"You guys don't understand anything..." The ghost mother made a hoarse sound in her throat, "You don't understand anything..."
Liu Fuguang pushed Yan Huan's arm away, but Yan Huan didn't want to let him go and let him get closer to the ghost mother. Liu Fuguang insisted on taking it away and walked closer to the burning remains of Bibo.
"You don't want to be worshipped willingly," he whispered. "I know that."
"Besides this, what else do you know..." The ghost mother laughed, "Stop pretending here, you are all the same people, the same..."
Although on the verge of extinction, the strong resentment in her tone was still like a will-o'-the-wisp that would never go out, burning people's hearts and making them numb.
Liu Fuguang was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I won't judge..."
The ghost mother smiled twistedly and said, "If you are interested, come to my memory to find out what is going on, and let me take a look..."
She suddenly shut up, her pale throat choked with pain for a long time, and a large amount of black and red blood flowed down her chin.
"… Let me see if you are truly kind or a hypocrite!"
The fact that a person's soul does not disperse after death proves that the person's resentment is strong to a certain extent, not to mention the evil spirits like the Nine-Child Mother who are worshipped as gods. Monks are most afraid of being entangled by worldly ties, and no one would be so stupid as to dare to enter the memories of filthy ghosts and gods to find out.
She originally just wanted to laugh at the Taoist priest in front of her, but unexpectedly Liu Fuguang threw away his sword, took a few steps forward, and really pressed his warm fingers on her temple very gently and without hesitation.
"Okay," he said.
Yan Huan hurriedly shouted: "Fu Guang!"
But Liu Fuguang moved too quickly. He did not hear Yan Huan's voice as he was unable to stop him. His eyes blurred instantly and he fell into a fog as thick as gray sauce.
Memory is actually an unreliable witness. People have thousands of ideas about the same thing, and thus thousands of different memories at the same time. When faced with an extremely paranoid and cruel ghost, ordinary people should not believe their narratives.
However, there was nothing distorted or unusual about the ghost mother's memory. It was just very dim in color, like a play composed of black, white and gray.
Liu Fuguang has already seen the protagonist of the play.
It was a village of neither big nor small, with a tranquil river running through it. A breeze blew, and waves of wheat rolled in the farmlands, creating a truly leisurely pastoral scene. On this day, a new bride was brought into the village with music and dance.
The dark wedding sedan carrying the bride looked like a large, heavy stain, while the groom was overjoyed, but his face was blurred. The bride was carried down from the sedan, stepped over the brazier, and was surrounded by a group of laughing men, women, young and old.
"It's time for the bride to take off her veil!" The snotty-nosed boy started to make a noise. The groom lifted up the veil, and both he and Liu Fuguang saw the face of a young girl, which was covered with too much white cream and too thick lip balm. It was almost like a heavy, powdered mask, covering up all her joys, sorrows, anger and happiness.
"What a beautiful bride!" everyone said.
After the veil was lifted, the bride was to be looked at by her parents-in-law in public. The matchmaker happily circled around the bride three times, then suddenly slapped her in the face, loudly and forcefully, on her buttocks, and said in a loud voice, "With such a big buttocks, she must be a good fertile girl!"