"It's a ghost..."
Zachary Fate stared in terror at the people passing through his body, coming and going all around him. The bustling night market looked no different from what he remembered, but these passersby not only walked straight through him, they couldn't see him at all.
Though he'd read about ghosts in ancient texts long ago—and knew that Taoist cultivators were destined to encounter such things—this was the first time Zachary Fate, now in his thirties, had ever seen one with his own eyes.
The fear in his heart faded, gradually replaced by excitement. Zachary Fate began to wave his arms and stomp his feet, as gleeful as a child. He’d heard before that, once one's cultivation reached a certain level, it was possible to glimpse the aura of all things—whether pure, filthy, or ghostly.
He wandered among the various stalls, delighted by many things that were now rare—trends from a previous dynasty. Smiles lit every face, and the street was packed with vendors and customers, with more arriving by the minute. It was so crowded that it was hard to move, yet Zachary Fate couldn’t touch these people, who were like reflections in water or flowers in a mirror. He could even hear their idle chatter.
"Times have been tough lately."
"Yeah. Back then, at least we had some meat. Now, there's nothing—we have to rely on the living to get by."
Two familiar fellows sat at a stall, drinking. Zachary Fate glanced over, then walked closer, listening in on their banter.
They'd both been dead for ages. One, a pale-faced ghost, had been an innocent casualty in a war decades ago; the other, dark-faced, had died at the hands of bandits.
Both lamented how hard life was after death—constantly hungry, and ghost money was hard to earn. All they could do was wander around graveyards or night markets near the village, scrounging for scraps to eat.
"So even ghosts don't have it easy?"
Zachary Fate smiled, as if he'd discovered a whole new world. He spent the entire night wandering among the stalls, listening to the ghosts talk about all sorts of strange and fascinating things.
But at dawn, when the rooster crowed, everything vanished in an instant, like waking from a dream too good to be true. Zachary Fate clutched his even hungrier stomach—he needed to find something to eat. It had already been two days since his last meal.
After wandering through the woods for a while, Zachary Fate gathered some wild vegetables. He planned to find a well, draw some water, and use the old iron pot someone had given him on the road to cook a pot of greens and fill his belly.
In the middle of the town's street, Zachary Fate found a well and drew up a bucket of water. Suddenly, he saw black mist swirling on the surface, and a foul stench assaulted his nose.
The sun was already up, yet not a single person could be seen in town. It was as if the whole place were deserted. He remembered that yesterday, there had been plenty of people—at dusk, they all sat at their doorsteps, chatting with neighbors, though everyone seemed listless.
He tasted a little of the water—there was no flavor, but it was much colder than elsewhere. As soon as he swallowed, a chill ran through his whole body.
The town was unnaturally cold. Even though the sun had just risen, it felt like a wintry day with thick clouds blocking the light—so cold it made him shiver.
Finally, the water boiled and Zachary Fate cooked a big pot of wild greens, eating his fill. He lay contentedly at a crossroads just outside town. Oddly, once he left the town, the chill disappeared. Another thing worth noting—the town had red walls and green tiles, and though the houses were old, they were well built. Many townsfolk dressed well and seemed prosperous, but for some reason, the air felt strangely off.
It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that Zachary Fate finally saw signs of life in town. Some people stepped out of their homes, yawning as if they'd just woken up.
"Excuse me, friends, about your town..."
"Go away! Beggars aren't welcome here."
Zachary Fate had just tried to approach someone when he was brushed off. It was no surprise, given his worn, faded Taoist robe and sallow, weathered face—he looked every bit the wandering beggar.
He asked six or seven people in a row, but each replied listlessly. This place was called Treasureville, surrounded by mountains, with two main roads leading in and out. The people here seemed wealthy—every household grew medicinal herbs, and prosperity had lasted since their ancestors' time. But now, everyone suffered from a strange illness: always tired, always sleepy, unable to work. They survived on family savings, scraping by. Once, merchants came monthly to buy herbs; now, they came once a year at most, and the harvest had dwindled to almost nothing.
Zachary Fate was puzzled. He stayed until afternoon and sensed a strange aura in town—somewhat like a Daoist energy. But as evening approached, the townsfolk gradually disappeared. He sat by the well, meditating quietly, his stomach rumbling once again.
When night fell, a clamor erupted in Zachary Fate’s ears. He opened his eyes to find the same scene as before—a bustling night market, full of people.
For three days straight, Zachary Fate lingered in hunger, and for three consecutive nights, he saw the same night market and crowds.
On the morning of the fourth day, Zachary Fate managed to beg a bowl of white rice from a household and cooked a pot of porridge, finally enjoying a good meal.
"Daoist, did you come here because you noticed something strange, to help us?"
Just as Zachary Fate was about to leave at noon, some townsfolk found him. He looked at these weary, exhausted people, said nothing, and simply listened as they began telling him the town's history.
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This town was founded near the end of the war, when five clans fled here together. One of them had a Taoist priest who saw the place as an auspicious site—he claimed that where corpses lay, wealth would follow.
It's said the priest performed many rituals, and the five clans settled down. In just ten years, the small village grew into a lively town.
For decades, the people here were famously wealthy. Every year on the fourteenth of the seventh lunar month, they held a grand festival. But the tradition stopped after another small war broke out.
But after the tradition ended more than a decade ago, things in town only got worse. This year, the mayor revived the festival on the fourteenth of the seventh month, but the situation kept deteriorating—more and more people left.
Now Treasureville has completely fallen, and the few hundred people left all suffer from a mysterious illness.
"Take me to see it."
Led by the townsfolk, Zachary Fate went to the east side of town. In a grove by the main road, he saw a blood-red ritual array, with stones and tattered yellow talismans placed on it. The townsfolk said they used to come here to offer sacrifices.
Zachary Fate studied it for a while but couldn’t make sense of it. He only knew the writing in the array was Daoist. The townsfolk led him around to see the others—there were five such arrays in total, but most were already ruined.
Baffled, Zachary Fate stayed in town for almost a week, but found nothing. As the end of the year approached, the townsfolk grew more anxious and began urging him to find a solution quickly.
In the end, Zachary Fate confessed to the townsfolk that he wasn’t an official member of any Daoist sect—just self-taught. The townsfolk who had been feeding him couldn’t sit still; after a chaotic scuffle, they drove him out of town. He sighed helplessly, glancing back at the town, the words 'powerless and resigned' weighing on his heart.
"Sigh... This is beyond me. There's nothing I can do."
Zachary Fate left in despair. As he continued his travels, he couldn’t stop thinking about the town. Unknowingly, a year passed, and he found himself standing in Treasureville once again.
A cold wind blew through, though it was midday, the town was empty. Zachary Fate knocked on several doors before finally reaching the well, where he found a mother and her child inside. Both were deathly pale, their breaths weak—the child lay on the bed, barely alive, while the woman looked at Zachary Fate with exhausted eyes.
"Help us, Daoist—please, help us."
No one remembered Zachary Fate anymore. He nodded—this time, he’d come prepared, having studied countless texts and resources. He realized it was the ghost market appearing at night that was disturbing the living, weakening their life force and making them sick.
At dusk, Zachary Fate set up a simple altar by the well, lit three sticks of incense, and prayed sincerely. Then he waited for nightfall, gripping the Boundless Sword in his hand.
Whatever the outcome, Zachary Fate decided to try—tonight would be the night.
As darkness fell, a chill wind swept through, followed by the clamor of a bustling night market. One by one, stalls appeared, and soon the streets were crowded with people again.
Zachary Fate walked up to a stall selling food, reached out and grabbed some, eating it in one bite. It tasted like mud, but he forced it down. He’d heard of this method from a practitioner on his travels—if you eat ghost food, the ghosts will be able to see you.