"Tap."
"Tap."
"Tap."
The knocking drew closer, its rhythm perfectly even.
The sound echoed across the empty expanse of wilderness, carrying an indescribable stiffness as it steadily approached them.
Liao Tieshan tightened his grip on the Paper Money in his hand.
He murmured:
"They're here."
Liao Qing said nothing.
The iron shovel glinted coldly in the night, emanating an icy, bloody aura.
The Scar-faced man and his three assistants also tightened their grips on their weapons, holding their breath as they stared fixedly at the darkness at the end of the dirt road.
Even Jiang Qiao, atop the brick kiln, narrowed his eyes slightly.
Soon.
A procession slowly emerged from the darkness.
The first to appear were two people dressed in black long robes. Their clothes were of an antiquated style, like something from decades ago. The fabric had faded pale, and the edges were torn in places.
Each of them leaned on a long, slender bamboo pole.
With every step they took, the bamboo poles struck the Stone Slab Road once, producing that tapping sound.
Their faces were pale.
Their eyes were vacant.
They walked stiffly and mechanically, like puppets controlled by strings.
Behind them were six Burly Men carrying boxes.
These Burly Men wore the same dull gray old clothes, their faces deathly pale and expressions wooden. They carried three large chests, with two thick wooden poles threaded through the handles, three in front and three behind. Their steps were astonishingly synchronized.
Yet...
As these Burly Men walked.
Their feet did not touch the ground!
With every step, the soles of their feet hovered about an inch above the earth. They looked as though they were walking, yet also floating. No footprints were left behind, not even the grass was trampled.
More than that.
Their shadows pointed in