Montenegro is such a bad place, even the crows flying past don't dare to poop before leaving.
The perennial dark wind is like a bone-scraping steel knife, carrying rotten leaves and the smell of rotten flesh, straight into the human and heavenly caps. Midnight is approaching, and a crimson-red hairy moon hangs on the sky, its halo showing the greasy look of blood that has not been washed away.
"Ahem... God, I'll be frozen to death."
Xie Wujiu tightened the colorless tattered cotton-padded jacket tightly around his body. His exposed fingers were as cold as carrots, their joints were thick, and the cracked mouth was covered with black and red blood scabs. He was holding a tattered white paper lantern in his hand. The flame in the wick was only the size of a soybean. It flickered brightly and dimly when blown by the cold wind, just like the will-o'-the-wisps floating randomly in a deserted cemetery.
The mud under your feet made a squeaking sound, mixed with black blood and the excrement of unknown beasts. Xie Wujiu didn't even frown. If you can't stand the disgust of working as a corpse guard in the Black Mountain Mass Grave, you'd have to go and hang out with the nameless rotten flesh in the pit.
He was a lowly person who was sold by the pound in the dental shop. Five years ago, Black Heart Yazi saw that his birth date was yin and that he had a tough life, so he sold it to the steward of the mass grave at a low price of twenty taels of silver. Here, the living are more unlucky than the dead. The boy delivering the food always left the rancid bucket far away at the foot of the mountain and ran away as fast as the plague god. Xie Wujiu and the other corpse guards could only pounce on them like wild dogs, grabbing the sour and sticky leftovers. Can't get it? Then he was hungry, extremely hungry, and it was not like Xie Wujiu had never done it before, eating dry food with blood on a dead person's body.
