Chapter 2: Tortoise Blood Nail

  Under the dim moonlight, two figures, one old and one young, kept moving back and forth. A shovel dug into a small mound of earth, and with a heave, "thud", the excavated soil was flung to one side. The birds in the forest were startled by the commotion and took flight, their dark silhouettes cast on the ground, adding an eerie atmosphere to the quiet woods.

  That older man looked up at the moon and said, "I've brought this upon myself! Yang Zhan, oh Yang Zhan, I must have owed you in my past life. Ancestors above, please spare me!"

  "Boss, let's cut to the chase." The young man who spoke had a clear and handsome face, with bright eyes that shone even more brightly under the moonlight: "You've been having a streak of bad luck lately, the theater troupe has been plagued by misfortune, wanting to perform but the stage collapsed, performing on stage only to be struck by lightning - this is an omen. If I'm not mistaken, someone must be secretly plotting against you."

  The master's body shook, and he finally stopped talking. The energy to dig his own ancestral grave came back, and finally, only a thin layer of soil was left on the coffin. The master threw away the iron shovel in his hand, wiped away the thin soil with both hands, and suddenly looked shocked: "This coffin lid is upside down!"

  "This is just right." The young man looked closely, his nose twitched as he sniffed, and his expression changed slightly: "Master, this person has a great grudge against you. The inverted coffin lid will already bring you bad luck, and this person has even nailed turtle blood nails on the coffin. Within three days, all things will go awry; within seven days, your incense will be cut off, poison!"

  The host's face turned pale, and the young man smiled: "It doesn't matter, it's only been four days now, there is still hope, however..."

  "If there's anything you need, just ask." The class master had been with this young man for five years and knew his temperament well. His cleverness was a given, but what was even more impressive was that he never went to the ten-li foreign market to cause trouble, which truly wasted his talent.

  "I want to go on stage." The young man smiled slightly: "The horn is on stage."

  Head of the troupe, the leader was taken aback, looking down at the coffin lid that had been secretly turned over, and the six black iron nails with a reddish tint, gritting his teeth: "Good, but you must not ruin our theater troupe's reputation!"

  The young man withdrew his smile, first pulling out the six turtle blood nails nailed to the coffin lid, but instead of covering the coffin lid again, he expanded the space of the tomb horizontally and moved the position of the coffin lid. The master was puzzled: "What is this for?"

  "Let's move." The young man said.

  The master of the troupe had long known that this young man was a bit strange, according to others in the troupe. He would often lock himself in his room, holding an old book and staring at it, or laugh at a painting. But this young man knew how to read the wind and water, and over the past few years, the troupe had risen to fame thanks to the several places he had chosen. However, recently, their luck had taken a turn for the worse and never came back.

  While the class master was distracted, the young man had already accomplished his task. He clapped his hands and said, "Class master, please re-cover the soil!"

  The poor fifty-year-old class master had no choice but to listen to the young man's command, and the two of them immediately disappeared into the forest. Behind them, a small mound was faintly enveloped by a purple aura...

  "Stand up straight, hook your hands, and kick your feet!" A slender master with a thin stick in his hand gave orders to the clear-faced Yang Zhenqing: "Tomorrow you will be on stage, even if you have talent, you can't lose face for me and the whole troupe. Ten years of work backstage, a moment of distinction on stage, do you understand?"

  "One who is self-satisfied will surely be unsatisfied." Yang Yanqing responded loudly: "The disciple knows!"

  "Master, are you really going to let our junior brother play the dan role? He's clearly suited for a martial role." A young man wearing an iron-gray changshan said in confusion.

  Yang Yanqing grumbled: "A man can be flexible, whether he's a dan or a sheng, as long as he knows who he is, that's enough. Eldest brother, why must you get hung up on whether I'm a sheng or a dan?"

  The master nodded in approval: "With three senior brothers supporting the martial arts, only this flower dan is a character that our theater cannot bring out. Now there are famous dans in both the north and south, to survive, we must cultivate a dan jiao, fortunately, Yan Qing is willing, let's see how it goes tomorrow."

  Yang Yanqing closed his eyes and lowered his head, the theater troupe was just a hiding place, the dan role was the best disguise for a big man, one day he would spread his wings and fly high.

  After finishing his kung fu practice, Yang Jianqin rushed into the house, took out that exquisite box and placed it in front of him, knocked three loud heads: "Grandfather, grandson is here to pay respects to you."

  In the box, the painting and the fate were neatly placed together. For five years, the young man took a deep breath, stretched out his hand to unfold the painting, when suddenly a gust of wind blew open the window, and the sunlight outside shone directly on the painting. A few shadows fell on the table, and the young man's body shook violently - the painting had a hidden layer!

  Yang Yanqing used his speed to tear the painting from the middle, and saw that inside were sheets of book pages. He immediately turned back to lock the door, and also tightly closed the windows, not leaving any gap.

  The pages were all laid out on the table, five years had passed, and this ray of light made these words reappear. Father was right, one must understand it oneself to gain something. After putting the pages back in their original place, there were three pages that couldn't be put back into the book. One of them turned over, and the three powerful characters on it made Yang Zhen's throat choke: "Grandpa..."

  Three pages as a farewell letter, Yang Yanqing read it word by word, stood up, lit the kerosene lamp, and put these three pages of paper on the fire, in an instant they were burned to ashes.

  The remaining pages were pieced together, and on the cover page were written three words - "Chronicle of the Air Transport"!

  Yang Yanqing slightly closed his eyes, tomorrow's stage, can only succeed, not allowed to fail, Grandpa's letter and the discovery of "Qì Yùn Lù" gave himself a reason that cannot be defeated!

  "Little Swan, you and I are so close, we can be considered as having the same heart and mind..." Yang Yanqing raised his sleeve, covered his face, and at the same time, a sweet, gentle, and beautiful singing voice flowed out, the audience below suddenly erupted in applause, cheers and whistles rose up.

  The master and the teacher exchanged a glance, this kid has made it!

  At that time, in 1921, Yang Jianqing was thirteen years old.