The setting sun is like blood, splashing over the withered Liulin Village, sucking out the last bit of warmth, leaving only a bone-deep chill. The wind passed through the crooked fences and empty courtyards, picking up the gray-white paper money on the ground and making a whimpering noise. The air was filled with an indescribable smell of decay, mixed with the bitterness of burning inferior herbs and... The smell of death.
Liulin Village, dead.
It's not a massacre with swords, but it's more cruel than swords. A "ghost attack" that started from nowhere, like maggots in the tarsus, drained the life of this village of hundreds of people in just half a month. At first it was just high fever and chills, then convulsions all over the body, strange blue-black spider web patterns appeared under the skin, and finally he died of bleeding from all the orifices in extreme pain. The corpse decomposes at an alarming rate, often becoming swollen, blackened, and smelly in just one night.
The priests and doctors sent by the government, wearing thick face scarves, looked at it from a distance for a few times, then hurriedly retreated as if avoiding snakes and scorpions. They only drew a hasty circle at the entrance of the village and inserted a few tattered wooden stakes to symbolize isolation, and no one paid attention to it again. Liulin Village became a forgotten island, a living hell on earth.
