have to stay alive to see more opera!"
Mei Sijun finally stopped thrashing, and Qin Manjiang and Nie Yunzhen stopped running as well.
They had realized that the densely packed corpses