The lanterns' skins were paper-thin, glowing with a ghastly pale light. They knocked against one another in the wind, giving off a ghostly wail like a sob.
Each lantern was painted with bizarre, twisted runes in cinnabar. Though they had faded under the sun and wind, they still gave off a nauseating stench of blood.
"What craftsmanship!" Yan Wangchou drew a deep breath, a hint of wariness flashing through his murky eyes.
"This doesn't look like the work of ordinary mountain bandits. These are Soul Guiding Lanterns, Evil Arts that came from the Western Desert. They're used to lure wandering ghosts inside, or trap whatever's in there and keep it from getting out."
Qian Dagui studied the swaying lanterns for a moment, then opened a chest in the corner of the carriage.
In an instant, a surge of auspicious Treasure Light nearly blinded Fang Mo.
The chest was packed neatly with all sorts of talismans, magical artifacts, and pills.
There was a Heart Protection Mirror giving off a faint golden glow, a peachwood sword covered in runes, and even several pitch-black, round Thunder Fire Beads that looked like deadly weapons.
"This is a Five Thunder Talisman from Dragon Tiger Mountain. This is a Vajra Pestle blessed by the Great Xiangguo Temple. And this is..." Qian Dagui rattled off the items like an old hand.
Fang Mo looked at the chestful of gear, enough to buy half of Wannian County, and fell silent.
Suddenly, he felt that the Golden Bones he'd always been so proud of looked downright plain and boring beside this warrior of wealth.
"Golden Light Talisman! Protective Talisman! Exorcism Talisman! Calming Talisman!"
As he chanted, he slapped them onto himself as if they cost nothing.
In the blink of an eye, his brocade robe was plastered with yellow paper, making him look like a zombie that had gained sentience. After finishing himself, he tried to stick the rest onto Fang Mo.
Fang Mo's mouth twitched. He pushed the pudgy hand away. "Keep them for yourself."
As expected of a landlord's foolish son—he really was rich. That stack of talismans had to be worth at least tens of thousands of taels of silver.
Ignoring the clown, Fang Mo narrowed his eyes slightly. Still Water Mirror, activate!
The world instantly lost its color in his eyes, leaving only black, white, and lines.
The gray mist was no longer mist, but countless tiny particles of Grievance Qi, like insects.
They drifted through the air, gathering together before finally flowing toward the depths of the village.
And beneath the seemingly lifeless village, Fang Mo saw thick red currents, like blood vessels, slowly writhing as if they were the pulse of the earth.
"What a grand scheme."
Fang Mo murmured softly, his voice betraying no emotion.
"To use an entire village as a furnace and the living souls of its people as fuel—what earth-shaking thing are they trying to forge?"
"Into the village."
Fang Mo gripped his sword hilt and strode forward first.
"Boss, this place is creepy as hell. How about we just... hang around outside?"
Yan Wangchou hunched his shoulders. Though he said this, he stayed right behind Fang Mo, while the copper Tobacco Pipe he'd used for smoking was now gripped in reverse in his hand, a faint glint of cold light at its tip.
Iron Bull said nothing. He pulled the great iron hammer that had followed him for years from beneath the carriage and hoisted it onto his shoulder. The hundred-pound lump of iron weighed no more than a feather in his hands.
Qian Dagui brought up the rear, a handful of talismans pinched in his fingers. He looked this way and that, as carefree as if he were on a spring outing.
Fang Mo had already secretly sent out Iron Bone Liu to collect the wandering ghosts at the village entrance into the Prison Suppressor. After all, even a mosquito's leg was meat; a little more Soul Debris was always good.
The moment they stepped through the village entrance, the temperature around them plummeted, as if they'd crossed straight from midsummer into late autumn.
Beneath the village entrance's old locust tree stood several stone tables, so weathered by wind and rain that their original color was impossible to make out.
Several villagers sat bolt upright on the stone stools. Even when Fang Mo and the others came right up to them, not one of them changed posture.
Fang Mo stopped and swept his gaze over the group.
An old woman was sewing the sole of a shoe. An old man held an unlit Tobacco Pipe in his hand, while two young children with their hair in little tufts squatted on the ground, playing with pebbles.
On the way, he had already asked Yuanjue and the other two. Liuxi Village wasn't on their patrol route, so they didn't know what was going on.
Since there were still living people here, that made things easier.
As long as someone was human, they had a weakness.
Fang Mo adjusted his expression, putting on the stern, inquisitive look of an official on duty, and walked toward the tree.
"Auntie, I'd like to ask you something."
He went up behind an old woman who had her back to him and seemed to be mending clothes.
The woman stopped moving.
She didn't turn around at once. Instead, her shoulders bobbed twice, and she let out a low, night-owl-like chuckle.
Then she slowly turned her head.
Her face was covered in age spots, her sagging skin like a rag draped over bone.
But her eyes were frighteningly bright.
"Please ask, sir."
The old woman grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth as black as ink. They weren't black with decay; they looked as though they'd been soaked in some kind of juice for years.
Her gaze swept over Fang Mo, then passed him to greedily fix on Qian Dagui's fair, tender skin. She licked her cracked lips.
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