There are Fog Ghosts in the Mountains

The dozen or so people were all middle-aged. Two escorts were easy to spot, dressed alike in the garb of wandering martial artists—one carried a Brow-Tip Blade in hand, the other had a Chain Flail tucked at his waist. The rest were dressed as merchants, their clothing mainly black and white as per Great Yan regulations.

The group entered another pavilion, unloaded their goods, and stacked them where the rain wouldn't reach, only then removing their cloaks and shaking off a puddle of water.

The pavilion wasn't large; the sturdy mules and horses simply took shelter from the rain under the trees.

The dozen or so spoke in hushed tones with regional accents, chilled by the rain and the night wind. Someone couldn't help glancing at the fire in front of Song You and the dry firewood in the corner of the pavilion, then they exchanged nudges and stares.

Finally, one person walked over and cupped his hands to Song You.

"Young Mister, greetings. Did you gather this firewood? It looks more than you'll need for the night—could you sell us some? Our clothes are damp, and we'd like to warm ourselves by a fire."

In the Great Yan dynasty, it was customary to address Taoist priests as "Mister."

Song You was still wearing his Taoist robe.

"I didn't gather it. It was here when I arrived. If you need some, help yourselves."

"Then we won't stand on ceremony."

The middle-aged merchant carried a small armful of firewood back. He didn't borrow a flame but started his own fire, then took out dry rations, heated them before the flames, and ate with water while talking quietly, occasionally glancing around.

The wind carried their voices over.

From their discussion about the earlier decision to take shelter, with some mild arguments, Song You gathered why they were traveling at night.

This group were all tea merchants. Their original destination for the day was a Hostel thirty li ahead, a lodging convenient for traders. But a heavy rain had caught them mid-journey, and someone's goods had a waterproofing issue for some reason. Fearing the tea leaves would get soaked, they found a place to wait out the rain. Unfortunately, that stretch of road had recently been plagued by Fog Ghosts, and many dared not travel it at night. So as soon as the rain let up and the waterproofing was fixed, they hurried on.

By the time they reached this spot, night had fallen, and traveling in the dark wasn't a good idea, so they had to stop here.

Some said this area was already past that stretch; others said the tea peddlers had all moved away, meaning the Fog Ghost must be causing trouble here. Some argued they shouldn't have taken shelter earlier; others said they shouldn't have stopped just now and should have kept going. A few even discussed Song You.

Though Song You wore a Taoist robe, he was too young. In these times, one in ten Taoist priests could actually catch demons and drive away ghosts, so no one took him seriously. After a few exchanges, they stopped focusing on him.

"Fog Ghost..."

Song You stared blankly at the fire.

This was a common mountain wild ghost, fond of appearing in fog. The weak ones relied on the mist to hide themselves and harmed people through intimidation, while those with higher cultivation could spew fog to shroud an area and attack travelers within it.

But this kind of ghost usually didn't amount to much. Ordinary hot-blooded martial artists, or even bold strong men, weren't afraid of it.

The fire shrank, and Song You added more wood.

Before long, the rain stopped.

Mountain rains often brought fog when they ceased, mostly in patches that gathered in hollows, and this time was no exception.

But this fog seemed too thick.

Though the sky was dark, it hadn't been completely lightless before—the faint outlines of distant mountains were visible, and by the firelight, one could see the ancient cypresses by the road and the weeds beneath them. Yet now, in the blink of an eye, the whole world seemed filled with dense fog.

In the thick mist, neither mountains nor trees could be seen. Even the two pavilions, not far apart and both with burning fires, only showed each other's dim glow.

Even that glow was compressed to its limit by the fog.

It had turned eerie, almost without notice.

The merchants were startled, realizing they'd encountered a demon or ghost.

"Everyone, don't be afraid! The more you fear, the fiercer it gets!"

"Right! Ghosts fear people too!"

"Add wood! Add wood! Make the fire bigger!"

"There's no more wood..."

The crowd exchanged glances, looking toward the other pavilion's direction, where an orange firelight glowed.

Though it was only three or five zhang away, the thick fog filled the gap. In this situation, only the small area lit by their fire seemed safe. Who would dare cross the dense fog to fetch wood over there? Or should they all go over together and just stay there?

A cold wind suddenly blew in from outside.

The group turned their gazes to the two hired escorts.

The one with the Chain Flail felt his heart pound, his eyes darting nervously. The one with the Brow-Tip Blade met everyone's stares, spat to the side, and furrowed his brow with a natural fierceness that would likely make even a minor ghost tremble:

"I'll go borrow some wood!"

"Senior Brother, I'll go with you!"

"No need, Junior Brother. You stay here and guard the various masters. If I run into a ghost on the way, I'll chop it down with one swing!"

"Be careful, Duke Chen!"

"Just a minor ghost—I'll be back in a flash!"

The escort surnamed Chen, Brow-Tip Blade in hand, strode boldly into the thick fog, heading straight for the firelight opposite. Though not particularly tall, he carried himself with some presence.

The merchants felt a bit calmer seeing this.

As the saying goes, people fear ghosts three parts, ghosts fear people seven. With such a bold martial artist, full of vigorous blood energy, even ordinary minor demons and ghosts wouldn't be a threat.

So everyone watched as his figure quickly blurred. They could vaguely see him swing his blade a few times and curse something in a Guanxi accent, but the fog seemed to muffle sound as well as sight—after just a few steps, they couldn't make out a word.

The merchants grew tense again, sometimes staring in that direction, sometimes turning to look around.

Before long, a figure emerged from the fog.

It was precisely that escort surnamed Chen.

The escort surnamed Chen still held the Brow-Tip Blade, but his other hand was empty. He stood outside the pavilion shelter, a hint of panic on his face: "Not good—that Young Mister next door has fainted. Someone come, help me carry him over!"

The crowd was startled once more, their pupils widening.

The other escort had already drawn his Chain Flail, holding it low as it swayed, but he kept licking his lips to mask his nervousness.

In the end, it was the merchant who had gone to the neighboring shelter to borrow firewood who stood up, forcing calm, even offering a bow:

"We are merely passing through, earning a meager wage. We have no intention of disturbing you. If you would be willing to leave now, when we return this way, we will bring you pigs, sheep, and incense as thanks."

"What are you saying? Come over here and help carry him!"

"You... your voice doesn't sound quite right."

"..."

The escort surnamed Chen froze instantly, his eyes wide as he stared at them. The next moment, like a punctured balloon, he burst with a puff into a cloud of mist, merging into the surrounding fog, vanishing without a trace.

The ghost left so cleanly, yet it only made their hearts pound harder.

Everything was just like the rumors said...

But the rumors also said this ghost was no easy foe.

About another snap of the fingers passed before another figure emerged from the mist, one hand holding the Brow-Tip Blade, the other clutching a bundle of firewood. In a few hurried steps, he crossed from the fog into the range of the firelight, only then relaxing.

When he looked up at the crowd, he found them all staring wide-eyed, their gazes fixed on him with terror and suspicion.

The escort surnamed Chen paused, his expression turning serious.

"What? What happened?"

"That Fog Ghost just now disguised itself as you, trying to lure us out."

"Did anyone go?"

"It didn't mimic you well enough..."

"Hmph, cheap tricks!"

The escort surnamed Chen loosened his left hand, letting the bundled firewood roll to the ground with a clatter. A sidelong glance caught movement in the mist, and he immediately tensed.

"Duke Chen, how was it over there?"

"Over where?"

"The Young Mister's side, of course! Did he notice anything unusual? Was he frightened? When you went to borrow firewood, was he reluctant?"

"Well..."

The escort surnamed Chen was taken aback.

His mind had been tightly wound—he'd hurried to borrow the firewood, exchanged a few words, then rushed back with the bundle, dropping it several times along the way. He hadn't paid much attention. Now that he thought about it carefully, he realized that the neighboring shelter and the Young Mister inside had been eerily calm. When he tried to recall, all he could remember was the crackling of the flames—nothing else.

After a moment's thought, the escort surnamed Chen said:

"I didn't notice much else, but the moment I asked to borrow the firewood, that Young Mister agreed at once and told me to take it all."

"Did you explain the situation to him? Did you invite the Young Mister over?"

"Duke Li, you jest—how could I forget that?" The escort surnamed Chen sounded a bit offended. "I told him there was a ghost here, said our goods were too many to move over and share his shelter, and asked him to come. He just told me to take all the firewood and leave."

"This..."

The merchants exchanged glances again.

Before they could say more, a mournful wail rose—the wind sounded like a ghost weeping. A cold gust carried rain, shaking the fire in the pavilion until it nearly went out.

The flames turned a deep red, casting the mist-shrouded shelter in the likeness of the underworld.

The crowd quickly formed a circle to block the wind. The fire rekindled, and the light in the pavilion brightened again, bringing a measure of safety.

The escort surnamed Chen stood blade in hand and began to curse.

Folk wisdom held that foul language could drive off lesser ghosts—perhaps that was his reasoning, or perhaps he was just bolstering his own courage.

Whatever the case, the merchants did find some comfort in it. But then they thought again: a martial artist with vigorous blood and qi was hard for ghosts to harm, and if he also had a fearless heart, that was even more reassuring. Yet even an ordinary martial artist seemed helpless against this elusive, formless Fog Ghost—at best, he could protect himself, not all of them.

And the firewood... even if the fire wasn't snuffed out by the eerie wind, it probably wouldn't last until dawn.

The Fog Ghost could simply wait until their firewood ran out!

No sooner had that thought crossed their minds than another gust of cold wind blew in.

"Whoosh..."

Fiercer and colder than before, it seemed to pierce from the skin straight into the organs, reaching deep into the soul, making them tremble uncontrollably. The fire, as if struck by something, shrank to its limit, leaving only glowing red embers.

Before the crowd could shield it—

"Whoosh..."

The fire went out in an instant.

Only the red glow of the embers remained, reflected on faces twisted in panic, making them look little different from ghosts themselves.

The embers quickly turned black and gray.

In their panic, the crowd saw figures moving within the thick fog, and not far off, another cluster of firelight, a blurry yellow glow through the mist.

That fire hadn't gone out!?

"Over there!"

Someone shouted, and everyone scrambled to their feet, rushing madly toward the light.

The fine rain struck their bodies, bone-chillingly cold.

The merchant surnamed Li was short and stout, the oldest among them. Even running for his life, he was the slowest. As the beacon of safety drew nearer, he suddenly felt a hand grab his clothes, then his arm and neck—icy fingertips seeming to pierce into his flesh. In that moment, terror consumed him. He stretched out his arm to grab the clothes of the man ahead, but couldn't reach.

This is it...

At death's door, he couldn't recall the polished phrases learned from years of trade. He only knew he was doomed to fall here today, his flesh devoured, his soul drained, leaving nothing behind.

Just then, a calloused hand seized him. The calluses were hard as wood, scraping his skin raw.

The merchant surnamed Li opened his eyes wide and saw it was the heavily paid escort he'd hired. The man gripped his wrist tightly, cursing angrily behind him while dragging him forward with brute force.

It was like a tug-of-war.

"Pop..."

The merchant surnamed Li vaguely saw sparks fly, like a knot of wood bursting in the fire. The chilling touch on his body vanished, the pulling force from behind disappeared, replaced by an irresistible drag forward.

Shwoosh!

He was yanked into the pavilion.

The escort surnamed Chen's spitting sound echoed in his ears, followed by a smug, contemptuous remark:

"And here I thought it was something special!"

The merchant surnamed Li recovered from his panic and realized how quiet the pavilion was—

Not that there was no wind, but only the ordinary rustle of breeze, so faint it was nearly inaudible. Compared to the wailing just moments ago, it was utterly calm. The fire in the pavilion blazed, crackling, radiating a comforting warmth. The eerie wind seemed unable to enter.

It was just as it had been when they first arrived.

In the firelight, a young man in a Daoist robe sat cross-legged on the ground. His features were delicate, his expression serene. He lowered his head, the firelight reflected in his eyes.

This pavilion was truly peaceful.

He looked back outside. The thick fog still lingered, figures still swayed, lingering reluctantly yet seemingly afraid to approach.

"Everyone..."

It was the Young Mister's voice.

The crowd jolted, turning their heads to look at him with reverence.

"Let's rest here for the night."

The Young Mister pursed his lips, then turned his gaze outside the pavilion. In the mist, the fine rain fell. He added softly:

"Don't worry. When the rain stops, I'll come find you."