The Haunted House, The Mission, The Card Pool

Lu Chen opened the bundle, which contained a set of gray martial arts attire, a pair of thick-soled boots, and a worn black cotton robe.

He changed with practiced efficiency, buckled on his saber, and turned to head out.

An hour later, outside the East Gate.

The wind and snow had paused, leaving the sky heavy and somber.

Thirty or forty people had gathered in the clearing alongside a dozen mule carts, the sounds of voices and horse neighs blending into a chaotic din.

Most of the crowd were clerks from Daxing Rice Shop, huddled with their hands tucked into their sleeves, shoulders hunched against the cold.

A separate group of seven or eight sturdy men, carrying themselves with the slick, streetwise air of city ruffians, stood together whispering and laughing.

These were the men Jin Ming had privately recruited over the years, brought along now to bolster his presence.

Jin Ming stood on the shaft of a cart, his cheeks flushed from a mix of excitement and the biting cold. He cleared his throat, straining to project his voice over the wind: "Gentlemen, this trip to Jiaoguo is the final major task before the new year. We must collect the grain in full and ensure it is of the highest quality! We must travel the road steadily and safely!"

He swept his gaze over the crowd and raised his voice further:

"This is the first time I, Jin Ming, have shouldered this responsibility alone. I rely on all you brothers to support me. As long as we return smoothly, your pay will be doubled, and there will be plenty of wine and meat for everyone!"

"The young master is generous!"

A few sharp-witted men in the crowd immediately shouted in support.

The clerks followed suit with smiles, and the atmosphere grew a little more lively.

Jin Ming took a deep breath and waved his hand sharply: "Move out!"

The crowd surged, and the carts began to roll, their wheels grinding against the residual snow.

Jin Ming vaulted onto his horse, straightening his back and gripping the reins. He rode back and forth alongside the convoy, trying his best to project the air of a seasoned veteran.

Lu Chen watched for a moment before walking to a cart near the rear of the procession that was loaded with miscellaneous goods but still had some space. With a light leap, he sat down.

He disliked riding horses; it was bumpy and drew too much attention. This empty cart was perfect.

Jin Ming did not take the main imperial road.

Once the convoy cleared the East Gate, it turned onto a dirt path narrower than the main road.

This was the grain route that Daxing Rice Shop had worn down over many years of transport.

They knew every dip and bump on this path, where to stop for rest, and which mountains lay nearby. They had already paid off the local bandit gangs, and rumors of strange beasts or monsters were few and far between.

Seven or eight times out of ten, traveling this route was safe.

But since this was Jin Ming's first time taking full charge, he dared not be careless.

He had scattered scouts ahead of and behind the convoy, disguised as traveling merchants or woodcutters, following from a distance.

About the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, someone would return to report to Jin Ming's horse, whispering that the "road ahead is clear" or "nothing to report from the rear," before vanishing back into the roadside brush.

As the sky darkened, the convoy followed the grain route into a mountain pass.

Ahead, a cluster of buildings appeared, dotted with flickering lights—a mountain waystation.

Wen'an County was surrounded by mountains and home to many hunters; traveling merchants often stopped here to rest and trade.

The waystation was enclosed by rammed-earth walls two men high, topped with thorny brambles, and patrolled by guards armed with crossbows.

Inside the heavy, iron-reinforced wooden gates, the air was thick with the noise of people, the lowing of livestock, the clatter of pots and ladles, and the steam of hot food, radiating a bustling warmth into the cold night.

The clearing in front of the gate was already packed with carts and horses, and merchants carrying furs and mountain treasures shouted as they moved in and out.

As the convoy creaked into the station, Jin Ming finally let out a sigh of relief.

Daxing Rice Shop was a regular customer here, and the head clerk of the team was well-acquainted with the routine, quickly finding the proprietor to arrange rooms and order food and drink.

Jin Ming, with his pampered young master's constitution, had been rattled to the bone after a day of riding. He collapsed into his room and was snoring almost immediately.

There were two types of lodging at the waystation:

One was a private room—clean and expensive.

The other was a large communal sleeping platform, where a dozen men squeezed onto a single heated bed. The bedding was provided, but one never knew how many layers of strangers' sweat and grime it had absorbed; it was a mix of sour sweat and mold, dirty and damp.

Experienced merchants and travelers usually brought their own bedding.

Jin Ming, exhausted and weary from the day's travel, couldn't be bothered to keep up his act of generosity and claimed a private room for himself.

Lu Chen? He had simply waved a hand, leaving him to squeeze onto the communal platform.

When the evening meal arrived, the men drank and chatted. The main course was noodles served with a basin of stewed meat. The origin of the meat was unknown—this area had many hunters and no shortage of game, making it cheap and filling.

Lu Chen was eating his noodles with his head down.

Suddenly, a conversation among some hunters at the next table caught his attention.

"Brother Zhao, did you really run into the Huo Family Ghost House?"

"I ran into it."

A scarred man took a gulp of wine and said in a low, heavy voice:

"Seven or eight of us from the village encountered it together. At first, we thought it was just an abandoned house and wanted to go inside to escape the snow. By the time we realized something was wrong, it was already too late."

"What happened to the people who went inside?"

"They're dead," the man said, his face full of terror. "One by one, they vanished without a sound. I accidentally rolled into a cellar and crawled through the darkness, only to end up climbing out of a dirt hole on the back mountain... It's evil, truly mother-cursed evil."

Not only did Lu Chen hear this, but several young fellows at the neighboring table also pricked up their ears.

"Huo Family Ghost House? What's that?" one young fellow couldn't help but interject.

Ma Jun, the caravan manager, puffed on his dry tobacco pipe and said indifferently, "An evil place, right here in the nearby mountains. Many have stumbled upon it, but few who go inside ever come out alive. That hunter is incredibly lucky to have made it out."

"What exactly is in that ghost house? Monsters? Ghosts?" another fellow pressed.

Manager Ma shook his head. "Hard to say. The elders only say that a wealthy man named Huo was once obsessed with alchemy and hid deep in the mountains, though no one knows what kind of evil thing he concocted. Later, the house started acting strange. People began to vanish one after another—a maid gone today, a farmhand missing tomorrow. No sign of them alive, no corpse to be found."

Lu Chen suddenly interjected, "What if an External Strength martial artist went in?"

Manager Ma raised his eyes to look at him and shook his head. "Never heard of it. External Strength martial artists aren't bored out of their minds; why would they go crawling into a place like that?"

Lu Chen said nothing more, his gaze falling upon a mission interface that had suddenly appeared.

[Mission: Explore the Huo Family Ghost House]

[Reward: Unlock the "Truth-Peering Pill" card pool]

He pondered to himself, never expecting that a few idle words from a hunter could trigger a mission.

Truth-Peering Pill? Judging by the name, it was likely a card pool related to medicinal pills.

Fortunately, the mission had no time limit, so there was no need to rush.

He would make plans once he had grown stronger in the future.

The night at the cargo depot was boisterous.

Merchants and hunters gathered in the main hall, where charcoal braziers burned brightly, filling the air with a mixture of smoke, alcohol, and sweat.

The liveliest spot was the large wooden table in the northeast corner, crowded with people. Dice clattered in a bowl, copper coins jingled, and the air was filled with curses and cheers.

The gambling fellows from the caravan had already squeezed in, their faces flushed red as they placed their bets.

One fellow spotted Lu Chen standing to the side and called out, "Brother Lu, not going to play a few rounds? My luck is red-hot!"

"I don't know how," Lu Chen shook his head.

The man didn't press him, turning his attention back to the dice in the bowl.

Lu Chen had no interest in gambling; nine out of ten bets were rigged, and the house took everything.

He shifted his gaze to the other end of the depot, which was slightly quieter. Several oilcloths were spread on the ground, scattered with odds and ends that merchants had brought along on the side.

Lu Chen lifted the hem of his robe and squatted down, rummaging through the pile: old books, strange stones, bronze ware, daggers... all useless trinkets.

He lost interest and was about to stand up when he caught sight of a hairpin lying at the very back of the stall. It was polished from a conch shell, glowing with a soft, pink luster, and crafted with exquisite detail. It was very beautiful.

Lu Chen suddenly remembered that his master's wife always used a plain wooden hairpin to tie up her hair.

If this shell hairpin were tucked into her hair, it might suit her very well.