The little crybaby in the group, the young master is a softie

Chen Yifan and Mu Yang were not idle either. Since they didn't see anything special at the auction, they went straight to Zhang Wenbin's residence to find out.

"I'm telling you, this old guy must have something to do with those ghosts that were burned to death." Mu Yang gritted his teeth, "Let's join forces to catch him and force a confession out of him!"

"Of course you can, but if he refuses to confess, wouldn't our trip be in vain?" Mu Yang reminded him worriedly, "Besides, trespassing into someone's house is illegal. What if he calls the police?"

"Can't you fucking use your brain?" Chen Yifan glared at him. "In this situation, of course we can't take the usual approach. You can make some ghost lights, and we can dress up as the Black and White Impermanence to scare that old thing. When people are scared, they will always reveal something..."

Mu Yang thought it was very reliable and nodded repeatedly in agreement, "You still have a lot of bad ideas."

The night is dark and windy.

At 3:17 in the morning, Zhang Wenbin was awakened by the ticking sound of the old-fashioned clock on the bedside table.

The moonlight shone through the screen window, weaving a pale grid at the end of the bed. He reached out for the reading glasses on the bedside table, and his fingertips suddenly felt something wet.

There were tiny drops of water condensed on the mirror surface, as if someone had breathed on the lens.

“Is the air conditioner broken?”

He muttered to himself as he sat up, and just as his feet stepped into his slippers, the lights in the entire villa suddenly began to flicker violently.

The warm yellow wall lamp instantly turned into dark green. The curtains moved automatically without wind, and the dark shadow of the sycamore tree outside the window appeared through the gap, casting a twisted claw-like shadow on the glass.

Zhang Wenbin's heart was pounding, and he grabbed his robe and put it on. When he passed the floor-length mirror, he suddenly stopped.

The face of the person in the mirror was as pale as paper, his eye sockets were sunken into two dark blue holes, and his originally neatly combed white hair was now sticking out in a mess, making him look like a paper figure in the window of a funeral shop.

He reached out to touch his face, but the reflection in the mirror suddenly grinned, revealing two rows of yellow teeth stained by cigarette smoke.

"pat-"

The chandelier on the ceiling fell and shattered at his feet. At the moment the light bulb shattered, the room suddenly rang with the sound of dragging chains, "clattering" coming from far away, as if something was climbing up the stairs.

"Squeak~~"

The bedroom door cracked open, and first a few wisps of purple ghost fire came out, and then two tall figures turned out.

The "person" on the left is wearing a tattered black robe and a tall hat with the words "Get rich at first sight" written on it. His pale mask has a bloody mouth and the tip of his tongue hangs down to his waist.

The "person" on the right is wearing a white shroud, with a three-inch long tongue sticking out, two green glass balls rolling in his eye sockets, and a rusty mourning stick in his hand.

What was even more horrifying was that behind them was a group of charred children, some with their heads twisted at 90 degrees, some with half an intestine hanging from their stomachs, and they were opening and closing their melted eyelids, making shrill laughs like fingernails scratching glass.

"Zhang-Wen-Bin-"

The two voices seemed to be squeezed out from a rotten throat, with a wet feeling of bubbles surging.

Chen Yifan's deliberately lowered voice mixed with Mu Yang's shrill cry processed with a voice changer, forming a teeth-grinding resonance in the small space.

"thump--!"

Zhang Wenbin was too old to endure this. He immediately fell to the ground, his eyes bloodshot and his fear evident in his expression.

"You, who are you?" he asked tremblingly.

"Zhang Wenbin, you killed innocent children and caused them to die in a sea of ​​fire. You must pay the price today!" Mu Yang's cold words reached his ears.

"Nonsense!" Zhang Wenbin stood up in panic, "I didn't kill any children!"

Chen Yifan rushed forward and grabbed his collar, shouting: "How dare you say no?!"

Zhang Wenbin was frightened by his ferocious appearance and explained tremblingly: "No, it's not me, it's really not me, that, that's all the sins of my grandfather's generation..."

Chen Yifan and Mu Yang looked at each other. They didn't expect that they had actually lied. So they said, "Tell me quickly. If you dare to tell me a lie, I will immediately send you to the palace of the King of Hell!"

Zhang Wenbin said tremblingly: "The story began more than a hundred years ago. At that time, my father Zhang Zhili was only five years old..."

At the same time, in a suburban villa.

Under Su Yang's questioning, Tang Jiu slowly recounted his experience, "That year, I was ten years old..."

More than a hundred years ago, ten-year-old Tang Jiu squatted in the threshing ground at the entrance of the village, using branches to poke crooked little men out of the red mud.

The sun was scorching, making the back of his neck feel numb. Suddenly, a shadow fell and the old woman's powdered handkerchief wiped across his sweaty cheek.

The smell of rouge mixed with cheap hair oil on the handkerchief made his stomach turn sour. He looked up and saw the other person's blood-red lips grinning, and praise leaked out from between his gold teeth:

"This delicate skin and tender flesh are so fresh and fresh."

Tang Jiuniang's hand suddenly tightened on his arm, and the rough sleeve of the cloth rubbed against his sunburned skin, causing him to want to hide in pain. But Tang Jiudie stared at the silver ingot shaking at the old woman's fingertips, his eyes shining.

The oil lamp in the earthen cave flickered violently that night, and the wick was covered with burnt flowers. The shadow of Tang Jiudie signing the indenture contract was cast on the wall, like a ferocious ghost.

Tang Jiuniang held him tightly in her arms, her tears falling on his head, wetting a large area. The old woman said that "You'an House" provided food and accommodation, and that going there would be a life of luxury.

Tang Jiuniang cried even more miserably, "But he is a boy, he has no milk!"

The old woman smiled cunningly, "There is a recipe to induce labor, even a male horse can produce milk!"

Tang Jiuniang's tears dried up, and the old woman's sedan chair swayed into the moonlight.

The wooden door of You'an Hall creaked open and Tang Jiu was brought in. There was a middle-aged man inside. He was the owner of You'an Hall - Zhang Dafu.

Zhang Dafu's hands full of gold rings scraped across Tang Jiu's chin, and he forced himself to guzzle a bowl of boiling hot pig's trotter soup. The oil stuck to his throat, and the residue of the medicine was stuck in his throat like broken glass.

From then on, every day before dawn, the old woman would use a thick wooden stick to pry open Tang Jiu's teeth. The black medicine flowed from the corners of his mouth into his collar, burning his chest.

He began to have nightmares all night, dreaming that he turned into a cow, tied to a wooden stake and whipped.

On the morning of the seventh day, he lifted up his coarse cloth jacket and saw that his chest was red and swollen. When he touched it with his fingertips, a drop of white water mixed with blood oozed out.

Fear was like cold water pouring over his head. Tang Jiu fell down on the straw mat and heard Zhang Si coughing from the next room. The boy who always smiled at him was now burying himself in the tattered quilt and shivering.

The first milking was at 3:45 a.m., before the sun rose. Tang Jiu was pressed on a wooden stool soaked in milk, his hands tied behind his back, his mouth stuffed with a rag that made it bitter.

The old woman's hands were thicker than an ox rope, and her nails dug into his red and swollen skin, rubbing and twisting it again and again.

Severe pain exploded from his chest. Tang Jiu struggled desperately, but was slapped by the old woman until his mouth was full of blood. The milk in the wooden barrel was mixed with blood spots, and it was a disgusting pink in the morning light.

Zhang Dafu counted the silver and smiled, "For this head of milk, the old scholar paid twenty taels."