"Wake up, Ethan Zhang."
A voice sounded in my ear, jolting me awake. The chirping of crickets echoed all around—it's night, a perfectly clear night. Isabelle Frost was standing right beside me, and I was lying in a patch of forest that had been burned.
I opened my eyes wide, staring at everything before me in shock. All around, there were patches of forest showing signs of having been burned. Ahead, there was a village—or rather, it looked more like a small stockaded settlement.
Most of the houses were wooden, with only one two-story earthen building standing in the center.
The entire village was surrounded by wooden fences, sealing off the spaces between the houses. In some places, there were even sharpened wooden stakes.
"Where is this?"
"Don't ask me. I don't know either."
As Isabelle Frost spoke, she slowly floated upward.
"Hide your Ghost Aura."
I responded with an "oh" and floated up after Isabelle Frost. At this moment, I noticed that most of the villagers were still awake. It looked like there were about two hundred people, and many of them were holding sticks with sharpened tips.
The overall layout of the village was now clear. There were three entrances, all sealed off: one to the north, a road winding through the forest; one to the west, leading into the mountains; and one to the east, heading toward a vast expanse of rice paddies.
I was baffled—what on earth was going on? At that moment, in the distant western woods, I spotted some flickering lights, like fire.
"Everyone, be alert. They're coming."
I heard a voice coming from among the gathered villagers. Then I saw many of them start moving, heading toward the west.
Soon, I heard the sound of hooves, and the firelight grew brighter. It looked like there were about fifty people in the western woods, slowly emerging and heading this way.
"Damn it, listen up! If you don't open the gate, when we break in, you'll regret it!"
A burly man with a bushy beard, riding a horse and wielding a large saber, shouted. Two men flanked him, all dressed in animal skins and coarse linen pants—clearly not modern clothing.
"Marty Tysoe, we know all about your methods. Hmph, if we let you in, you wouldn't spare anyone except the women."
An elder's voice rang out. Then I saw an arrow whistle from inside the village, landing seven or eight meters in front of Marty Tysoe's horse.
It seemed these men were bandits, but I couldn't spot any members of the Ghost Burial Squad. I had no idea where they'd gone.
Just then, I noticed someone behind Marty Tysoe and his bandits—a whole gang of cutthroats, all living by the blade. But only one among them stood out. Was that David Wu?
I stared, seeing David Wu tightly bound and covered in blood. He glanced nervously at the bandits surrounding him.
"Is this guy one of your villagers?"
Marty Tysoe asked, pulling David Wu forward. Then that elderly voice from the village spoke up again.
"No. Do as you please. If you think you can rob us just because it's the festival, well, think again."
Sharp poles poked out from gaps in the wooden fence at the village entrance, clearly aimed at the bandits—most of whom were on horseback.
"Let's drive the bandits off first."
I said, ready to move, but Isabelle Frost stopped me.
"Don't act rashly until we figure out what era this place is from."
I replied with an "oh" and watched everything below. At that moment, Marty Tysoe began cursing furiously, threatening to slaughter the entire village.
The bandits behind Marty Tysoe emerged from the dense forest, each carrying a torch. Marty Tysoe retreated.
"Damn it, those half-dead fools! Brothers, don't be afraid! Once we break in, the villagers are all fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered—women for our pleasure, wine for our drinking!"
After Marty Tysoe finished, the bandits erupted in cheers. Many looked sallow and emaciated, clearly suffering from malnutrition.
Judging by their appearance, these were roaming horse bandits, never staying in one place for long out of fear of the authorities. Wherever they went, they looted and reveled, taking locals with them if they could, killing those they couldn't.
Only after amassing enough loot would they move far away and change identities. The authorities would be left chasing shadows, as most disguised themselves as merchant caravans. I remembered my university professor, Qian Jiaming, once said these bandits were a major headache for the government.
Their discipline and organization were strong—they never betrayed their comrades lightly, since getting caught meant public execution.
Once, someone in a bandit gang couldn't take it anymore and betrayed his own people, thinking he could earn a pardon. But when the gang was wiped out, he was executed along with them.
"Surprising—you know quite a lot about this."
Isabelle Frost turned to look at me. I smiled without replying, just quietly watching as the horse bandits drew closer.
Right now, I was desperate to know the cause of David Wu's death, so I could only wait in silence.
It began—the horse bandits tethered their horses in the woods, then advanced with weapons in hand. Some carried bows, others knives, and a few in front wielded crude wooden shields.
"This is your last chance. Listen up—if you surrender quietly, we'll just take some food and valuables and leave."
Marty Tysoe shouted again, but the village remained silent. I saw some villagers with bows nock their arrows, ready to attack the slowly approaching bandits.
I looked again—the villagers were all dressed in coarse cloth. Glancing around, I saw the bandits had tied David Wu to a tree. I quietly moved closer.
Just then, I saw figures moving in the woods. Isabelle Frost and I both stopped. Gradually, I made out four people—they were from the Ghost Burial Squad. I was stunned: two women, a man about forty, and a white-haired boy of sixteen or seventeen.
"Don't yell, David. It's just a beating."
The boy said with a grin. David Wu looked helplessly at him, while the two women began untying David Wu.
"What time is it now?"
The man around forty asked. One of the women, about thirty, with blunt bangs and glasses, her face resolute and quite pretty, took out a beeper and checked it.
"12:13. We've already checked—the other teams are missing."
"Such a hassle. Old Eccentric actually gave us such a complicated mission to handle."
The middle-aged man grumbled. David Wu was finally freed. He glared furiously at the bandits before him, spat, and a tooth flew out.
"Damn, they really hit hard."
"What now, uncle? Should we kill these bandits? I still don't know what's really going on in this man-eating outcast village—it's all so chaotic and frustrating."
Suddenly, I seemed to understand: Isabelle Frost and I had entered a memory belonging to one of these five Ghost Burial Squad members. This wasn't a real point in time—we'd have to find the memory fragments to return to the actual timeline.
"Just watch for now—let's see what happens."
Suddenly, there was a series of bangs—the bandits began their charge. I saw jars hurled toward the village, shattering and exploding. Then, torches were thrown inside.
In an instant, flames erupted within the village.
"Oh no, this is bad—let's rescue people first!"
The middle-aged man said, then charged forward ahead of everyone.
"Need backup, uncle?"
"Brat, get moving!"
At that moment, I saw the white-haired boy smile and charge forward. Suddenly, his body changed—an icy chill radiated from him. With a whoosh, a ghost shrouded in black mist shot out from his body.
The middle-aged man rushed behind the bandits trying to enter the village under cover of the fire. He snatched a knife from one of them and, without hesitation, stabbed it into the bandit's foot. A scream rang out.
In just half an hour, all the bandits were subdued. The enraged villagers rushed out to kill them, but the middle-aged man stopped them.
The villagers cheered as they saw the middle-aged man help them. They tied up the bandits and welcomed the five Ghost Burial Squad members into the village.
"What's with that kid? He's a bit unusual."
I was surprised—the ghost he released seemed to have always been inside him, and it was clearly a fierce ghost, completely obedient to his commands.
"That's a Ghost Familiar."
Isabelle Frost said coldly.
"Some people are born dealing with ghosts. For some, their bond with certain ghosts is like family—these are people who raised ghosts even before those from the Ghost Mound."
I quietly watched the white-haired boy. Though his face wore a relaxed smile, it was weathered and mature—nothing like a typical youth, but rather cunning and experienced.