Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1140

"If Secretary Zhao hears this, he'll scold you again." Accountant Zhang curled his lips and said nothing more, but the worry on his face only deepened. Chen Jianjun stood nearby, feeling both shocked and frightened. He remembered what Li Jianguo had said last night, about the educated youth who saw the woman in the blue shirt picking up hair under the locust tree. Now there were long hairs on the ground, along with bloody bowl fragments. Could it really be the ghost of Old Zhou's wife? Just then, he saw the village party secretary, Old Zhao, approaching with a plow on his shoulder. He hurried over, took Old Zhao's arm, and asked, "Secretary Zhao, what happened to Old Zhou's family? Why are all the villagers talking about Old Zhou's wife?" Old Zhao stopped, looked at the villagers gathered under the locust tree, then at Chen Jianjun, his brow furrowed. He set the plow on his shoulder on the ground, then pulled out his pipe from his pocket and slowly filled it with tobacco. He turned the pipe three times in his hand before lighting it and taking a puff. The sparks from his pipe shone in the morning light, making the wrinkles on his face deeper. He squatted on the ground, knocked the pipe against the sole of his shoe, and was silent for a long time before he slowly spoke: "This is a very pitiful thing to say. The winter three years ago was much colder than this year. The snow was as deep as the knees, and the roads in the village were blocked. Lao Zhou's wife was pregnant for more than nine months and was about to give birth. That night, Lao Zhou's wife suddenly had a stomachache. Lao Zhou was very anxious and wanted to go to the commune to call a doctor, but the snow was too heavy and the road was impossible to walk. He could only call the village midwife." Lao Zhao paused, took another puff of his cigarette, his eyes revealing a sense of regret: "After the midwife came, she tossed and turned for most of the night, but Lao Zhou's wife's fetus was in an abnormal position, and the child could not be born. In the second half of the night , Old Zhou's wife died, and even the baby in her belly was not saved. Old Zhou was stunned when he looked at the bodies of his mother and daughter, and he didn't say a word. Who would have known that he would be hanged on this locust tree that night. "Old Zhao said, raising his hand and pointing to a branch in the middle of the locust tree: "There, you see, you can still see some rope marks. When he was found, his body was still hanging on the tree, with his tongue hanging out and his eyes wide open, it was very scary." Chen Jianjun looked in the direction he pointed, and sure enough, there was a dark mark on the branch, as if it had been tied with a rope for a long time, deeply embedded in the bark, and the color was much darker than the surrounding bark, which looked particularly eye-catching. When the wind blew, the branch swayed, as if someone was hanging on it, swaying gently with the wind, which made Chen Jianjun feel cold. "Since then, there has been no peace under the locust tree." Old Zhao continued, "From time to time, people would see a woman in a blue cloth shirt wandering under the locust tree, and they would hear her crying. The villagers said that it was the ghost of Old Zhou's wife who had returned, looking for her child. Later, I had someone wrap red cloth around the locust tree and invited a Feng Shui master from the commune to take a look. He said that the red cloth could suppress evil spirits, and then things were quiet for a while. But I didn't expect that these things would happen again not long after." After hearing this, Chen Jianjun became even more panicked. He looked at the long hair and bowl fragments on the ground, and then at the rope marks on the locust tree. He always felt that a pair of eyes were staring at him in the dark, making him feel uncomfortable. "Secretary Zhao, what about last night..." Chen Jianjun was about to mention the footsteps last night when he was pulled by Li Jianguo. He looked back and saw that Li Jianguo was winking at him, indicating that he should say no more. Chen Jianjun had to swallow the rest of his words, but his heart was full of questions. Old Zhao seemed not to notice their little movements. He took a few more puffs of his cigarette, then stood up and put his pipe on his waist: "Okay, stop gathering here. Go back to work. Jianjun, come with me. I'll show you the fields. From now on, you can work in the fields with the villagers." Chen Jianjun nodded and followed Old Zhao to the fields outside the village. Li Jianguo also followed, walking beside him, and whispered: "I told you not to mention what happened last night to the villagers. They are most taboo about this. The affairs of the Old Zhou family are taboo in the village. No one wants to talk about it." Chen Jianjun said "hmm" and said nothing more, but he was thinking about what Old Zhao said in his heart. Old Zhou's wife died of dystocia and Old Zhou committed suicide by hanging. This was originally a tragic thing, but now there are so many strange phenomena. Could it be that the ghost of Old Zhou's wife is really haunting the village? The fields in the village are all at the foot of the mountain outside the village, and most of them are planted with millet and corn. It was harvest time, and the millet in the fields had turned yellow. The heavy ears of grain bent the stalks. A gust of wind blew through the fields, sending golden waves through them, carrying a faint fragrance of grain. The villagers were busy in the fields, some harvesting, some bundling, and others loading bundles onto carts. Everyone's face was filled with the joy of a good harvest, but this joy couldn't dispel the gloom in Chen Jianjun's heart. Old Zhao handed him over to a villager named Uncle Wang, a man in his fifties with dark skin and calloused hands, a man who had been working the farm for years. Old Zhao asked Uncle Wang to take good care of Chen Jianjun, then shouldered his plow and went to work on another field. Uncle Wang gave Chen Jianjun a sickle and taught him how to harvest the millet: "Hold the sickle in your hand, close to the ground, and cut the millet stalks. Then set them aside. I'll bundle them later. Remember, don't cut your hands; this sickle is very sharp." Chen Jianjun took the sickle. The wooden handle had been polished to a smooth finish, and the blade gleamed coldly. He bent down, imitating Uncle Wang's instructions, and began to harvest the millet. At first, he was unskilled, cutting slowly and unevenly, and almost cutting himself. Uncle Wang watched from the side, occasionally giving him pointers. Gradually, Chen Jianjun became proficient, harvesting quickly and efficiently. The sun slowly rose overhead, its rays growing stronger and stronger, burning his skin. Chen Jianjun's forehead was covered in sweat, which trickled down his cheeks and dripped into the soil, drying instantly. His clothes were also soaked with sweat, clinging to his body uncomfortably. The villagers took out the water bottles they brought and drank water to rest. Chen Jianjun also stopped and drank a few sips of cold water before he felt a little better. After resting for a while, they continued to work. They were busy until the sun was about to set, and the millet in the field was almost harvested. The setting sun dyed the sky orange-red. The Taihang Mountains in the distance were reflected by the setting sun, as if covered with a layer of golden gauze, which looked particularly beautiful. But Chen Jianjun had no mind to appreciate this beautiful scenery. He always felt uneasy in his heart, as if something was going to happen. At this moment, a gust of wind blew over from the other side of the mountain, bringing a chill. The wind was mixed with the cry of a woman. The cry was thin and faint, floating in the wind, sometimes coming and going, and it sounded particularly miserable. Chen Jianjun's heart tightened, he stopped the work in his hands, and pricked up his ears to listen.