"Damn it, are you here just to mess with me? Get lost."
At that moment, a sudden commotion erupted below. Poison Dreadstar stood up and walked down, and we followed.
It was that same guy who wanted to buy a ghost earlier. Inside his worn-out box, stacks of bills spilled everywhere, with lots of loose change scattered about. Just as Poison Dreadstar said, his money had been cobbled together from all sorts of places.
"Boss, I only have this one million. Please, make an exception. When my luck turns around and I make some money, I'll pay you double."
"Get lost! With your fate, making a ghost suitable for you would cost at least five million. Not a cent less."
A burly man from Ghost Tomb Mountain roared angrily, kicking the desperate man. Many of the bystanders laughed at the scene.
"Hey, I’m telling you, you’d be better off putting that money in the bank. At least you’d earn some interest every year. Look at you, so pathetic—if you brought a ghost home, it might not even want to stay with you! Hahaha."
One of them said sourly, and instantly, many of the onlookers burst into laughter. I clenched my fists, unable to tell if these people were human or ghost—I couldn't quite distinguish anymore.
"Boss, I’ve asked so many places, and only you can help me. Please, I’m begging you, okay?"
"If you don’t get lost now, I won’t be so polite."