Carrying the red cloth, he walked out of the ring of graves and followed the old man to a large courtyard.
Lin Feng stepped into the crowd.
Some people had arrived long before. Everyone had their assigned place. Only the old man and a handful of Clan Elders were allowed to sit; everyone else, regardless of age or sex, had to stand.
Watching the increasingly oppressive atmosphere outside, Lin Feng stood silently to one side.
The moon had appeared in the sky. People commonly called this sort of moon a Fuzzy Moon.
A Fuzzy Moon meant the moon looked hazy, and strong winds were likely the next day. Of course, there was another saying: on nights with a Fuzzy Moon, things that should not appear would emerge in the Wilds.
The wind picked up, carrying the smell of blood.
Lin Feng felt that tonight's ancestral rites were beginning to resemble a Crimson Wedding.
Anyone caught in tonight's trap.
Could forget about getting out unscathed.
The old man had given him several warnings.
They were as follows.
Lin Feng committed them to memory.
First, once he left this place, he could trust no one. After he followed the Li Family into the ancestral hall, anyone might be replaced. The closer it got to midnight, the more frequently this would happen. He must not trust anyone else; after all, horrors spun endless lies, and the closer it got to midnight, the more strongly this uncanny place would warp people's minds.
Second, something terrifying would happen tonight. Whatever A-Feng saw, he had to steady his mind. No matter who died, he could not let it shake him. Fear led to mistakes, and mistakes led to death.
Third, his only chance of survival tonight would come when the ancestral rites began.
When he entered