Chapter 567: Half-bent Opera Tune Surprises the Mortal World

As soon as these words were spoken, most of the guests present turned their gaze to the red-robed figure at the back of the crowd.

Li Hanxiang stroked his beard in the crowd, his eyes narrowed in a smile as he looked at Chen Ling. Chen Ling was reminded of childhood New Year visits to relatives, where he'd be asked to stand up and perform while eating. Li Hanxiang's words were uttered with the full demeanor of a senior figure.

Anyone unaware of the situation might have thought he was a genuine elder, kindly offering a chance to perform.

In the crowd, Huang Suyue's gaze towards Li Hanxiang grew colder.

"Miss, this is trouble," Uncle Quan said, his brows tightly furrowed. "His words have drawn everyone's attention to the Special Envoy... The Special Envoy is here to investigate; how could he possibly sing opera?"

"He's courting death!" Huang Suyue scoffed. Just as she was about to open her mouth to find a way to help Chen Ling, Chen Ling offered a faint smile.

"Alright," Chen Ling replied, holding his oil-paper umbrella in the rain, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "In that case... I shall perform a piece."

Huang Suyue froze. Kong Baosheng was also stunned; he instinctively tugged at Chen Ling's sleeve and whispered, "Sir, that old man is looking for an opportunity to publicly humiliate you... You mustn't go."

Chen Ling didn't speak, just smiled silently at him, then, holding his oil-paper umbrella, walked unhurriedly towards the stage.

Boom— Amidst the ink-dark clouds, peals of thunder rumbled, as if the wrath of the gods was about to descend upon the human world.

Sudden, heavy raindrops hammered on the white canopy. Wang Jincheng, Director of the Police Bureau, stood at the edge of the rain curtain, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked up at the overcast sky, his eyes slightly narrowed: "The Floating World Scroll is here... This time, none of you will escape." He forcefully stamped out the spent cigarette under his foot and walked straight towards the venue.

At Mu Chunsheng's private residence, a dark red glow gradually intensified, completely enveloping the old man in the wheelchair. It resembled a writhing, blood-colored flesh orb, from which agonizing screams emanated, as if he were undergoing the torture of flaying and bone extraction.

Zhong Qi stood by the door, watching the scene, his brows knitting into a worried frown. He gazed at Mu Chunsheng, who was being consumed by the flesh orb, feeling tense and uneasy.

Liu Zha slowly walked to the window, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and glanced at the sky, which was dark with heavy clouds pressing down on the city. "Damn it... They're making their move."

"It's almost complete," Fei Jia said in a deep voice. "Get ready, be prepared to break out at any moment."

In a corner of the room, inside an exquisite gift box labeled "Li Ruohong," a high-yield explosive lay silently in the darkness, a fuse capable of igniting everything, now silently lit...

Drip—drop—drip— In the rain, an oil-paper umbrella silently moved through the crowd. All the guests instinctively made way, watching the figure in the grand red opera robe slowly ascend the magnificent stage.

The ink-dark clouds hung like mountains, pressing down on everyone's hearts. Though it was still afternoon, the surroundings were as dim as if night had fallen... The unease and sense of suppression in everyone's hearts grew stronger.

And in this suffocating oppressive atmosphere, a strikingly vibrant red figure stood firm amidst the wind and rain. It was like a defiant, wild splash of color in absolute suppression, like a ferocious beast slowly extending its fearsome claws.

For some reason, everyone's attention was firmly drawn to that red figure... As if only by watching him could they remember to breathe beneath this black sky.

Chen Ling tossed his oil-paper umbrella below the stage and stood silently in the rain, letting the water soak his hair and clothes. There was no tradition of performing opera with an umbrella in this world.

Witnessing this, Li Hanxiang, standing below the stage, frowned and scoffed, "What a pretense..."

No one paid attention to Li Hanxiang's words, for at that moment, all eyes were fixed on the red-robed figure on the stage. Chen Ling slowly raised his hand in the rain, his lips gently parting. The next instant, a melodious and remarkably penetrating opera voice resonated through the downpour!

"Outside the Spring-Autumn Pavilion, wind and rain rage; from where does a sorrowful voice break the quiet? Through the curtain, only a bridal sedan chair is seen; presumably, a newlywed crosses the magpie bridge..."

The moment Chen Ling sang the first line, everyone in the venue subtly shivered, as if struck by lightning, suddenly awakening from their previous state of oppressive bewilderment.

The melodious tune reverberated through the rain. With every turn of Chen Ling's melody, every word uttered from his lips, an indescribable feeling rose within their hearts. It was as if something had melted inside them, a tingling sensation flowing through their limbs.

Among the many guests present, very few understood opera, but anyone with ears could tell that Chen Ling's singing style was completely different from Li Hanxiang's. Whether it was the timbre, the melody, or the transitions between words, Chen Ling was more than capable of surpassing Li Hanxiang... What the two sang was completely worlds apart.

Amateurs couldn't discern the extent of the technical difference between the two; they only knew that Chen Ling sang much more beautifully than Li Hanxiang. However, to the ears of connoisseurs, it was entirely different.

At this moment, the disdain and mockery on Li Hanxiang's face gradually solidified into a blank stare. He gazed at the red-robed figure on the stage, his eyes wide with bewilderment and disbelief. "Impossible, how can this be... How old is he? *The Unicorn Purse*... How can it be sung like this?"

In the crowd, Kong Baosheng's mouth involuntarily gaped open, wide enough to fit a goose egg. Although young, his insight into opera was exceptionally keen. Even the once-famous performers under his grandmother's tutelage might not have sung better than Chen Ling did now.

"The Special Envoy... he actually knows how to sing opera??" Uncle Quan was shocked.

No one would have imagined that the Special Envoy, who half a year ago wore a golden mask and stirred up the entire main city with a mere lift of his hand, would possess such a masterful level in opera. Uncle Quan was a man of experience, but the moment Chen Ling opened his mouth, all the operas he had ever heard paled in comparison.

Uncle Quan turned his head, about to say something to Huang Suyue, but suddenly froze in place.

Beside him, the legendary young heiress who had commanded the business world stood motionless, like a statue. It was as if her soul had been taken, her eyes reflecting nothing but the red-robed figure, utterly oblivious to her surroundings.

With no accompaniment, no dancers, the red-robed figure stood solitary on the stage. As the melody shifted, he lightly waved his red sleeves, his movements and expressions completely merged with the character in the play—at times sorrowful to the point of tears, at others bleak and forlorn...

Every gesture, every frown, every smile of his seemed to possess a magical quality, pulling at the heartstrings of everyone present.

Meanwhile.

Outside the manor, the audience members who had "audited" all the performances and were packing up to leave, involuntarily stopped in their tracks.

They suddenly turned back in the rain, listening to the melodious opera voice emanating from within the manor, exchanging bewildered glances.

"Who... is that?"