"Brother Ouyang, in a world like this, we can only survive if we work together," Miao Qing said, sounding as though he was genuinely looking out for the other man.
But Ouyang Huanbin paid him no attention. His wary gaze swept over the group. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he turned and ran downstairs, his footsteps gradually fading away.
The third floor was similar to the second, only with fewer rooms. The corridor was covered in blackened floorboards that creaked painfully beneath their feet.
Every door was shut. From their inspection, none of them seemed to have been opened recently: the handles were thick with dust, and there were no signs of anything having been dragged across the floor in front of them.
Huai Yi rose with a strange expression and looked toward the far end of the corridor. A wall stood at the end, with a hazy oil painting hanging on it.
"Where did the bodies go?" the Fatty couldn't help asking.
Everyone fell silent. Perhaps only Liu Hui, who was dead, could answer him.
In the end, the group left the manor and went into town to look for clues.
As they walked through the streets, the town's desolation was impossible to miss. Few shops were open, and their signs were worn and shabby. From time to time, they saw people with vacant expressions crouched on street corners, their lips moving as they muttered to themselves.
Without exception, the people here seemed to instinctively avoid strangers. The group walked for a long time, but no one was willing to receive them, even when they offered to pay.
The last time, before they could even explain why they had come, the shopkeeper chased them out with a pitchfork.
"They don't hate us. They're afraid," Jiang