There was also a short-haired woman.
She had short hair and wore fitted combat clothes just like Wang Ying, but she held a sniper rifle.
The finish on the gun had been worn shiny. Clearly, it saw frequent use.
She crouched on a slightly raised pile of bones, the stock braced against her shoulder, her muzzle aimed steadily at Old Tailor.
Behind those three were another seven or eight people.
Hoes, iron rods, machetes, an iron pipe dismantled from who knew where...
Their weapons were a motley assortment, and each person's grip was less proper than the last.
They huddled together, their legs trembling so hard their bones seemed ready to fall apart. Their jaws were clenched, their teeth chattering.
Ordinary people.
Yang Yong could tell at a glance.
These were nothing but ordinary people, the kind who had been dragged into this by accident.
The fear in their eyes was the most primal kind...
The fear of prey discovering it had fallen into a predator's nest.
But humans were not the only ones afraid.
The Qipao Female Ghost was observing too.
Her neck twisted at an angle no human could manage, turning her face toward Bone Mountain and the river of blood.
Her nostrils fluttered slightly, as though she were sniffing something.
Then she frowned.
She was wary.
The Grudge Child was observing too.
The little ghost huddled among the bones, its tiny body curled into a ball. Its pitch-black eye sockets swept over Bone Mountain, the river of blood, and the void overhead.
It opened its mouth, cried silently once, then quietly closed it again.
It was trembling.
Old Tailor was even more obvious.
On that gloomy old face, beneath his venomous expression, lay undisguised wariness.
His feet did not move, but his body was leaning slightly backward.