Eight figures.
Holding hands, they had practically become a warning line.
Blocking Fang Xun's advance.
Fang Xun tentatively took a step back, and the figures on the ground gradually vanished. When he moved forward, the figures reappeared—and there were still eight of them.
After thinking for a moment.
He took out another object.
It was a ballpoint pen.
The pen had already cracked. Transparent tape had been wrapped around it, barely keeping it from falling apart.
And at the tip.
The ink refill had fallen out.
Only a small hole remained.
A ballpoint pen like this could not be used to write.
But in the Supernatural World, things related to "pens" were often not used for ordinary writing. Instead, they served as key props in certain rituals.
"Clack!"
A drawing board was thrown onto the ground, making a soft sound.
White paper was spread across the board.
The paper was fine and smooth, pure white.
It looked high-quality.
"A weird tale, huh?"
"Of course it needs a little ritual atmosphere before it can be called a weird tale."
Fang Xun muttered under his breath.
It sounded as if he were explaining things to Jiang Qiao beside him, yet also as if he were talking to himself and convincing himself.
Jiang Qiao said nothing, merely watching in silence.
Fang Xun picked up the ballpoint pen and began drawing circles on the white paper. As he drew, he chanted, "Ouija, Ouija, I am both your past life and your present life."
"Our fates are intertwined. Please draw a circle on the paper..."
Rip!
Rip!
The ballpoint pen had no refill. Ink came out in clumps, intermittently, and from time to time it even tore the paper. The circles it drew were irregular as well, crooked and twisted, looking more like random scribbles.