The Zhang River was a tributary of the Long River, about the same size as Qishui.
Many jumbled footprints covered the riverbank, along with a pile of dismembered weasel remains.
There were also festive items such as red candles, red cloth, and red flowers, a dead pig scraped and washed clean, its flesh pale white, and several mahogany tables bearing offerings of chickens, ducks, grain, money, and more.
Everything was in disarray. Something seemed to have just happened here.
At the bottom of the river, a middle-aged man with all four limbs severed lay faceup, wearing the clothes of a wealthy household from a bygone era. The fabric was so red it was almost black, and a long queue hung beneath his melon-cap.
A grayish-white Yin talisman had pierced his chest, radiating a powerful suppressive force.
A female ghost in a wedding dress circled him, frantic with worry, calling out to her husband.
The entire Zhang River churned constantly with the middle-aged man's rage. The water rose higher and higher, nearly spilling over the embankment.
Engines roared.
The River God looked over, and the next instant, his expression froze.
Truckloads of Netherworld Messengers. More than a dozen of them had auras comparable to his own, and most terrifying of all were the four seated in the first vehicle. Every one of them was a terrifying being beyond the level of a blood-clad ghost!
When the old man among them had passed by earlier, he had pinned him to the riverbed with a wave of his hand.
I'm just a little tributary River God. Did you really need to bring this whole lineup?!
Before he could react,
he saw the young man at the head of this terrifying convoy of Netherworld Messengers shove open the door and leap out of the