Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 925 Sunset

Just tell me, what's going on with this black ship? "When the old woman saw the silver, her eyes lit up instantly. She quickly put the silver into her arms, looked around, and said in a low voice: "Some time ago, someone saw the black ship appear at the abandoned ferry in the north of the city. However, that ferry is not a good place. Twenty years ago, a massacre took place there, hundreds of people died tragically, and it has been haunted ever since. If you don't want to lose your life, stay away from it." Zhao Mo was about to continue asking when he suddenly heard a commotion coming from the depths of the ghost market. Someone in the crowd shouted: "Oh no, the bloody butcher is coming!" I saw a sturdy man with a face full of flesh and bloody bandages on his hands, waving a huge butcher knife and rushing towards this side. Wherever he went, the crowd avoided him. Zhao Mo secretly said in his heart that it was not good, knowing that a chaos in the ghost market was inevitable. He must leave here as soon as possible and go to the abandoned ferry in the north of the city to find out...

The abandoned ferry crossing was struck at midnight, and the city of Bianjing fell into a dead silence. Only the lanterns in the hands of the night watchmen flickered in the streets. Zhao Mo led five yamen runners, dressed in black, with swords hanging from their waists, and shuttled through the deserted streets like ghosts. The night was as thick as ink, and the clouds blocked the moonlight. The torches in the hands of the people became the only light source. The jumping flames cast their shadows on the mottled city walls, and the shadows were like ghosts. "Boss, no one has dared to approach this ferry crossing for 20 years. I heard that there are often cries at night..." A young yamen runner's voice trembled, and his words were mixed with undisguised fear. Zhao Mo looked back at him, and the light of the torch illuminated his cold face: "Are you scared? It's not too late to withdraw now." Even so, his palms were already sweating. From the moment he stepped into the ghost market, he realized that this investigation was not an ordinary murder case, but was involved in a conspiracy full of weirdness and danger. The abandoned ferry in the north of the city gradually revealed its true appearance under the illumination of torches. The weeds were half a person tall, swaying wildly in the wind, like countless invisible hands waving. The wooden boats on the shore had long been dilapidated, the hulls were covered with moss, and the planks were so rotten that they would break if stepped on lightly. They were parked crookedly on the shore, like monsters with their mouths wide open in the moonlight. Ripples appeared on the water surface, and the "gurgling" sound was particularly clear in the silent night, as if countless wronged souls were crying in a low voice, telling the story of the brutal massacre twenty years ago. Zhao Mo signaled everyone to extinguish the torches, and with the weak moonlight, they approached the ferry cautiously. Suddenly, a low chanting floated from a black boat in the middle of the river. The voice seemed to come from deep underground, low and hoarse, with a creepy rhythm, and every syllable seemed to hit people's hearts directly, making people shudder. Zhao Mo looked closely and saw that the black ship was completely black, without sails or ship numbers, floating quietly on the water, like a moving palace of the underworld. "You stay here and provide support immediately if there is any unusual movement!" Zhao Mo said to the yamen runners in a low voice, and then he walked alone along the decaying pier and quietly approached the black ship. The wooden planks groaned "creaking" under his feet, as if they would break at any time. When he climbed onto the black ship, the chanting sound became clearer, mixed with the crisp sound of bells and the sound of metal colliding. The door of the cabin was ajar, and a faint green light shone through the gap. Zhao Mo took a deep breath and slowly pushed open the cabin door. A strong smell of blood and rottenness hit him in the face, almost choking him. The room was pitch black. By the moonlight, he saw more than a dozen people in black robes, wearing masks of various shapes, with hideous ghost faces carved on the masks, which looked particularly terrifying under the reflection of the green light. They formed a circle and were performing some strange ritual. On the altar in the middle, there was a huge red doll, life-size. The doll was covered with silver needles, densely packed like a hedgehog. A strand of black hair was wrapped around each silver needle, swaying gently with the chanting. Next to the doll was a red wedding dress, which was exactly the same style as the one worn by the victims of the two murders. The gold thread on the wedding dress glowed strangely in the dim light. A man in a black robe stood in front of the altar, holding a copper bell. Every time the bell was shaken, everyone chanted in unison. The sound was uniform, but it was indescribably gloomy. "Now!" Zhao Mo shouted and rushed into the cabin. When the yamen runners heard the order, they also rushed out from the dark, drew their swords, and pounced on the black-robed people. The black-robed people were caught off guard by this sudden change, but they quickly reacted. They pulled out various weapons from under their black robes, including scimitars, iron chains, and daggers coated with dark red poison, and fought fiercely with the yamen runners. The space in the cabin was narrow, and the sounds of swords clashing, shouting, and chanting were intertwined and chaotic. Zhao Mo waved his saber, slashing left and right, and knocked down two black-robed people in succession. But the black-robed people were highly skilled in martial arts and cooperated tacitly. Their attacks were fatal and every move was carefully designed. A yamen runner accidentally got his ankle entangled by an iron chain and fell to the ground. Before he could get up, a scimitar stabbed into his chest. "Be careful!" Zhao Mo shouted, wanting to rescue, but was besieged by three black-robed people at the same time. He struggled to resist, and his clothes were cut open, and blood kept pouring out. In this chaos, Zhao Mo saw the familiar figure-a gray-clothed man wearing a bamboo hat. He was standing by the altar, holding a piece of talisman paper in his hand, muttering something, with madness and indifference in his eyes. Zhao Mo was furious, and the long-accumulated anger suddenly broke out. He ignored the pain on his body, pushed the black-robed man in front of him away, and rushed towards the gray-clothed man. "Stop!" Zhao Mo roared, his voice full of hatred and determination. The gray-clothed man raised his head, revealing a strange smile under his hat. He raised the talisman paper in his hand high, and the talisman paper instantly burned, turning into a black mist, spreading towards everyone. In the black mist, Zhao Mo felt dizzy and the surroundings became pitch dark. He heard the exclamations of the yamen runners and the chanting of the black-robed man echoing in his ears, but he couldn't tell the direction. A cold breath came over him, and he felt something wandering in the black mist, brushing his skin from time to time, cold and piercing. He held his sword tightly and looked around vigilantly, not daring to be careless. Suddenly, a cold hand was placed on his shoulder from behind, and Zhao Mo's hair stood up instantly. He turned around and swung his knife, but only hit a ball of air. "Come out!" He shouted loudly, and his voice seemed particularly hollow in the black fog. However, the only response he got was the eerie chanting and the faint laughter.