The village chooses to hold funerals before sunrise.

Those who have funerals at midnight are those who died violently.

It is currently midnight.

The funeral procession is quiet, with no one setting off firecrackers or drums making any sound.

In the dense fog, everyone hangs their heads.

Their heads are lowered, almost touching their chests.

Faces are indiscernible.

Their postures are strange.

There is a rule on the road: once you've seen a funeral procession, don't look at it again.

You and I have no connection and are not on the same path.

I quickly stepped aside on the roadside, using an umbrella to shield myself, and hurriedly walked away.

As I passed by the funeral procession, I felt a chilly breeze coming from that direction.

Even though it was a summer night, it felt cold and gloomy.

I lowered my head, held my breath, and continued walking forward.

"Hey—"

A woman shouted in my ear.

Her voice was pleasant.

My mind went blank for a moment, and when I reacted, I had already turned my head back.

Swish!

The funeral procession suddenly stopped in place, motionless.