The crowd was far too thick to push through. Lin Jue simply stepped onto the raised curb beside the street, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to look.
Sure enough, someone was performing magic tricks.
The onlookers had ringed off a clearing about two zhang across. A wooden table sat in the open space, and behind it sat a man in coarse cloth robes. In front of him were three bowls and a few peach pits, which he constantly shifted and vanished between the bowls.
He was performing the trick of three immortals return to the cave.
Cheers and guesses rose constantly from the surrounding crowd, as though the audience were matching wits with the juggler.
Lin Jue frowned slightly.
He was not unfamiliar with this kind of trick. For the most part, it relied on sleight of hand and psychological misdirection. The more skilled the performer, the swifter their hands, and the deeper their grasp of what the spectators were thinking.
Looking closer, he frowned even more.
If the clearing were wide open, with only one man and one table surrounded on all sides by spectators, and the man could still perform with such ease, then in a world of demons and supernatural arts, Lin Jue might have entertained the possibility that "this man might truly possess some uncanny ability." Yet the wooden table was set with its back against the street wall. Very few people stood at the juggler's flanks, and several of his companions stood directly behind him, effectively blocking the angles where flaws were easiest to spot.
Lin Jue looked along those directions again.
From the flanks and the rear, it truly was easier to see through the illusion. Though few people stood there, judging by their expressions, some indeed appeared to have caught on to the trick.
Perhaps they had not seen clearly enough, or perhaps they felt such dexterity was commendable in itself and saw no need to break a man's rice bowl for no reason; in any case, no one stepped forward to expose him.
Meanwhile, the rest of the spectators watched with rapt excitement.
It was rare to have such a lively spectacle on an ordinary day, and rarer still to witness such a bizarre performance.
Lin Jue said nothing and stood there, continuing to watch.
After a short while, a bearded middle-aged man covered his hand with a colorful silk cloth and produced a bronze basin. Covering it again, he drew water from the empty basin, followed by swimming brocade carp.
The onlookers erupted into wave after wave of cheers.
Many people's eyes widened in amazement, gleaming with excitement.
After drawing fish from the silk cloth, he moved on to pulling objects from an empty chest.
Beyond producing melons, fruits, vegetables, kittens, and puppies, he could even fetch personal items from the audience. When some rowdy bystanders clamored for him to fetch the red dudou from the widow's house at the end of the street, he actually managed to produce one.
Lin Jue remained half-believing and half-doubtful, his brows tightly furrowed.
He held on to both hope and patience.
As time ticked by, the sun rose higher, and foot traffic on the street reached its peak.
In the clearing ahead, the juggler's apprentice knelt on the ground to gather tossed coins, while the older performer paced about, addressing the audience:
"Many thanks to all you honorable patrons for your support! Coming here today, we've gathered enough for our travel expenses. Among our earlier demonstrations, there were both genuine miraculous arts and techniques born of bitter practice. I thank you all for your warm applause, and my heartfelt thanks go to those perceptive gentlemen who saw through the tricks but chose not to spoil the show. This humble one offers his deepest gratitude to you all!"
With that, he cupped his hands in a respectful bow.
The crowd was thoroughly entertained. Hearing his pleasing words, they naturally cheered in unison, clamoring for him to show something even more spectacular.
"Originally, having had no breakfast, we meant to rest, find a bite to eat, and drink a bowl of water. But since you honored patrons wish to see more, we certainly cannot dampen the spirits of such distinguished guests."
Having spoken, he waved his hand to the side.
A boy of thirteen or fourteen dashed out. In this spell of early spring cold, he wore nothing but a pair of trousers; his bare upper body was so emaciated that his ribs showed through his skin.
"Honored patrons! Those with coin, grant us your financial support; those without, grace us with your presence! May this performance bring a flourish of good fortune to all your lives! The young lad has only performed a few times, so pray do not make him lose face from embarrassment!"
It was still the older juggler speaking with cupped hands.
He certainly possessed a silver tongue.
The boy uttered not a single word. The moment he ran out, he circled the clearing twice, opening his mouth wide toward the crowd to display the inside to all present.
There was nothing inside.
Shortly after, he produced a dark pill, popped it into his mouth alongside some maltose, and chewed thoroughly. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he threw his head back, exhaling toward the sky.
"Boom..."
A great canopy of flames burst open in midair.
The onlookers jumped in fright, and the fiery spectacle immediately drew a chorus of gasps and thunderous applause.
Lin Jue was thoroughly surprised as well.
He could not tell what that dark pill was, but even if it were a combustible substance, he had seen no spark or ignition source whatsoever.
Deep in thought, Lin Jue hurried down the steps and squeezed his way forward.
"What are you pushing for?"
"Who's shoving me?"
"You brat..."
"Pardon me, coming through, pardon me."
More pedestrians were drawn over by the firelight and cries of astonishment. Coupled with the need to protect his back basket and the medicinal herbs inside, Lin Jue had to expend considerable effort before he finally squeezed his way to the center of the crowd.
"Boom!!"
Another burst of flame erupted across the sky.
The surrounding spectators were still bubbling with excitement.
What did it mean for an atmosphere to be ablaze with fervor?
This was it.
Yet the performance was already drawing to a close.
"Hoo..."
The young boy appeared utterly exhausted. Panting for breath, he paused and glanced at the middle-aged man, then at the onlookers around him. Without saying a word, he hastily lowered his head and bowed with cupped hands.
Instantly, a metallic clatter rang out.
Many people tossed coins into the center, while others threw fruits or vegetables; some even rolled eggs forward across the ground.
In these times, anything could serve as a gratuity.
Just then, however, a jarring voice sounded from the side:
"After watching for so long, I've finally seen something worthy of being called a true Stage Magic Art. Yet to bring such a crude Fire-Spitting Art to a temple fair... isn't that taking the audience for fools?"
The voice was aged, laced with undisguised contempt.
Everyone looked toward the sound to find an elderly man clad in coarse cloth robes.
"And this patron might be...?"
the middle-aged performer asked, cautiously cupping his hands.
"A fellow practitioner, you could say," the old man replied with a faint smile.
Hearing this, the middle-aged performer's expression darkened at once.
The other spectators paused in surprise, and before long, eager grins broke out across many faces as they anticipated a show.
The atmosphere had already been lively; now it climbed another notch.
"Though common wisdom says those of the same trade are sworn foes, my troupe registered with the local county magistrate upon arriving, paid our fees, and asked for proper directions. We have offended no one, nor have we stolen anyone's livelihood," the middle-aged performer said with careful deliberation. "What does the senior mean by this...?"
"You've done nothing wrong. This old man simply arrived a step behind you. When registering with the yamen, the officials said a troupe of jugglers had already filed, paid the requisite silver, and claimed the prime spot. Having nothing better to do today, I came out for a stroll, and by sheer coincidence happened upon you." The old man walked forward into the open, chuckling. "I thought I might broaden my horizons and see what talents peers from other parts possessed, but to my surprise, I found nothing truly impressive."
His tone carried a touch of helpless nonchalance, sounding as though he truly harbored no malice.
He even let out a sigh after speaking:
"When a man grows old, his mouth runs on. Whatever crosses my mind, I simply can't hold back, so out it came."
The middle-aged performer's expression shifted between anger and caution. Sizing up the surrounding crowd once more, he lowered his cupped hands and said, "Claiming we lack skill... it seems the senior has some pointers to offer!"
"Hardly pointers. Of all you performed earlier, the only thing worthy of my eye was this final display of the Fire-Spitting Art. It's just that this young lad's practice has barely crossed the threshold."
The moment those words fell, the boy who had just performed looked left and right, hanging his head and fidgeting with his fingers in mortification.
"The senior speaks no falsehood..."
Before the crowd, the middle-aged performer had kept his posture low, playing the humble, agreeable entertainer down on his luck. But now his face hardened:
"Yet my child is still young. What does a mere boy understand? Senior, pray do not shame him. This Fire-Spitting Art is something A Certain Liu has practiced for many years as well. Perhaps the senior might cast his discerning eye over it and judge my level of mastery."
Hearing this, the onlookers immediately cheered and hollered.
Lin Jue's interest was thoroughly piqued as well.
The middle-aged performer unstoppered a ceramic jar, retrieved a dark pill of his own, paired it with maltose, and chewed it. Behind him, his companions struck up the gongs, drums, and cymbals.
"Clang-crash!"
With a resounding crash of drum and cymbal, the performer threw his head back and exhaled fiercely in rhythm with the strike.
"Boom!"
This was no scattered burst of flame blooming in the air, but a straight pillar of fire shooting directly toward the heavens, measuring at least two or three zhang in length.
The column of flame was dazzlingly prominent. From higher ground, one could likely spot it several streets away. Had it been night, the blaze would have lit up the entire county town. Read this novel at NovelPing for the best experience.
Whether one knew the craft or merely watched for spectacle, anyone could tell that this required genuine foundational skill.
Without pausing, the performer exhaled several more times in rapid succession.
Accompanied by the rhythmic clamor of the instruments, the atmosphere was whipped into a frenzy, driving the crowd's excitement to an even higher pitch.
Evidently, his mastery was far deeper than the young boy's. Not only could he concentrate the flames into a solid pillar, but a single pill allowed him to spit fire three to five times rather than just once.
Presently, the man consumed another pill and circled the perimeter of the clearing, exhaling pillars of flame over the heads of the audience so they could feel the searing heat. He even fetched dry firewood, placed it into a brazier, and ignited it with a blast of breath to prove that his flames were no optical illusion, but genuine fire.
"Not bad, not bad..."
The old man clapped repeatedly and said, "Your Fire-Spitting Art does possess some mastery."
"May I ask what guidance the senior has for me?"
For a moment, the middle-aged performer looked rather pleased with himself.
"Guidance is out of the question—far from it, far from it. It's just that the patrons here might not have heard, though I wonder if my fellow practitioner has: the Fire-Spitting Art originally has two grades, higher and lower." The old man smiled faintly and continued, "The lower grade requires fire pills, flammable oils, and the like to be placed in the mouth for release, whereas the higher grade requires none of that."
The middle-aged performer started in shock.
The surrounding spectators paused for a brief beat before bursting into a clamor of chatter and shouting.
"What higher grade? Perform it and let's see!"
"Have a contest!"
"Old man, don't just boast with your mouth!"
"You old fellow are truly unreasonable! If you want to set up a stall and earn silver, head to the south of town! These folks have toiled all morning, and it hasn't been easy for them!"
At first, the old man made a show of modesty, but amidst the relentless jeering and clamor of the crowd, he finally stepped into the ring.
Unhurried, he took no fire pill. Instead, he simply walked over to the brazier the middle-aged performer had ignited, which was brimming with burning firewood and dancing flames. He offered a slight smile to the onlookers, then abruptly bent down and inhaled deeply.
"Ssssp..."
Instantly, the fire curled into a vortex, tapering from thick to thin as though possessed of a spirit, spiraling upward and burrowing straight into his mouth.
The onlookers fell dead silent.
Looking at the old man, there was not the slightest sign of injury.
He also opened his mouth wide to show the audience; nothing remained inside.
Then, without warning, he parted his lips and exhaled:
"Boom..."
Another pillar of flame shot toward the sky.
The sight left the spectators completely dumbfounded.
Lin Jue's eyes widened as well.
Though this fiery column was not as long as the middle-aged performer's and appeared somewhat looser, the old man had consumed nothing. Furthermore, the sheer visual impact of swallowing fire into one's belly and spitting it back out was vastly superior.
For a moment, it seemed no different from the methods of an immortal.
"Since everyone's hospitality is impossible to refuse, this old man could not decline, and had no choice but to make a fool of himself. However, pray step back a bit. I am advanced in years, and my physical vigor cannot compare to these robust men and youths. The flames I spit scatter easily; should they singe your hair or skin, I cannot be held responsible."
"Boom..."
Just like the middle-aged performer before him, the old man circled the clearing, blasting pillars of fire over the crowd so they could feel the scorching heat, even singeing a few people's hair to prove the reality of the flames.
With the percussion pounding in the background, the spectators' terror and awe deepened further.
"Boom..."
A gust of flame swept past right above Lin Jue's head.
Lin Jue was among the few who had not retreated. Even as the fire passed overhead, he merely shielded the opening of the basket in front of him, leaving his head unprotected—just as the old man had claimed, his vigor was inferior to that of a younger man and his fire was more diffuse. Lin Jue immediately felt the scorching, surging power of the blaze.
At the same time, a peculiar sensation welled within his heart.
It suddenly clicked in Lin Jue's mind—
Back in the Wang Family Ancestral Hall of Heng Village, when the smoke exhaled by that demon had swept toward him, he had felt this exact same sensation.
He simply did not know whether things were truly as he suspected.
In a daze, Lin Jue raised a hand to touch his head.
A few strands of hair were slightly curled.