About This Novel
The dark moon kills people on a night, and the wind blows high and sets people on fire. The moonlight was hidden above the suburban cemetery, and a vague mist floated in the cemetery. This mist seems to gather the souls of the deceased, and like illusory snakes, shuttles between the raised tombs, looking for targets to devour. Wet traces slide across the cold cement tombstones, broken steps, tree trunks and grass leaves. The white-faced owl standing on the top of a dead branch heard the sound of trampling on the dead grass behind him. His eyes widened and he turned his head 180 degrees to look behind him. In the drifting mist, there were two hunched shadows with pickaxes on their shoulders, lurking in and out of the cemetery, flickering in and out.
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