The reunion with Xiao Zhang and Mei Ling did not bring the expected sense of security. Instead, it was like adding more confusion and anxiety to a boiling pot of fear. Their frightened descriptions confirmed that the horror of last night was not my own hallucination. There was indeed some desperate abnormality in the night of this village. And the mystery about the playing cards was like a cold thorn that pierced my heart deeply - besides us, who else has been here recently? Where did they go?

  The three of us temporarily squeezed into that relatively intact abandoned house. The air in the house was dull and oppressive, filled with dust and mold, and. the smell of sweat mixed with fear and exhaustion from the three of us. Meiling was still sobbing, curled up in the corner of the dusty wooden bed like a frightened bird. Xiao Zhang paced back and forth in the small space in agitation, grabbing his hair from time to time, and cursing something under his breath.

  Despite the company, the fear did not diminish at all, but became more concrete and heavy because of the contagion. We were like three insects trapped in a spider web, knowing that danger was approaching but unable to break free, and could only wait in vain for darkness to fall again.

  This is not a solution. I forced myself to calm down. If I just sit there and wait for death, I will be consumed by fear. We must learn more and find clues!

  My eyes involuntarily turned towards the center of the village again.

  That mysterious old man.

  He is the only "native" who is familiar with this village (if he really is one). He knows that the "door" will be closed after dark, and he knows that it is dangerous here. He must know more! Maybe. he is the key to solving all mysteries?

  Although my last contact with him was extremely disturbing because of the inhuman cold aura he exuded, my reporter's instinct and desire to survive overwhelmed my fear again. I must go find him again! Even if I have to bite the bullet and face greater danger!

  I told Xiao Zhang and Meiling my idea.

  "What?! You still want to go find that weird old man?!" Xiao Zhang's eyes widened, with an incredible look on his face, "Sister Xue, are you sure? That old guy is so weird, who knows if he. is in cahoots with the ghosts here?!"

  "I.I don't want to go either." Meiling said timidly, "He.he looks so scary."

  "I know he's weird and dangerous." I said in a deep voice, looking at them firmly, "But he is our only possible source of information! We can't just hide here and wait to die! I have to try again!"

  Xiao Zhang and Meiling looked at me with hesitation and struggle on their faces. Finally, Xiao Zhang gritted his teeth and said, "Then.then we will go with you!"

  "No," I shook my head. "You stay here. If there are too many people, the conspicuousness will be too big, which may arouse his vigilance or disgust. It may be easier for me to get close to him if I go alone. You wait for me here, lock the doors and windows, and pay attention to safety. If. If I don't come back within an hour, you."

  I didn't finish my words, but my meaning was clear.

  Xiao Zhang and Meiling's faces turned pale again, but they also understood that this was the most sensible choice at the moment.

  "Sister Xue.you must be careful!" Meiling grabbed my arm, her eyes filled with tears.

  "Don't worry." I forced a comforting smile, patted her hand, then turned around, took a deep breath, opened the crooked wooden door, and walked back into the gray, dead silent fog.

  Revisiting the ancestral hall:

  Walking towards the center of the village again, I felt heavier and more nervous than before. Every step I took seemed like walking on cotton or on the tip of a knife. The surrounding scenery was still distorted and oppressive, and the thick fog was like a living monster, slowly crawling among the broken walls. The feeling of being spied on was still there, vague and lingering.

  I tried my best to control my breathing, slow down my pace, and try not to make any unnecessary noises. I didn't know where the old man was at the moment. Was he in his dilapidated house? Or. in some dark corner nearby, silently observing me?

  When I came to the dilapidated ancestral hall again, my heart was still beating wildly. The tightly closed vermilion door was covered with strange spells and carved stone walls. Everything was exactly the same as when I left last time, silent and ominous.

  I looked around cautiously. There was thick fog and no one was around.

  Then, I looked towards the dilapidated house where the old man lived not far away. The wooden door was still tightly closed, and there was no sign of movement.

  Is he.in there?

  Should I just knock on the door?

  Just as I was hesitating, an extremely subtle sound suddenly came from the side of the ancestral hall.

  That sound is like. the sound of stones rubbing against each other? Or is it like. something is sharpening a knife?

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  My nerves were instantly tense!

  I held my breath, stood on tiptoe, and carefully moved towards the direction where the sound came from.

  I walked around the disturbing stone wall in front of the ancestral hall and came to the side and back of the hall. It was even more desolate here, with weeds growing everywhere and some collapsed rubble and rotten wood piled up.

  Then, I saw him.

  That skinny, hunchbacked old man.

  He was squatting in a corner of the back wall of the ancestral hall, with his back to me. In front of him was a dark blue, rough-looking grindstone. In his hand was a rusty farm tool that looked like a hatchet or sickle, and he was rubbing it back and forth on the grindstone, very slowly and with a strange and persistent force.

  “Swish…swish…swish…”

  The monotonous and harsh friction sound was particularly clear in the dead air, and also particularly. creepy. It was as if he was not sharpening a knife, but a human bone.

  He was extremely focused in his movements, as if he was completely immersed in his own world and was unaware of my arrival.

  I stood a few meters away, looking at his skinny back, feeling a mixture of fear, doubt, and an inexplicable sense of sadness. What on earth had this old man been through? Why was he guarding this abandoned, terrifying place? Why was he sharpening his knife?

  I took a deep breath and knew this was my chance.

  "Uncle.Uncle." I summoned up my courage and called out softly.

  The sound of sharpening the knife. came to an abrupt end.

  The old man's body suddenly froze, like a puppet with the pause button pressed.

  After a few seconds of suffocating silence, his skinny neck turned very slowly, bit by bit, like a rusty machine.

  Meeting his cloudy, empty eyes once again, which seemed to be able to see through everything, my heart skipped a beat.

  There was still no expression on his face, he just looked at me silently with cold and dead eyes.

  "I. I'm here again." I suppressed my fear and tried to keep my voice steady. "Uncle, I. We ran into some trouble. Last night. Last night we got lost and heard a lot of scary noises. Do you know. do you know what that was?"

  I looked at him nervously, hoping to get a clue from him.

  The old man did not answer immediately. He just looked at me silently, and his cold eyes seemed to freeze my soul.

  Just when I was about to give up, his cracked lips began to move again.

  The hoarse, intermittent voice sounded again, and it seemed. a little clearer than the last time?

  ".Night.Wandering.Souls."

  “…Don’t…listen…”

  “…Don’t…want…to look…”

  Night wandering ghost? Don't listen? Don't look?

  My heart sank. Did he. admit the existence of those horrible noises? And. seemed to know where they came from?

  "Then.what about the 'ghost wall'?" I asked hurriedly, "Why did we get lost? And.what is the 'door' you mentioned?"

  The old man did not answer my question. His cloudy eyes swept across my anxious face, and suddenly changed the subject, asking in an extremely difficult tone:

  ".You.went to.the back hill.by the water?"

  His question came out of nowhere and made me stunned for a moment. The waterside behind the mountain? I haven't had time to go there yet.

  "No.no." I answered honestly.

  After hearing my answer, a hint of. barely perceptible relaxation seemed to flash across the old man's stiff face? Maybe it was my illusion.

  He fell silent again and lowered his head, as if he was going to continue sharpening his rusty hatchet.

  "Uncle!" I was unwilling to give up, so I took a step forward and asked anxiously, "Can you tell me what happened in this village? What do those symbols on the wall mean? And."

  Before I could finish my words, the old man suddenly raised his head, stared at me with his cloudy eyes, and interrupted me.

  ".want to.live"

  ". just. don't. ask."

  His voice was still hoarse and dry, but the warning contained in it was like a cold knife, which made me tremble all over.

  I opened my mouth and wanted to say something, but when I met his cold and dead gaze, all the words were stuck in my throat.

  The atmosphere in the room fell into a suffocating silence again. Only the rusty hatchet placed on the grindstone shone with an unsettling cold light in the dim light.

  Just when I thought this conversation was going to end in vain, the old man suddenly spoke again. This time, his voice seemed even more erratic and distant, as if it came from another world.

  “…The mountain…has…spirits…”

  ".water.has.an owner."

  ".white.snake.milk.milk."

  White Snake Grandma?!

  These four words exploded in my mind like a thunderbolt!

  I remembered the vague interview recording I heard in that unpopular forum before I set off! It mentioned "Grandma White Snake" and "sacrifice"!

  "Grandma White Snake?!" I cried out, "You mean. the legendary."

  The old man ignored my surprise and continued speaking in a dreamy tone:

  "…She…guards…this…mountain…"

  ".also.guarding.that.water."

  "When you are.kind.the weather will be good."

  ".When your heart. is evil.the earth shakes and the mountains tremble."

  His words were intermittent, full of ancient, awe-inspiring superstitions, describing a being with great power and erratic moods, a contradictory being that was both a guardian and a potential disaster.

  "Then.then is she related to the abandonment of this village?" I asked relentlessly, "Is she.angry?"

  The old man did not answer directly. He raised his cloudy eyes again, stared at me intently, and spoke word by word with unprecedented severity and fear in his tone:

  "…the…mountain…water…source…"

  “…Can’t…go!”

  "… startled… her…"

  ".No one.can.live.anymore!"

  After saying this, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength and began to cough violently. His skinny body swayed like a candle in the wind.

  He no longer looked at me, nor spoke. He just lowered his head again, picked up the **** rusty hatchet with trembling hands, and rubbed it slowly and persistently on the whetstone again.

  “Swish…swish…swish…”

  The monotonous and harsh voice sounded again, like the death warrant of the god of death, echoing in this dead silent space.

  I stood there, feeling cold all over and my mind in a mess.

  Grandma White Snake. the water source in the back mountain. we can't go there. if we disturb her, no one will survive.

  The old man's words, like a key, opened a door to a deeper and more terrifying secret. It vaguely connected the scattered clues (recordings, runes, and terrifying phenomena), pointing to a specific source of terror that is closely related to the local ancient beliefs and taboos.

  At the same time, he also gave me an extremely dangerous temptation. The water source in the back mountain, the place that must not be approached, may. hide the ultimate answer to all mysteries?

  I looked at this old man who was immersed in the world of knife sharpening and was like a living fossil. My heart was filled with mixed emotions. Fear, curiosity, confusion, and a hint of. pity?

  I knew that asking further would lead to no result. He had already told me everything he was willing (or dared) to tell me.

  I took a deep look at his hunched back, then quietly retreated from this dark corner and left this ancestral hall that exuded the breath of death.

  Walking on the foggy path, the words "Grandma White Snake" and "Water source in the back mountain" kept echoing in my mind.

  A new and more specific image of horror has taken shape in my mind.

  And that place that I was warned not to approach was like a seed of darkness quietly planted in my heart.

  I know that soon I may involuntarily walk in that direction.