The village was a scene of desolation.
Villagers lay dying in corners, their children, covered in dirt, sat beside them with vacant, hopeless eyes.
Cries of grief occasionally emanated from houses, some of which had coffins at their doorsteps, enveloping the surroundings in an aura of death.
Some impoverished villagers wrapped bodies in mats, setting them on fire next to makeshift pyres, filling the air with a strange odor.
Many villagers congregated around the ancestral hall, some already dead but unable to be moved from the village, were laid aside, emitting the stench of decay.
Despite the presence of many people, an eerie silence pervaded, the air thick with the presence of death.
"Save me, save me…" A man, leaning against a wall corner, weakly reached out to Chu Qingzhi. His voice was feeble, his eyes losing focus, his body covered in pox…
