Milky-white mist drifted through the forest, slithering along with a life of its own. Second Brother’s senses went into overdrive, and he barked decisively, “Tie the ropes!”
They had spent years prowling these mountains and seen every kind of freakish thing under the sun. This fog—springing up out of nowhere, neither from rain nor at dusk or dawn—was known in their line of work as Uncanny Fog. When it rolled in, it meant Black and White Impermanence were on their way to claim souls. If you got lucky, you could stand stock-still amid it and wait for it to lift. If your luck ran sour, you’d wander lost in its grip, and the next time anyone laid eyes on you, you’d be a corpse.
This stuff didn’t crop up often. In all their years scraping by on this gig, they’d run into it just once before—today marked the second. Last time, they’d been part of a twenty-man crew. Only the three of them had made it out alive. The other fifteen? Gone without a trace, living or dead.
Old Five snatched a coil of rope from his belt at once. He looped quick-release knots around Second Brother’s and Third Brother’s waists—tight enough to hold, but ready to slip free in a pinch. “Son of a bitch,” he spat. “Talk about shitty luck!”
Something stirred in the fog, drawing nearer. The wind turned deathly cold in an instant, whipping their faces raw. Third Brother shot a glance northwest, certain he’d caught the sound of footsteps.
Not human ones. More like a cat—or something else entirely—padding light as a dream, so faint you could write it off as nerves. But he’d heard it clear as day.
He couldn’t say if it was just him or if Second Brother and Old Five felt it too, but an unseen gaze bored into him all the same. He swallowed dryly. What was this killer stalking them from the mist? Some beast? A person? Or had Impermanence arrived at last?
It was the not knowing that clawed deepest at the nerves.
Old Five’s eyelids fluttered like mad, his hands shaking against his will. He froze for a beat, muttering some kind of chant under his breath. Third Brother kept his eyes locked northwest, ears ringing too loud to catch what Old Five was saying.
Second Brother struck a match and lit a cigarette. The red ember flared bright for a heartbeat before settling into a steady glow—but after one drag, it snuffed out without a whisper of warning.
Just like that, the crushing pressure lifted clean away. All three let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding, relief washing over them for reasons none could name.
They hadn’t a clue what had happened. They hadn’t lifted a finger. Yet the danger felt gone.
An hour later, Chen Ji slid down from Little Ghost Fire’s back, arms laden with bags and boxes. Little Translator shuffled alongside, packages strapped to its body—all Chen Ji’s deliveries—with one clamped awkwardly in its mouth. Chen Ji arched a brow at the two sharp-dressed men waiting by the temple gate. One in black, one in white: Black Impermanence and White Impermanence, not seen in ages.
Black Impermanence raised a hand with a cheeky grin. “Master Chen! Long time no see. Sent you a WeChat before we headed up. You miss it?”
Truth be told, Chen Ji had clean forgotten friending the pair. One had a cartoon avatar, the other a stock photo of blue skies and fluffy clouds—lost in the sea of work contacts he’d accumulated. No nicknames saved, and he never scrolled Moments anyway.
He fished out his phone for a look. Sure enough, Cartoon Avatar—Black Impermanence—had pinged him: Job up on Little Azure Mountain today. Mind if we swing by for a drink?
Chen Ji had been too busy grabbing packages to notice.
His gut twisted at “job.” All his precautions, and he’d still missed it? Don’t tell him it was the temple stirring shit again. He’d begged It to lay low, just hold off—but nope, It scarfs down whatever crosses Its path and won’t listen to reason!
“Sorry about that.” Chen Ji ushered them inside at once. “Just got back with the stuff, didn’t check messages. You got a job here? No way.”
Black Impermanence shrugged it off. “Nah, not yours. Down the mountain—Wujiang Village. Two souls due today. But we’re here now…”
White Impermanence tugged his sleeve with a faint smile. “Master Chen, you didn’t hear a thing.”
Chen Ji chuckled. “Come on in for some tea.”
Black Impermanence craned his neck. “We can actually come inside?”
“Yep.” Chen Ji stepped through the gate first, directing Little Ghost Fire and Little Translator to drop the packages. Little Red was still outside entertaining tourists—the Mountain Lord Temple had no real views to speak of, still mid-renovation with the main hall reeking of off-gassing formaldehyde. Folks lit incense and bolted.
The foreman nearby spotted him and hollered, “Boss is back! Need a hand?”
Chen Ji called back, “Nah, Master Huang—you all keep at it.”
“You got it!”
Chen Ji led Black and White Impermanence deeper inside. Construction noise outside made chatting tricky, so they settled into the freshly tidied tea room. Once seated, Chen Ji asked, “Green tea? Milk tea? Soda? Picked up some coconut water if you’re game.”
Black Impermanence beamed. “Coconut water, thanks!”
White Impermanence nodded. “Same here. Appreciate it.”
Chen Ji passed over two chilled bottles—fresh from his drive back via the Ghost Path, courtesy of Second Master Huang’s backup. No sweat. Black Impermanence chugged half in one go, belched with a coconut tang, then remarked, “Master Chen, you starting up tourism on this mountain now?”
“Yep.” Chen Ji didn’t bat an eye. “Incense Fire here’s too thin. Gotta drum up some revenue.”
“Makes sense.” Black Impermanence chatted like old pals. “Tourists are a hassle, though. On our way up, we spotted some yahoo smoking in the woods. Tsk, no fear of a blaze? I put it out for ya—no thanks needed!”
Chen Ji managed, “…Thanks. Want snacks? Fresh butter cakes and egg tarts.”
Black Impermanence dove right in, polishing off half the plate before admitting, “Damn good. No wonder you’re blowing up. This the stuff from Lu XX River? Their butter cakes are the real deal. You alright?”
Chen Ji, mid-listen, blinked at the last bit. “Huh?”
Black Impermanence waved it off. “Just shooting the breeze if you’re good. We’re killing time—wage slaves gotta slave, am I right? Deaths aren’t till midnight, and we’re here at noon! Oy!”
“If you’re busy, ignore us. We’ll mooch your Wi-Fi and bounce when it’s go-time.”
Chen Ji’s curiosity piqued. “No local Ghost Messengers posted here?”
“There were.” Black Impermanence crammed in an egg tart, mumbling around it. “But business is slow, so they got reassigned—to the town, then the province… Sigh! Far as a job pops, we’re the ones on out-of-town duty. Can’t the locals snag ’em first and ship over later?”
Chen Ji latched onto the hint. “S City folks again this time?”
White Impermanence spoke up abruptly. His eyes mirrored Chen Ji’s—inky black voids, lightless yet laced with a ghost of amusement that chased off the chill. He inclined his head. “Indeed, Master Chen.”
Black Impermanence finally swallowed. “Who else? Why else us on the road? Speaking of—you watch yourself. Maybe call the cops. Saw a guy toting a hunting rifle on the way up. Shady as hell!”
He rattled on without pause. “And this mountain? Unsafe as they come. You should kowtow extra to That One. We spotted a Mountain Leech Demon chowing on a fresh soul right off… Brutal end! But that one’s drowned in karma—doomed to soul-scatter. Not our place to meddle.”
He flicked his eyes toward the main hall.
Chen Ji’s brows lifted slightly. He’d sensed these two had an agenda this trip, and now it clicked: the intel dump was too heavy. They were casual contacts at best—debts paid in full. Would he detour to a normie’s spot on Little Azure Mountain just to mooch tea and Wi-Fi en route to Wujiang Village? Hell no. That place was tourist-ready, milk tea shops and cafes everywhere. Internet aplenty. Worst case, hit the nearer town—net cafe booth for pennies.
He opened his mouth to speak—only for Black Impermanence to wink conspiratorially and shove his phone over with a contact card. Chen Ji got the picture, mumbling agreement while pretending to fiddle with his own screen and scan the code.
Friend request accepted in a flash, message pinging: Sir, save my parents! Name your price!
Chen Ji glanced at the text, then at Black and White Impermanence. Black Impermanence stared ahead innocently. White Impermanence smiled as ever, dipping his head in subtle nod.
Message received. They’d been lying in wait.
“Son of a dog!” Old Five snarled. “An hour’s gone by—when the hell’s this fog lifting?”
It was high noon, sunniest time of day, yet pitch black as midnight where they stood. Visibility nil, gray haze swallowing everything past arm’s reach.
Second Brother in the lead, Old Five bringing up the rear, Third Brother sandwiched between—the trio strung out single-file, pressing forward. By rights, they should’ve cleared the woods ages ago.
But they were still looping inside.
Third Brother rumbled, “Wait here for it to burn off?”
Second Brother mulled it a second. “No dice. Who knows when that’ll happen? Nightfall’d be worse.”
This wasn’t some tame stroll in the park. The woods crawled with venomous snakes and bugs, even wolves and big cats. Fog like this was unnatural from the jump, canopy choked thick—sitting ducks here was suicide. Caught passive like this? Bad news.
Plus, creepy mist like this? Better bail sooner.
Old Five nodded along. Third Brother came around. They pushed on. That’s when Old Five blurted, “Hey, is that a woman up ahead?”
Third Brother’s face hardened. “Run!”
No villages for miles in this godforsaken nowhere—women didn’t wander here!
The others bolted without a word. Then Second Brother’s foot sank into the yielding ground. Balance lost, he pitched forward—yanking the rope-taut pair after him before they could react. All three tumbled in tandem.
Battle-hardened pros, they scrambled for any tool to brake against the slope. Useless—the ground was all spongy humus, zero purchase. Leaves exploded in their wake as they slid, battered giddy, till momentum finally sputtered out.
Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air. “Someone’s fallen!”
The three of them stared in bewilderment as heads poked out from above—one… no, two, three… a total of six heads altogether.
Zhao Ling’s mouth fell open as she stared at the three middle-aged men sprawled in a tangled heap. “Uncle? What happened to you guys?”
