“It’s nothing. Junior brother, stay here and guard the employers. If any ghosts show up, I’ll cut them down with a single stroke!”

  “Mr. Brooks, be careful!”

  “It’s just a little ghost, I’ll be back in no time!”

  Mr. Brooks hefted his eyebrow-tipped saber and strode boldly into the thick fog, heading straight for the firelight on the other side. Though he wasn’t particularly tall, he carried himself with a certain presence.

  The merchants felt a bit more at ease at the sight.

  As the saying goes, people fear ghosts a little, but ghosts fear people even more. With such a bold and vigorous martial man among them, ordinary little demons and ghosts were nothing to worry about.

  So everyone just watched as that figure quickly faded into the mist. They could vaguely see him swinging his saber a few times and cursing in a northwestern accent, but the fog seemed to muffle not only their vision but also the sound. After just a few steps, they could no longer make out what he was saying.

  The merchants grew tense again, sometimes staring in that direction, sometimes glancing anxiously around.

  Before long, a figure emerged from the fog.

  It was Mr. Brooks.

  Mr. Brooks still held his eyebrow-tipped saber, but his other hand was empty. He stood just outside the pavilion, a hint of panic on his face: “Not good, the young gentleman over there has fainted! Someone come help me carry him!”

  Everyone was startled at these words, their pupils widening.

  The other escort had already drawn the chain mace from his side, gripping it in his hand and letting it dangle and sway, constantly licking his lips to hide his nervousness.

  In the end, it was the merchant who had gone to the neighboring pavilion to borrow firewood who stood up, forcing himself to appear calm and even giving a slight bow:

  “We’re just passing through, earning a bit of hard money, and haven’t disturbed you. If you’re willing to leave now, when we return this way, we’ll be sure to bring you some pork, lamb, and incense as thanks.”

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

  “Your, your voice doesn’t sound quite right.”

  “……”

  That Mr. Brooks instantly froze, eyes wide as he stared at them. The next second, 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, it was even more unsettling.

  Everything was just as the rumors said…

  But according to the rumors, this ghost was not easy to deal with.

  After the time it takes to snap one’s fingers, another figure finally emerged from the fog, one hand holding the eyebrow-tipped saber, the other carrying a bundle of firewood. In a hurry, he crossed the fog in just a few steps, only relaxing once he entered the circle of firelight.

  He looked around at everyone, only to find that they were all staring at him with wide, fearful, and suspicious eyes.

  Mr. Brooks was taken aback, his expression growing serious.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “The fog ghost just now disguised itself as you, trying to lure us out.”

  “Did anyone go?”

  “It didn’t do a very good job imitating you…”

  “Hmph, cheap trick!”

  Mr. Brooks let go with his left hand, letting the firewood tumble to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure moving in the fog and immediately grew alert.

  “Mr. Brooks, how’s it over there?”

  “Where?”

  “Over by the young gentleman, of course! Did he notice anything strange? Was he frightened? When you went to borrow firewood, was he unwilling?”

  “Well…”

  Mr. Brooks was momentarily at a loss.

  He’d been tense just now, hurriedly went to borrow firewood, exchanged a few words, and rushed back with the bundle—he’d even dropped the firewood a few times—so he hadn’t really paid attention. Now that he thought about it, that pavilion and the young gentleman inside had been unusually calm. Thinking back, he could only recall the crackling of the fire, nothing else.

  After a moment’s thought, Mr. Brooks said:

  “I didn’t pay much attention, but as soon as I asked to borrow firewood, the young gentleman agreed right away and told me to take it all.”

  “Did you explain the situation to him? Did you invite the young gentleman to come over?”

  “Mr. Thompson, you must be joking. How could I forget that?” Mr. Brooks sounded a bit displeased. “I told him there were ghosts here, said we had too much cargo to move over and join him, and asked him to come over. But he just told me to take all the firewood.”

  “Well…”

  The merchants exchanged glances again.

  Just as they were about to say something, a wailing sound came—the wind howled like a ghost crying, cold and rainy, blowing so hard that the fire in the pavilion flickered wildly, nearly going out.

  The flames turned a deep red for a moment, making the pavilion in the mist look like the underworld.

  Everyone quickly huddled together to block the wind, and only then did the fire rekindle, the light in the pavilion growing bright again, bringing a sense of safety.

  That Mr. Brooks stood with his saber, cursing again.

  There’s a saying among the people that swearing can drive away little ghosts. Maybe Mr. Brooks believed this, or maybe he was just trying to bolster his own courage.

  Whatever the reason, the merchants did feel a bit comforted. But then they thought: martial artists have strong vital energy, so demons and ghosts rarely bother them. If one also has a fearless heart, it’s even safer. But it seemed that even martial artists couldn’t do much against this elusive fog ghost—at best, they could protect themselves, but not everyone else.

  And as for the firewood… even if the fire wasn’t blown out by the evil wind, it probably wouldn’t last until dawn.

  The fog ghost could simply wait until they ran out of firewood!

  Just as this thought occurred, another gust of cold wind blew in.

  “Whoosh…”