Shanxi Dramatists Association, an unofficial organization established by dramatists in Shanxi Province, has a history of more than 60 years.

Decades of changes in the times have made the system of the Dramatists Association more complete, but many of the older generation of dramatists who single-handedly contributed to the establishment of the Association have retired.

There are staff on duty in the association, but it's a pity that she is a young woman, and she doesn't know anything about Jiang Xin's question.

As for those old artists, Jiang Xin didn't see any of them anyway, either they were recuperating at home, or they went there to listen to the play.

"Bad start, bad start." Standing on the street, Jiang Xin, who rarely encountered this kind of situation, was a little dazed for a while.

Whether it is the previous generation or this life, Jiang Xin can always find a goal for himself: study, experiment, practice or cultivation, acquire ability, participate in Luo Tian Dajiao...

These goals either have a clear path to completion, or they can be carried out in the short term, and Jiang Xin rarely sets a goal that he doesn't know how to accomplish

But now, he has a goal, but this goal is a little too ethereal and too far away.

This feels like putting an extremely advanced math problem in front of Jiang Xin, Jiang Xin knows to study and solve the problem, but the key problem is that he doesn't even know the type name of the problem, and he knows where to start learning.

Here's the problem, here's the goal.

However, there is no way to start.

"Sure enough, I still need some outside help." Jiang Xin looked at the billboard on the tall building in the distance, and had some new ideas in his heart.

In the drama theater, Jiang Xin looked at the signboard: "Ask, have there been any recent performances by masters?" ”

"Lately—" The man inside pondered for a moment, rummaging through a roster: "There it is! Three days later, there was a performance by Master Zhang. ”

"Master Zhang?" I don't know about drama, Jiang Xin doesn't know what the meaning of this name is, but thinking that he can be called a master by the staff, he took out the money: "Okay, can you give me a ticket?" ”

"No problem."

Three days later, with the crowded flow of people, Jiang Xin entered the venue and found his seat.

In a moment, the stage lights came on and the corner appeared.

"In ~Miyain~"

"I ~received~ the will of long live..."

“......”

Off the stage, looking at the people around him listening to it as if they were fascinated, Jiang Xin's eyes were full of confusion, and he couldn't hear where the essence of this drama was: "This... Can't hear what's so good about it? ”

Looking at the drama on the stage, although he was not a stranger, but his eyes were shining, Jiang Xin's heart moved: However, this time he should be able to ask for information about ghost singing, right?

That Master Zhang is also an old man, and he won't appear on the stage after a play, seeing this, Jiang Xin walked into the toilet, and when he came out again, he had already become a staff member who could enter and leave the backstage.

In a separate room backstage, Jiang Xin saw Master Zhang, who had just taken the stage to sing, although he was fifty or sixty years old, his spirit was not weaker than that of ordinary young people.

Looking at his skeleton eyes again, Jiang Xin could see at a glance that this old man was not very human, even if he was not an alien, he should be an extraordinary person who was aware of the existence of Qi.

There are Qi refiners in the world, but not all Qi refiners can be called Inhumans, only the Qi refiners who have realized the strange ability from Qi are Inhumans, and the rest of the Qi refining Qi is just to help the body be strong.

In ancient times, singing opera required spirit, and it is not strange that these old opera actors can learn how to refine qi, if not, it is a little strange to be able to sing a big drama neatly with a mortal body.

"Master Zhang, I can count on seeing you." In Zhang Anshi's somewhat puzzled eyes, Jiang Xin pulled a stool and sat beside him.

"You are?" Zhang Anshi looked at Jiang Xin's pupils and physique, but did not find Jiang Xin's identity, and suspected a fanatic in his heart.

"My surname is Jiang, and I came to you this time because I wanted to consult you about some dramatic matters." Jiang Xin smiled: "I'm also forced to be helpless, I can't find it outside, so I can only think about finding an old artist like you to understand the situation." ”

"Ask about the play?" Zhang Anshi pondered for a moment, raised his head and smiled: "Okay, you can say it." ”

Seeing that Zhang Anshi agreed, Jiang Xin didn't talk nonsense, and went straight to the point: "You know that there is such a drama, it is not sung and enjoyed by the living, but only listened to ghosts and gods, and the folk seem to call it singing ghost plays." ”

"Singing ghost shows?" Zhang Anshi's brows suddenly furrowed: "That's all folk legends, I have listened to opera and singing since I was a child, and I have never seen even a ghost troupe." ”

"You've heard of it?" Jiang Xin's eyes suddenly lit up, and he immediately took out the photo in his mobile phone: "Look at this face." ”

"Facebook?" Zhang Anshi turned his mobile phone, and the next moment, he was fascinated by the deep lines on the grimace, and he was able to break free after a long time.

With a heavy sigh of relief, the look on Zhang Anshi's face became extremely solemn: "Now, I believe the rumor you said about singing ghost shows." ”

Jiang Xin took back his mobile phone and was a little curious: "What did Master Zhang see?" ”

"It's just some rumors about the old people in the family." Zhang Anshi shook his head, and then sighed: "If you want to know, it doesn't hurt to tell you." ”

"You say."

"This face is actually divided, not just a casual drawing." Zhang Anshi's eyes were far away, and he fell into the memory: "That... It was a long time ago......"

A few decades ago, Taiyuan was an ordinary laneway.

As the sun gradually set, an old-looking man who looked upright was holding an ink pen and basking in the sunset, carefully leaving color marks on the blank mask.

At this time, a crisp children's voice came from outside.

"Grandpa, what are you doing?"

At the end of a day of leather play with his friends, a boy who looked no more than eight or nine years old ran back from outside in a hurry and hugged the old man who was sketching the lines.

Suddenly hugged by the boy, the ink pen in the old man's hand trembled, and in an instant, a discordant pen mark was left on the mask.

Looking at the work that had been ruined, the old man sighed inwardly, but he didn't blame the boy, but touched the boy's head, pulled him to his side with a smile, and pointed to the mask: "Do you know what this is?" ”

"I don't know." The boy looked at the mask and shook his head honestly: "But it's so beautiful!" ”

"Pretty?" The craftsman smiled when he heard this: "That's right, it's beautiful, it's beautiful." This was drawn by my grandfather himself. ”

"Grandpa, you drew it?" The boy looked at the abstract lines of the face, and looked innocent: "Grandpa, are you painting Guan Gong?" ”

"Yes, grandpa painted Guan Gong." Putting the ruined face in the boy's hand, the craftsman pointed to the face and said, "Come, talk to grandpa, how do you know that grandpa drew Guan Gong?" ”

Holding the face, the boy was silent for a while, and finally shook his head: "I don't know either, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it was Guan Gong." ”

"That's right!" The old man was loud.