Miaoling Weird Hearings: Thirty Nights of Strange Tales in the Mountains

[Guangxi + Countryside + Audiobook Style + Weirdness + Ghost Story + Weird Talk + Suspense + Thriller + Unit Drama] There are many mountains in the west of Guangxi, and in the depths of the mountains live the Dong Miao and Zhuang Yao, each observing his own rules and believing in his own gods. The year I entered Shiwanda Mountain, I followed an old customer who collected medicinal materials. During the day, I went up to the mountains with him to collect star anise, and at night I sat around the fire with the village elders and listened to their stories about ancient times. From the Dong Village in Sanjiang to Zhuang Village in Baise, from the terraced fields in Longsheng to the border of Jingxi, I stayed there for three years. Miaoling is a place called "Shiwandashan" by the Han people, but only "Laoshan" by the locals. The mountain is not one, but one, layer upon layer. The fog is locked in the fog. The village is hidden in the folds. No strangers can be seen for ten and a half months. The witches here are not called witches. They are called "Sa" by the Dong family, "Badai" by the Miao family, and "Daogong" by the Zhuang family. No matter which company it is, it is not something that can be settled in the human world. In three years, I collected thirty anecdotes. There are stories about Gu, about sending ghosts, and about crying at night on the wind and rain bridge. Some of these stories come from the drunken Taoist priest, some from the old man who watches the night, and some from the Gu woman who is about to die. When they were talking, their eyes were straight. It didn't look like they were making up stories, but rather like they were retelling their own experiences. Now I am hiding in a small hotel in Nanning and finally compiled these anecdotes into a book. Are you asking me if it's true or false? I have no idea. I only know that the nights in Miaoling are indeed longer than elsewhere. Whenever I write until late at night, there are always sounds outside the window - either the soft sound of tiles, the muffled vibration of distant bronze drums, or the rustling of nails on wooden boards. Next, listen to me slowly - in the depths of Miao Mountain, there are thirty pieces of old news between the living and the dead.