Chapter 359: Yinshan Village

Seeing that Kong Xuyang was about to lose his mind again, Yang Zhi hurriedly changed the subject, " Brother Kong, we still have an advantage, we have already figured out how to collect clues in the true end line in the last round."

Kong Xuyang's eyes were red as he forced his mind back together and exhaled, "The yearbook of Yinshan Village, the missing parts of the mural are in the village calendar, as long as we find the yearbook from a hundred years ago we can fill in the backstory of this Daoist vampire."

"And that's how you find its weakness." Yang Zhi pats Kong Xuyang on the back of his shoulder to relax him, "Last time in the game a player had already found a page of the calendar, Brother Kong do you remember where that player found it?"

Kong Xuyang's eyes slowly moved outwards, looking towards the hill and the weir hidden in the darkness, and he said in one word: "The mass grave behind the weir."

In the tomb passage.

The entrance to the tomb, which had been getting narrower and narrower, was broken through with brute force, and the four walls were covered with the harsh claw marks of the zombies.

Bai Liu held up the candlestick and shone it: "These should all be from that zombie trying to get out and scratch away."

"...... This strength is too horrible." Mu Sicheng reached up and compared the claw marks, which were two full circles larger than his hand, deeper than the wall, Mu Sicheng's scalp tingled a little, "If this zombie goes crazy, it won't take much effort to scratch us to death."

"So it's going to be a game over before that happens." Bai Liu said.

Bai Liu walked to the entrance where they had crawled into the tomb, stepped on Mu Sicheng's shoulder and leapt upwards.

The entrance to the tomb was under a bed, and Mu Sicheng was about to crawl out from under it when Bai Liu grabbed him by the shoulders.

Bai Liu looked out of the bed, his tone calm: "There's light, there's someone outside."

It was then that Mu Sicheng noticed the silvery white and grey-black light flickering on the floor beneath the bed, and the faint sound of what sounded like bad contact currents and the intermittent, interlocking voices of many people talking.

The voices were at one time rough and at another delicate, but as if they were separated by a layer of something, not like real people speaking.

"...... These devils will freeze us, kill us, and starve us, but as long as we have a breath, we will hold this place and keep outsiders from taking it away ......"

"But with all the men gone, leaving a village of old and sick people, where can we keep them, we can't keep them ......"

"When are the men coming back, the daughters-in-law will go to the bridge at the village entrance again! Remember to bring an umbrella so you don't get wet, it's almost Ching Ming and it's been raining a lot lately ......"

Bai Liu and Mu Sicheng looked at each other and they understood where the voice was coming from.

"The sound of the TV." Mu Sicheng pointed outside and spoke softly, "Someone is watching television."

Bai Liu gestured for him to go out first, then deftly drew himself out from the side of the bed and knelt on one knee in the shadows at the foot of the bed, which was not illuminated by the TV light, as he looked silently ahead, as if to confirm something.

Then Bai Liu made sure, he looked down and made a [shhh] gesture to Mu Sicheng, who was still hiding under the bed, to come out more quietly.

Mu Sicheng, relieved to see this, thought it was safe outside and, with one hand propped up, angled his body out from under the bed and tried to stand up, only to turn around and gasp, quickly cowering next to Bai Liu and mouthing with horror, "What the hell?!"

By the bed at the entrance is a mahogany bench on which sit two elderly men with their backs to Bai Liu and their white hair.

The old man is facing an old, dated wooden cabinet with rotting edges, in which sits an old square FM television set that appears to be no more than 12 or 13 inches.

The picture on the television was black and white, shaking and blurring from time to time, but the two old men seemed to be watching it intently, their necks stretched forward, their backs straight, as if they had gone rigid, sitting motionless and staring at the screen.

The light from the screen shone obscurely Buming on the faces of the two old men, brown spots appearing around their cloudy eyes, something wriggling in their mouths and noses to crawl out, and the white dots of worms visible in their ears as they stretched and shrank.

Instead, they had wooden smiles on their faces and their mouths moved quickly as if they were saying something.

Mu Sicheng held his breath but did not hear any sound coming from the throats of the two old men, but soon he realised where the sound of the two old men's voices was coming from.

The movements of these two old men's mouths were in sync with the voices of the people on the TV.

Bai Liu looked over at the TV set, "They're dubbing the people on the TV."

On the television, the wavering black and white images look like old video tapes from some historical archive, with several plain, old-fashioned women sitting by the door of the village of Yinshan, wearing little boots and birthday suits, kneeling beside a coffin waving white handkerchiefs and covering their faces with long tears, with an unfurled white umbrella at their sides.

Mu Sicheng whispered, "This is the attire of the martyred bridge ghosts, are these women living martyred bridge ghosts?"

Bai Liu looked at the TV screen and nodded slightly, "I think so."

The mouths of the two eerie-looking old men opened and closed, and voices came out of the television set.

"Men are dead, too many to fit in the grave ......"

"...... torn to pieces by those ghost things, can't get into the ancestral graves, go down how to see their ancestors ah ......"

"Put them in a coffin and take them to the mountain at the other end of the bridge for burial, so they can be properly buried."

"O my ingrate! You died a horrible death! How will you let me get on with my life!"

The women sobbed as they lay on the coffin and refused to let go, on the verge of fainting, but eventually followed the men carrying the coffin, followed it across the weir, and stepped onto the bridge.

Their faces were full of numb tears, their faces covered with the traces of undried tears, and they held umbrellas in their hands to cool the coffins, to prevent the mutilated bodies and souls in these coffins from being damaged by the sun.

But at the moment of crossing the bridge, these women who had lost their husbands looked at the long rows of coffins falling into the mountains, and as they were carrying the coffins under their umbrellas, they suddenly put away their umbrellas and jumped off the bridge with their umbrellas in their arms, without a second thought.

Below the bridge was a shallow stream, and these women crashed against the piers, their heads broken and bleeding.

They clutched their umbrellas in death and looked towards the distant coffins on the bridge with extremely sad and forlorn expressions on their faces.

The moment the coffin left their sight, they slowly closed their eyes and collapsed into the water, motionless, the blood seeping from them staining their birthday suits and umbrellas and the crystal clear water of the stream.

The image made Mu Sicheng's spine sweat, but Bai Liu was looking at it intensely, as if he was looking for someone.

This searching look made Mu Sicheng feel more and more furtive: "Who are you looking for Bai Liu, there can't be anyone you know in here, can there?"

"Maybe." Bai Liu returned without a glance.

Mu Sicheng was startled, then quickly came back to his senses: "No Bai Liu, you don't have a memory, there are only a few people you know, me, Kong Xuyang, Yang Zhi, I know them all."

Bai Liu looks blandly at Mu Sicheng: "I'm looking for someone outside the picture."

"Off screen ......" Mu Sicheng was stunned, "What does that mean?"

Bai Liu replied calmly, "It's true that neither you nor I know the person in this image, but there is someone outside the image who might look familiar to you and me."

Mu Sicheng was increasingly puzzled: "It was a hundred years ago, who could I have known?"

"You left out one person, the person who took this picture." Bai Liu gazed at the image, "If I'm right, this is the person you know what's going on the first time you look at them."

Curiosity overrides fear, and Mu Sicheng clutches his chest, frowning in earnest, and begins to stare at the edge of the frame, trying to see the man who is holding up the camera.

Soon, Mu Sicheng saw the person filming adjusting the camera to allow his face to enter the country.

As soon as the cameraman's face entered the frame, Mu Sicheng looked back at Bai Liu in shock: "Why does he look like that?

Bai Liu remained calm: "What else? What do you think he'll look like?"

Mu Sicheng, pointing at the flickering cameraman in the picture, was on the verge of jumping up and down: "He looks just like me!"

The cameraman on the black-and-white TV is dressed in an old-fashioned and modern way, with a three-piece Little Ma A suit and a pair of leather shoes, a mourning hat on his head and tear-stained face, and is looking down while adjusting the film and writing something down in a yearbook with a quill pen.

Bai Liu looked at the man, "He's supposed to be the village calendarist."

The village calendarist, the person who records the village's fortunes and fortunes, matters of great and small, is also the one who recorded the missing piece of information on the mural.

"How do you know he'll look like me? Mu Sicheng was as curious as a cat scratching its heart, and came up to Bai Liu to ask him.

Bai Liu glanced at Mu Sicheng and the camera hanging around his neck, which had been recording, and spoke up to explain.

"I'm just guessing that what we are known to be in is a game where we are involved in four role plays, and all four characters are descendants of the village of Yinshan."

"From the props and quests obtained, the four characters are a grave robber, a decent warlock, a villainous warlock and a cameraman."

Bai Liu looked up at Mu Sicheng: "Don't you think it would make more sense to move this setting forward a hundred years?"

It dawned on Mu Sicheng, who seemed to be on the verge of understanding: "So you think that it's not this role we're playing now, but this role for a hundred years."

"To be precise, we're playing the four characters of the descendants." Bai Liu stretched out his finger and tapped eight times on the floor, then connected each two dots two by two, "If this is a role-playing game with tight logic, and you are the cameraman, the recorder of paranormal events, and now we also have a cameraman in front of us, someone who uses a chronological calendar to record misfortunes and fortunes, and the role tasks overlap by up to eighty percent, I personally think there is a good chance you are a descendant of his."

"If I were designing the game, I'd adjust your appearance to match to remind you of that."

Mu Sicheng was enlightened: "So you're saying he looks like me!"