Chapter 472: 牌位

Audience Expectation Value: 1Audience Expectation Value: 1Current Expectation Value: 69

As Chen Ling's apricot-colored eyes opened, a heavy "anchor" plunged into his consciousness. The confusion retreated from his side, and the tearing sensation in his mind vanished without a trace.

He took a deep breath, and his apricot eyes were filled with a cold majesty. His furious voice roared like thunder:

"'Mockery'—!"

"When... when was it your turn to take the stage?!"

The moment this voice rang out, a theater rapidly materialized around Chen Ling. He felt as if he had fallen once more onto the stage of the theater that only existed in his dreams. Countless spotlights illuminated the space above, like brilliant suns, fiercely sweeping away the darkness!

Under this light, they flowed like water over the edge of the stage, returning to the audience seats, transforming back into grinning, crimson faces, staring intently at Chen Ling on the stage.

Chen Ling jolted awake on the stage, as if he had just had a dream. His back was drenched in sweat. He stood up, looking at the numerous "audience members" in the seats, his expression fluctuating between uncertainty and grimness.

To be honest, Chen Ling himself wasn't sure what had just happened. It seemed that after his Master's brush touched his brow, his consciousness fell into a chaotic state—even deeper than sleep, so much so that the dream theater itself didn't appear.

That chaotic state must have been what his Master called "formless and selfless," where even the theater and audience were temporarily blocked. However, as he continuously delved into the deepest parts of his memory, he inadvertently unearthed the deepest "confusion," which allowed the audience to crawl out through the gap, temporarily seizing his consciousness and body. Fortunately, after finding an "anchor," he regained a small portion of his consciousness, re-summoned the theater, and used its power to force all the audience members back.

Only when the expectation value is below 20 can the audience intervene in a performance; that's the theater's rule. Now, with the audience exploiting a loophole and disregarding the rules, they were naturally suppressed by the theater's force.

"After acquiring 'Crimson Visage,' the audience's oppressive power over me seems to have lessened somewhat..." Chen Ling said, looking at his hands, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Whereas before, when the audience possessed his body, Chen Ling was completely powerless, during the process of forcing them back just now, he distinctly felt that he had gained a little power to resist them. Of course, it was only a little.

Even so, it was still a qualitative leap for Chen Ling. If one day his "Crimson Visage" neared perfection, it might mean that he would possess the capital to directly confront the audience. Even if the expectation value dropped to 13 or lower, and his body was completely occupied by the audience, he could still reclaim it!

As the theater's order returned to normal, Chen Ling closed his eyes, his consciousness gradually detaching from the theater, as if he were waking from a dream.

The dark facial mask on Chen Ling's face gradually faded, and two streaks of apricot-red appeared at the corners of his eyes.

An unfinished, simple facial mask replaced the audience's face. This mask perfectly fit Chen Ling's face, even appearing like a vivid eye makeup drawn directly onto his original face, completely natural.

Chen Ling slowly opened his eyes and was involuntarily stunned by the surrounding sight.

"This is..."

Only then did Chen Ling realize that he had, at some unknown point, left the performance stage and arrived in a desolate desert. Before him stood an ancient ancestral hall. Standing at the entrance and looking inside, he could vaguely make out four memorial tablets displayed within.

Ordinarily, from this distance, Chen Ling wouldn't have been able to clearly read the inscriptions on the tablets. However, at this moment, he was in his "Crimson Visage" state; the eye makeup Chen Yan had drawn for him had merged with his mystic pupils, seemingly granting him enhanced visual power.

In that instant, Chen Ling seemed to discern the names on the four tablets.

—Nameless Actors.

Four tablets inscribed "Nameless Actors" were arranged in the center of the ancestral hall. Even in such a desolate desert, these tablets and the interior of the hall were spotless. Candlelight flickered in the dimness, shrouding the four tablets in a veil of mystery.

Chen Ling froze. Before he could look more closely, a figure appeared in front of him, completely blocking his view.

"Master?"

Seeing the person, Chen Ling spoke instinctively.

"You succeeded," the Master said, looking at him calmly. "Although it's only a rudimentary form, you truly have your own facial mask now. To what extent you can complete it and what power you can imbue it with in the future, that's up to you."

Chen Ling raised a hand, touching the corner of his eye, then seemed to recall something:

"Master, where is this place? How did I get here?"

"You've forgotten how you got here?"

Seeing his Master's expression, Chen Ling suddenly had a bad feeling. He had actually suspected it earlier, as the audience never did anything good whenever they possessed his body. It seemed likely that this time, too, they had used his body to cause trouble within the Ancient Trove of Theatrical Arts.

"...This time, nothing was broken, was it?" Chen Ling asked cautiously.

He remembered last time, when he accidentally shattered the Mirror of True Self, causing his Master immense heartache and leading to days of resentful glances directed at him.

His Master let out a cold snort and slowly said, "Did you think your Master and your senior disciples were just idly standing by? You're still a few years too early to turn the Ancient Trove of Theatrical Arts upside down."

Chen Ling finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Master, then this ancestral hall..."

"This is not a place you should be," the Master interrupted Chen Ling. "Go back. They are still worried about you."

Seeing that his Master was unwilling to discuss it, Chen Ling wisely didn't ask further. After thanking his Master, he walked straight back the way he came. His Master remained standing at the entrance of the ancestral hall, his theatrical robe fluttering in the sand-laden wind, silently watching Chen Ling depart.

His Master lives in a place like this?

As Chen Ling walked through the desert, the small, peculiar ancestral hall came to mind again. He could sense that this was the very core of the Ancient Trove of Theatrical Arts, much like the sword at the heart of the Ancient Trove of Military Arts. But he never imagined that the core of the Theatrical Arts trove would look like this.

Chen Ling walked for a long time in the desert, knowing he couldn't walk out on foot. So he simply raised his hand, unveiled the Void Curtain, and disappeared from the desert.

Only after Chen Ling had completely left did the figure in the theatrical robe in front of the ancestral hall gently close his eyes.

"Sigh..."

The Master sighed deeply and turned back into the ancestral hall. The desert wind swirled outside the door, making a low wailing sound, and the theatrical robe flickered between light and shadow in the dim candlelight.

He looked at the four memorial tablets in the center of the ancestral hall, his gaze complex. As he opened a hidden compartment beneath the tablet table, a USB drive lay quietly inside.

He murmured to himself:

"This time, we will definitely succeed... won't we?"