The cold stone slab pressed against his back, and the chill ran up his spine like a snake. Zhang Mu opened his eyes suddenly. What caught my eye was not the yellowed ceiling of my house, but a dark beam that stretched across my head. Two white silk ribbons hung on the beams, swaying gently in the absence of wind. There was an old musty smell in the air, and a sweet smell that was characteristic of rotting meat. "Wake up... Hehe, wake up..." A hoarse voice sounded close to the ear, like two pieces of rough sandpaper rubbing against each other. Zhang Mu turned his head subconsciously. A big pale face was hanging less than five centimeters above him. There were no eyeballs in the eye sockets, only two dark blood holes. Dark red blood was dripping down his cheeks, and landed on Zhang Mu's collarbone with a "tick" sound. Cold, sticky
