Life Is Short for Humans, Long for Ghosts

"Old Man Sun really is an old steed aspiring to gallop a thousand miles," Jiang Qiao sighed.

"But there's no need to hurry. We can talk about it after we get out. We've been waiting here for ages. Something new should be coming to us soon."

As soon as he finished speaking,

a cold, gloomy wind swept past, and sheets of yellow paper cut into human shapes drifted through the air.

"Yang Fugui?"

Jiang Qiao reached out and caught one. Three crooked black characters were written on it.

"Are these the names of people from the village?"

He suddenly recalled some rumors he had heard before. In certain Desolate Villages, people often found objects inside houses that seemed to represent information about the owner's identity.

For example, old black-and-white memorial portraits hanging on the walls, tattered medical records thrown on the floor, greeting cards bearing the owner's name, and so on.

Usually, very few people bothered to investigate these things.

However, there were also some idle netizens who tried to learn about the former history of the people who had lived in those houses based on such clues.

As a result, a tiny number of them encountered strange incidents.

The things they found in the old houses simply did not belong to the original owners.

Whether old photographs or identity documents, none of them had anything to do with the homeowners.

The homeowners did not know those people either.

Then, who did these things belong to?

Why had they appeared here?

No one could answer.

It was like how tens of millions of people disappeared around the world every year. Some of them could never be found, and almost no one knew where they had gone.

As if they had vanished from the face of the earth.

"Huh? This name