The progress of the charlatan is not very smooth.

That night, it was almost midnight when we arrived at Yao Village. Fortunately, Chen Wangu's wife Ma Juanhong was very handsome and knocked on the door of a villager, so the group could have a place to sleep - otherwise, they would have to curl up in the car until dawn.

After dawn, Ma Juanhong went to the house and looked for this and that, and soon pulled up a group of old wives who were best at picking flowers. The women gathered together and chatted at the knotted rope drawn by Zhang Jiang's divine eyes and talked a lot.

The old ladies speak Yao language, like listening to the heavenly book. Although Ma Juanhong is a Yao ethnic group, Yao language has dialect branches, and communication is not as smooth as imagined. Sometimes, even with gestures, one or two Chinese sentences appear from time to time, and the charlatan is on the side and can't even insert a half sentence.

However, after breakfast, the old wives were having a "conference and discussion". Seeing that it was almost noon, they were still discussing, and from time to time you shoved me, I pushed you, and laughed.

It wasn't for you to have a tea party, the charlatan was a little anxious and asked Ma Juanhong, "It's time to discuss. All the tricks are here, just embroider."

Ma Juanhong and Shen Wangu are quite married, both of whom are tall and slightly fat. However, she is more straightforward than Chen Wangu, and she says whatever she wants.

She said: "Uncle Stick, you guys are so arrogant and don't understand. They always think that when you buy things from the vegetable market, you can turn your head and become hot dishes. When you throw dirty clothes at that time, you will wash them and iron them. You will wait for your body next day, as if there is no program or hard work in the middle..."

Chen Wangu felt this harsh words: "Hey, hey, who are you talking about?"

Ma Juanhong didn't even take it and looked at him: "Whoever feels guilty, I will just say whoever I say."

She continued to be polite: "This picking flowers cannot be achieved by having a trick. You ask you exactly the same thing: I'll ask you, how many lines are there? Which one is the one that is pressed? Where to combine stocks and where to split them. If you don't discuss them clearly, can it work?"

He specializes in his profession, but the genius is speechless.

Chen Wangu hurriedly pulled Ma Juanhong aside: "Then I can't let my uncle wait, you have to fill up his schedule."

He has to keep busy with something, and he will look at this and that one at a time. It will be less tormented to wait for the flowers to pick them up.

Ma Juanhong knows it.

...

So next, the charlatan was arranged with two schedules.

First, visit the only Wu Nuo master in the village.

Many ethnic minorities in western Hunan have their own Wu Nuo mages, but their names are different. For example, the Miao people are called "Badai", while the Yaoshan mages are called "Bame".

This Bame Master looked not amazing, just a dull and thin old man. When several people came to the door, he was preparing to pickle bacon: squatted in a small yard, carefully placing the pine, cypress and orange peels that were prepared to smoke the bacon.

The charlatan is not surprised by this: many Wu Nuo wizards usually just farmers who don’t know a single word. Only when they wear Wu Nuo masks can they transform into a bridge to the secluded Wu Nuo world.

The old man couldn't say a word of Chinese. Ma Juanhong muttered to him for a long time. He nodded repeatedly, and then went back to his room, taking out a very fashionable photo frame.

In the photo frame, there was a photo of two people, one of which was the old man wearing a gorgeous and fancy mage uniform, and the other seemed to be a reporter with a camera on his shoulder.

Ma Juanhong explained to the charlatan: "The mage said that it is no problem to help. He has accepted interviews from many TV stations. This photo was taken during an interview with China National Geographic."

He is so high-end and fashionable? The charlatan respects the mage in awe.

"But," said Ma Juanhong, "He can't guarantee that he can interpret it all. Let me give you an example. The Miao Wu Nuo master knows the hand-wrenching technique, what kind of body protection techniques, the magic trick, the soul-chasing trick..."

The charlatan didn't know what she wanted to say: "Yes."

"There were more than 600 people in the Republic of China. During the Republic of China, there was a national scholar named Shi Qigui who wrote the Badai Handwriting. At that time, there were only more than 60. Later, various sports were carried out, and even fewer. In short, it was too long and all of them were lost."

"Master Bame said that this is like a dictionary. The previous mage could recognize the entire thing. If it was passed on to his generation, it might be less than one-tenth of it. If he picked the flower map and embroidered it, he could only try to study it. Read it out a few, and count it."

The charlatan's heart is full of ups and downs.

With this heart in his arms, he was taken to participate in the second schedule.

Visit the village.

The guide was a young man who could speak Chinese but not speak Chinese very well, so Ma Juanhong was still with him throughout the journey. The group was like a small tour group. First, they watched the sun-made honeysuckle, and then how to preserve oil tofu. Finally, they came to the back of the village to see the ancient trees.

There are many ancient trees around the village, but this one obviously has the most special status, otherwise it would not have been pushed out so seriously.

The tree is actually not tall, about four or five meters, one or two in size, with countless vigorous roots rising from the ground, wrapping around knots, as if a root blanket with a diameter of about six or seven meters was spread under the tree.

The branches are hung with countless colorful ribbons for praying for blessings. Some are still new, some are old and they have become silk threads, and have faded. Around the bottom of the tree, there are small porcelain bowls of various colors and fragrant heads of different lengths.

The guide pointed at the tree and spoke in a non-standard Mandarin, "Dad, Dad's tree, Dad."

Ma Juanhong asked him a few words in Yao language and turned to the charlatan: "This ancient tree is said to be the oldest around the village. Many villagers in the village recognize it as a "father" in order to seek blessings, which means to send this life here and give it to the tree as a son. They think this way can eliminate disasters and avoid disasters and come to worship every festival."

The charlatan looked up and down at the tree: "How old is it?"

He only knew that when looking at the age of a tree, the annual rings should be checked, but the annual rings can only be seen if the tree body is crossed.

The guide said stutteringly: "I don't know if there is a village, there is this tree. It has two thousand years or three thousand years, and everything we say. The name of our village is related to this tree."

Yes, there is also the name of the village, I have forgotten to ask.

"What's the name of the village?"

"Stone, stone village."

This is a bit different from what I imagined: the charlatan originally expected to hear a more ancient and profound name - just like this person should have been named Chu Liuxiang, but after the name was reported, it turned out to be Chu Dabao.

He muttered, "This is too ordinary."

Shen Bang and Shen Wangu were also whispering beside each other, one thought the village was rustic, and the other thought it was too vulgar and had no temperament.

The guide was a little anxious, but he made a long speech and made a long speech, and in addition to his language ability, he turned to Yao language and kept talking to Ma Juanhong like a bean scattering.

Ma Juanhong listened seriously and nodded. Seeing Er Shen talking loudly about his opinions, she laughed it off. When they shook their heads and finished, they spoke slowly: "It's not the stone, it's the number, ten of ten."

number……

Ten...Ten Tou Village?

Damn, Chinese characters are really magical, with different homophones, and only slightly changed, the nature is completely different, and suddenly it becomes weird and bloody.

Chen Bang swallowed: "Sister-in-law, isn't it? Ten heads, ten...heads?"

Ma Juanhong nodded. She didn't keep it a secret. She told her all the legends of the past that the guide had just told her.

It is said that it was the ancestor of this branch of Huayao who lived in the north at the earliest time. Later, because of the battle between Huangdi and Chiyou, Chiyou retreated, so they had to retreat south together with many other tribes following Chiyou.

At that time, Hua Yao was the first time to enter the mountains. She didn't know much about the mountains and was very uncomfortable. She traveled hard day by day, hoping to find a place with fertile land and beautiful water to settle the whole family again.

But one day, the great leader found them and transferred most of the elites from among them, saying that they were going to do something important.

So the elderly, weak, women and children did not move forward and camped on the spot, hoping to continue to move after the group of people returned.

But when they went there, it was like a kite breaking its string and there was no news again.

The elderly, weak, women and children waited for the day, waited for the night, waited for half a month, and waited for another month, and finally realized that something was wrong. After discussing with the clan, they decided to follow the direction of their departure, follow the footprints, and search all the way.

In the end, only nearby this area, I found some familiar wearing objects and ten decaying heads. The corpses were not found. Perhaps because of their flesh, they had already been dragged away by wild beasts in the mountains.

The tribesmen knew that something was wrong, and after crying, they couldn't bear to leave, making these men become lonely ghosts who were wandering in the wild. They buried the ten heads together, planted a small sapling on the tomb, built a family here, and stayed there for generations, until now.

Over time, the sapling also grew into the oldest ancient tree in the village, which is the one in front of you.

This is why Huayao in western Hunan is distributed in Xuefeng Mountain, and this one fell swoop in the poorest deep mountain in Dawuling.

After listening to the charlatan, his already ups and downs, almost sank to the bottom of the valley.

Damn, Xiao Lianxian really made the crow's mouth a hit. The person who knew the secret had been eaten by the beasts of the blade, and the rest were just outsiders who were uninformed.

He asked in a stutter, "Is that big leader Chiyou?"

As soon as I said that I knew I was stupid.

There are many legends about Chiyou, but basically they all believe that he was defeated and killed, and was beheaded by Huangdi and buried - in any era, the struggle for power and profit is cruel.

***

For this knotted rope, the charlatan waited for a day and a half.

It’s not that the old women are slow to do things, but that they don’t have any concept of rushing to work, and they always have to be busy: they have to go back to cook, pick up firewood, and go to bed...

If you propose to increase the money or double it, it will have no incentive for them: if you have enough money, it will be useless if you want too much.

Today, I don’t know if I should laugh at or sigh at this idea.

However, the charlatan did not leave himself idle. He used this time to start sorting out notes, and the title was tentatively set as "The Legend of Xuanyi: The Box Search".

...

At night the next day, the charlatan finally saw the complete picture of picking flowers.

It's no exaggeration, the first thought that pops up in my mind is: What's this?

Because there is no color-distinguishing, it is all made of white cotton thread, one lump after another, and the stitches are sometimes tight and sparse: in some places, one thread is pressed against one, dense and solid, almost protruding from the plane, and in some places, only a few embroidered pieces were pulled, and even the bottom cloth was not covered...

He comforted himself: It would be right if this is the weirder, the stranger, the more right it is.

The picture of the flower picking was sent to Master Bame.

The mage had already put on a robe and a wu Nuo mask. The mask was carved from wood, black and oily, with hollowed-out eyes and mouth, and a circle of his head with hard and messy black hair. It looked really scary after wearing it like this.

Because the practice is generally not made public, and no recordings are allowed, Ma Juanhong repeatedly asked for it, and the mage agreed to let her and the charlatan go into the house to watch.

The house was a fire pit, very dark, and only a candle was lit on the table. Even though the doors and windows were closed, the candle flames were still floating, making people feel furious - what made people sweat even more was that Master Bamei hung the picture of the flower-picking in a corner, sat facing the corner, holding a single stringed zither in his arms, and holding a knife in his hand.

The charlatan swallowed, fearing that it would make a little sound, so he watched the mage pull the strings, muttering something in his mouth, and occasionally slap the ground with his feet on it.

The villages in the deep mountains are quiet at night, so the sound of the piano, murmur and the slap of the feet that are not regular at all sounds particularly creepy.

After a while, the sound of the piano stopped.

The intuition of the charlatan, this is the prelude.
To be continued...