Old Yan followed the direction Old Yao indicated, but the further he walked, the more uneasy he felt. "Could it be that Old Yao is lying on purpose just to steal a sip of my fish soup?"
The flat shoes crunched on the dry branches and leaves, sounding particularly out of place in the silent forest.
He climbed the small hill that Lao Yao had mentioned, and looking in the direction Lao Yao had indicated, he indeed saw a dark mass of heads less than 500 meters away.
"Huh! What Old Yao said is actually true! But what are all these people doing here?" Old Yan decided to go and ask.
He walked step by step down the hillside toward the group of people.
One step at a time, two steps at a time! Closer and closer!
Suddenly a breeze blew by, and an overwhelming stench hit me, like ten thousand salted fish rotting at the same time.
Oh my god, what does this taste like?
At this moment, he also saw those "people" for who they really were.
Their eyes were vacant, their expressions stiff, and they walked forward mechanically.
Their eyes stared blankly, their pupils as gray as dead fish, devoid of any life.
Their faces were ashen, veins bulging, and devoid of any expression.
Interspersed among them were many zombies with missing limbs; their bodies twitched, their hands and feet twisted in complex ways, and some even lacked shoulders.
But they continued walking forward without expression, seemingly oblivious to the pain.
Are these even human? Old Yan stood there, trembling.
At this moment, the zombies also discovered Lao Yan's presence. Their eyes snapped shut, and they frantically pounced on Lao Yan.
"My God, what is this thing?"
"Help! Help!" Old Yan scrambled back to the wooden house, tripping and falling on the way, rolling down a small hillside.
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