The groan of the earth is still a mystery, and no one wants to understand that the crying on the red road belongs to the owner. There is a red road village on the tail of Queequeg Liangzi in the south of Qiaojia County, so the tail section of Queequeg Liangzi is also called red road Liangzi. There are two famous gentlemen in the village, one is Mr. Feng and the other is Mr. Jiang. Their occupation is to preside over the funeral ceremony, and the main program is to clear the way and play around the coffin. This ceremony is almost all night, so I can't stand it if I'm in poor health. Generally, three or five gentlemen perform, including beating gongs and drums, singing scriptures, offering sacrifices to the five gods, worshiping them, burning various badges, and guiding the way. The whole process is quite complicated. I always thought it belonged to Mr. Taoist. Until I met a Mr. Liu Shucai recently, Mr. Liu said that they belonged to Confucianism. I was a little confused at once. We scholars used to belong to Confucianism. What kind of Confucianism did these guys actually create? However, when I was lying in bed at night, it suddenly occurred to me that our holiest teacher Kong and his disciples run a wedding and funeral service company. They were performing a set of wedding and funeral etiquette, but I didn't expect this ceremony to remain in this remote mountainous area of Yunnan. It's a pity that I don't do this research. I deliberately spend more ink here to attract the attention of experts in this field. It may be worth digging. I wonder if I can apply for something.
Mr. Feng's home is on a hillside in Luhong Village. A piece of bamboo was planted behind the house. There are several pomegranate trees around the gate of the courtyard dam. The fruit on the tree is as big as a fist. Red and green powders make pomegranate trees hunched over. The two Huangguoshu trees in the courtyard dam have produced fruits as big as the little finger, and they can still smell the fragrance of Huangguo. When the gate of hell opened, it was the beginning of July in the lunar calendar, and the sun had already set. As the Ghost Festival in July and a half is coming, the adults tell the children to go home before sunset and not to play outside, because all the ghosts in hell are released, and there is something evil in the village, as if there are ghosts wandering. Mr. Feng is lying on the couch in the courtyard dam to enjoy the cool, with a pot of tea at his feet, a fan in his hand constantly shaking and patting his feet from time to time to drive away mosquitoes. At this time, the gate of the courtyard dam was knocked, and Mr. Feng got up with a fan to open the door. He saw two people standing faintly at the door, saying that he wanted to ask Mr. Feng to be a Dojo. He was in a hurry and only let Mr. Feng go alone. Mr. Feng thinks that one person can't operate it, and it doesn't matter if your host family gives money according to one person's part. At the very least, you have to call someone else. Let the two men wait at the entrance of the village, while tidying up the utensils, and let the younger son call Mr. Jiang across the hall. They are all familiar with this business. Mr. Jiang quickly packed his things and went to the courtyard dam of Mr. Feng's house. The two gentlemen came to the village together, and they were still floating there. Mr. Feng said to lead the way ahead. Let's leave now.
It was dark and four people climbed the red road. Although one foot high and one foot low, after decades of business, the two gentlemen have become accustomed to the night road, and they are completely intuitive to deal with. I don't know how long it took, but Mr. Jiang felt that something was wrong with the road and said, Feng Laogui, this road seems strange tonight. The other two said, don't worry, gentlemen, the front is here. Looking up, the lights ahead are dim and a village is blurred.
They came to a family, with a dollar at the gate, suona blare blare, the helpers were bustling, the house was brightly lit, several new pits were dug on the courtyard dam, and snack food was being cooked in several big sugar pots. Guests who drink, drink tea, smoke and gossip are all around, and little men and women are flirting.
Qiaojia called the funeral a white wedding, and all the guests present were laughing and laughing. The sadness of the host family has nothing to do with them. Of course, some people with shallow tears shed a few irrelevant tears with their sad sons. The villagers are very busy all year round, and often take this opportunity to secretly relax and catch up with the past.
Mr. Jiang Feng set up a square table in front of the coffin, wrote down the spirit tablet and the spirit tablet on the spot, filled in the names of the deceased in various prefabricated chapters, and then placed drums, gongs, cymbals and other musical instruments to start the Dojo.
Unconsciously, the night is still. It should be a midnight snack, but you can't wait left and right. Both gentlemen are hungry. Mr. Jiang borrowed the toilet to look at the cooker. He was so scared that his legs and feet couldn't do anything. I saw the pot was full of crickets, and the pile on the chopping board was also called crickets. After all, after working for decades, Mr. Jiang knew something was wrong. He quickly returned to the throne, picked up the big raft and threw it hard. At that time, there was no one in the village, and there were graves all around. Mr. Feng leaned against a grave, half man, half ghost, clutching dirt with both hands and stuffing it into his mouth. Mr. Jiang didn't think about anything else, so he picked up Mr. Feng and ran.
When they got home, both gentlemen fell ill, and within three days, Mr. Feng died. Then every day when the sun goes down, there is a sad voice shouting on the red Liangzi Road: "Mr. Jiang-we didn't invite you ..." After almost a month, Mr. Jiang also died, and so did the shouts on the red road.
Later, it was said that when Mr. Feng was working as a Dojo in a family in Kuige, he accepted the benefits of his master's enemy and did something with a conscience before he was entangled in ghosts.