Yang Yong followed the trail of blood.
The bloodstains were intermittent, like an earthworm chopped into several pieces, twisting its dark red body across the dirt, around the stone mill, through the racks of drying corn, before disappearing completely at the crossroads in the center of the village.
The bluestone paving was spotless, without even a single drop of blood left behind.
He crouched and scraped his fingertips along the cracks between the slabs.
His fingertips touched something faintly sticky, like the film left by dried mucus, translucent and impossible to notice without feeling carefully.
"Four Yang God-Sealing Banner, come forth."
The small banner unfurled in his palm, and the White-Clothed Love Letter Ghost appeared.
Yang Yong borrowed the Love Letter Ghost's vision. In that gray-white eerie view, the crossroads lay empty, as clean as freshly washed glass.
There was not a trace of eerie qi.
The blood trail could not be fake, but there was nothing here.
"Yong!"
Zheng Xiaofeng caught up from behind, his Tortoiseshell Shield held in front of him, his iron shoes pounding against the stone slabs.
He scanned the surroundings, veins standing out on his neck, but still saw nothing. He turned to Yang Yong, utterly bewildered.
Yang Yong shook his head, indicating that he had found nothing either.
More footsteps converged from every direction.
Cao Xianming had thrown on his jacket, with one button fastened wrong;
Lao Zhang clutched his ledger, his knuckles white;
Xiao Ma huddled in the crowd, his eyes darting about.
There were also seven or eight ordinary people who had been woken, huddling at the very back. Some were barefoot, and some were clutching half an ear of corn.
"What happened?" someone asked, still rubbing their eyes.
Yang Yong stood up. His voice was quiet, but it carried over everyone's