"Scrape—"
"Scrape—"
The footsteps behind them in the mist seemed like relentless maggots gnawing at their heels, following the group ever more swiftly. In the chaos, Tong Han missed his footing and fell, a human head tumbling out of his arms.
The closest to him, Mi Shu, was quick to react and grabbed him, preventing him from falling into the roadside ditch.
"Are you okay?" Noticing that Tong Han was clutching her right leg, Yang Xiao suddenly remembered her leg was still injured and frowned.
Wincing in pain, Tong Han stood up. The human head of Lu Youcheng, which had fallen, was picked up by Wuma Haoming. This time, Yang Xiao took the head, allowing Tong Han to proceed with less burden.
The four of them, carrying four human heads and a jar of wine, moved quickly through the fog. They finally reached the riverbank before the ghost villagers could catch up to them, revealing a dilapidated wooden bridge as the river level had dropped, no doubt their only path to survival.