Deep within the Mass Grave Mound, ghostly flames flickered in and out.
After walking for the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Chen Mo stopped beneath an old crooked locust tree.
Several startled crows above his head flapped up from the dead branches, letting out a few strange cries.
The narrow path ended here. Beyond it lay a stretch of collapsed grave pits.
The bottom of the pits had collected pitch-black filthy water, likely left behind by the torrential rain from two days ago.
No need to look to know this was prime feng shui ground for burying people.
Chen Mo turned around expressionlessly and looked toward the shadowy figures following them down the path.
The shadow at his feet suddenly stretched out and sank into the grass on both sides.
Ghost Banner Daoist stood at his side, his palms slick with sweat.
Being surrounded by twenty or thirty men in the Mass Grave Mound—anyone who said they were not nervous would be lying.
Behind them, the bald brute stood in the shadows of the path, sweeping his eyes back and forth over the grass on either side.
The wind passed over the Mass Grave Mound, making the dead grass rustle. A flicker of hesitation appeared on his face.
Those who had spent long enough on this road were not afraid of a hard fight. What they feared was stepping into a trap.
These two had dared to walk into the Mass Grave Mound. Either they had panicked and chosen the wrong path, or they had deliberately lured them here.
But judging by the situation now, it was clearly the latter.
He turned and made a hand signal into the darkness behind him.
Footsteps sounded in the darkness.
After a while, several of his men crawled out