"But it really does work. Everyone in the village trusts it."
Yang Yong nodded.
So that was how it was.
A weasel had secretly learned Taoist talisman arts, then mixed them with the foundations of a Yellow Immortal, finally creating something half Taoist, half demonic.
That explained why he had never seen those patterns before.
"Got it," Yang Yong said.
Zhao Hu remained where he stood. After hesitating for a few seconds, he asked quietly, "Then... Mr. Yang, about the seed grain..."
"We'll talk about it later." Yang Yong waved a hand.
Zhao Hu dared not press him any further. He could only pick up the box of instant noodles and back out with his head lowered.
The green light closed again.
Long Ya asked quietly, "Master, why didn't you take him in?"
"He looks like he could still be useful."
Yang Yong broke off the last piece of corn, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.
"Taking someone in isn't hard."
"The hard part is, what will Huang Santainai think afterward?"
He raised his eyes toward the center of the village, his gaze passing through the green light to rest on the dark, looming hall in the night.
"Now we'll see when she loses her patience."
That night was Yang Yong's first night staying in the village.
At night, the village felt even more like weasel territory than it did during the day.
The first cry rose from some unknown nook or cranny.
It was shrill and thin.
Then came a second, and a third, darting from west to east, rolling from rooftops to the bases of walls.
Eventually, they rang out... from every direction.
There was more than one kind of sound.
There were drawn-out howls, intermittent sobs, and short screams that sounded... as though someone