None of the other villagers of Xia Shui Village,
not even Chang Bailin's own son, Chang Zimo, had the audacity
to rise from the ground like Chang Bailin,
and laugh aloud with such a twisted, sick expression.
A chill ran through Chang Zimo as he watched his father's crazed state,
as if countless tiny, cold hands were clawing wantonly at his heart.
He was secretly grateful for his relationship with Chang Bailin as father and son.
'Otherwise,' he thought, 'I might have been ruthlessly sacrificed during one of the previous rituals
to this so-called "great" but utterly terrifying Lord Mountain God.'
The rest of the Xia Shui villagers only dared to steal a few glances at Chang Bailin
before quickly lowering their heads, their eyes glued to the ground.
Their bodies trembled and swayed gently, like fragile candles flickering in the wind.
Their hearts were filled with extreme terror. For them, every sacrificial ritual
was a nightmare capable of crushing their very souls.
