Qidian library
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The Art of a Hundred Ghosts
The night before, someone in the village had died. He was a middle-aged hunter, skilled at his trade and known to everyone in the village. The animals he caught cried out miserably as they struggled, but his cries that night were even worse. When the villagers rushed over, the entire thatched hut reeked of blood so foul it made them sick. The steady drip, drip, drip of blood seemed to hold a strange power, drowning out every other sound. That night, every child in the village was frightened. It
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Dust and Vast Waters
The reeds are lush, white dew turns to frost. Black hair knows no mercy, the mortal world is vast and desolate. If you are destined to be alone for your whole life, then be alone for your whole life!
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