The cold sound of the suona was like a piece of rusty iron scraping the eardrums, tearing a hole in the thick darkness of the night.
Lin Mo stood in the middle of the courtyard of a dilapidated ancient house. The untimely dark red wedding dress embroidered with faded mandarin ducks was filled with the dark wind blowing from an unknown direction and made a hunting sound. The air was filled with old wood, damp earth, and a faint, sickeningly sweet aroma—that was the smell of offering incense mixed with something more ominous.
He had the mask on his face.
