The night wind howled, and the autumn rain pattered relentlessly.
The walls of the Mountain God Temple had collapsed, the wooden door shattered into pieces, and the offering table inside had exploded, as if detonated from within, blowing the dilapidated temple's roof right off.
Meng Shanhai, Wang Jingui, Zhou Xiong…
Plaques lay scattered, mixed with mud, covered in cracks, and the wood was rotten, as if it had aged for a century.
The cliff tombs on both sides were similarly shattered.
The bricks and stones had crumbled, all blown apart from the inside.
Zhao XianDa, a Hundred Households Captain from the Chongqing Prefecture Captain Bureau, held an umbrella as he carefully examined the graves, his brows tightly knit, lost in thought.
Around him, the ground was densely littered with corpses.
Most faces were blue and twisted, seemingly frightened to death by something, blood flowed from their seven orifices, bodies bent at bizarre angles.
