Chapter 2: A Prophecy Fulfilled

As the young scholar Du Yuan watched them leave, he smiled faintly, a trace of loneliness in his eyes as he gazed at the surrounding hills and fields.

It had been nearly half a month since he had stumbled into this place, bewildered and confused.

Originally, he had set out to teach in western Sichuan.

But somehow, as he walked, the paved roads turned into muddy paths, and not only that—the people along the way suddenly donned ancient-style attire, with short sleeves, narrow cuffs, and waist-bound long pants.

There had been no warning, no gradual transition—just a seamless, frame-zero cut.

In a game, even a master like Miyazaki Hidetoshi would be cursed for such a glitch; yet, here he was, caught in it.

One might expect a classic trope: a thunderbolt, or a reincarnation under a truck.

But no matter how absurd it was, survival was paramount.

Du Yuan wanted to reach the nearby county town, but quickly realized he was registered as an undocumented person—without any travel permits.

If caught, he would be thrown into jail and interrogated.

So, he had no choice but to retreat and ponder his next move.

Fortunately, though the trade route was not bustling, it still saw a fair number of travelers.

By telling the passing merchants about the novels he had wildly adapted, he managed to scrape together enough for basic sustenance.

After all, these people had never heard such fantastical tales, making his stories incredibly appealing.

When the "Yakuza Imperial Soldiers" appeared, those accustomed to tales of scholar-ghosts were instantly thrilled.

Though the "Red-haired Monster" was somewhat dubious in old age, his stories were undeniably captivating and useful!

In just a few days, he was close to amassing a decent sum.

Though he still lacked a travel permit and was officially undocumented, having money gave him some confidence.

And with that came more possibilities for action.

After all, he couldn’t spend his entire life just telling stories here.

There was a saying: life was average before crossing over, but even worse after—it would mean his crossing was in vain.

Of course, this was just a joke; what he truly wanted was to go home.

When he used to read novels, he couldn’t understand how protagonists could so easily resign themselves to a strange world with a simple “since I’m here, I might as well stay.”

Now, he found it utter nonsense.

The farther from home he was, the stronger his longing grew—not because of the snakes, bugs, or the uncertainty of each day.

It was because his grandparents were aging, and his parents, now middle-aged, were growing frail year by year.

He feared that if he succeeded here, he might forget everything he must never forget.

He feared being trapped here for life, unable to return or leave behind anything.

He had only gone to teach in western Sichuan to cover for a friend who needed to return home for his grandfather’s funeral—not because he truly wished to leave his family at this time.

So, he wanted to go home—truly wanted to.

After staring at the darkening western sky for a long while, he sighed deeply and returned to his makeshift shelter.

He prepared to start a fire and cook.

This shelter had been built with the help of kind travelers, who even gave him a few clean but worn clothes to change into.

Otherwise, passersby would see not a short-haired, seemingly secular storyteller, but a demon or monster in strange garb.

His food consisted of baked flatbreads and some kind of spicy bean paste unknown to him, given by curious onlookers during the day.

The spicy flavor, combined with the slightly sweet bread, lent a unique taste amid the mountain wilderness.

As he dipped the flatbread in the sauce, he recalled the earlier scene.

The reason he had said “one more person is the most terrifying” wasn’t to scare the caravan.

Du Yuan knew these traders, though they didn’t believe in gods, firmly believed in the existence of spirits and ghosts.

When he told stories of the supernatural, the listeners would become uneasy—curious yet fearful.

Moreover, as the sun set, such topics were the best way to quiet tempers.

People came from different hometowns; there was no need to fight over such trivial matters.

If anyone got hurt, it would be their parents, wives, and children who suffered—not him, nor the travelers.

Du Yuan hadn’t paid much mind to this before, but now, far from home, it weighed on him increasingly.

---

The caravan had already traveled over ten miles.

Night deepened, and most travelers had already stopped at a nearby teahouse.

Though the place was modest, it sufficed for a group crowding into a single room.

Only this urgent delivery party remained on the road.

Fortunately, the bright moon hung overhead, lighting their way without the need for lamps or torches.

Along the path, someone couldn’t help but complain:

“We should’ve left long ago, but you insisted on listening to that storyteller.”

The voice’s origin was unclear.

But it was familiar—it had to be one of their own.

This was why the man had finally snapped.

Though it was his own fault, one can hardly truly blame oneself.

So he blamed the storyteller for speaking so well that they ended up traveling by night in the dark!

“What do you mean we insisted on listening? Didn’t you want to?”

They had never heard such enchanting stories before and were all captivated, unwilling to budge.

The initial voice was clearly silenced, reduced to a few mumbled sounds.

But as they continued, the voice suddenly returned:

“Do you believe it?”

“Believe what?”

“That someone suddenly appeared in our group?!”

At this, the entire caravan froze for a moment—both men and horses.

After a while, someone forced a smile:

“It’s just nonsense. I’ve traveled mountains and rivers for years and seen everything, but never these spirits and ghosts!”

“What if... what if it was just luck before?”

The voice trembled with fear.

This drew sharp rebukes from the group.

“Stop your nonsense at this late hour! Shut up!”

The caravan, though angry, was clearly frightened.

As mentioned, they didn’t believe in gods but believed in real spirits.

Strange, yet true.

The voice fell silent, fearing further scolding.

The travelers pressed on.

Night was deep and silent.

Yet the thought had been planted and refused to fade.

Especially the man at the rear—the one who had spoken up first—couldn’t help but dwell on it.

Who was speaking?

Xiao Liuzi? No, his voice was younger.

Zhao Dachui? No, his voice was always hoarse, like he had phlegm stuck.

Not this one, not that one—then who?

At that thought, a chill raced up his spine.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look ahead and began counting heads.

One, two, three... eleven.

Good, good, the count was right.

The number of people was correct.

Relieved, the chill faded.

He took a deep breath and instinctively counted the horses.

These pack horses were their lifeblood; even a weak horse could cost several hundred coins, and theirs were sturdy beasts.

Each horse was worth fifty coins!

Plus the goods they carried.

Losing one horse was nearly a death sentence; now two were missing—how was that possible?

And how did they miss it?

They hadn’t noticed at all.

“Missing horses?”

“Where?”

“This isn’t right?”

Each man looked at his horse.

From every angle, none were missing.

“Third brother, what nonsense are you talking about? There’s no horse missing.”

Yet this scene sent a chill through the man called Third Brother.

Nothing was more terrifying.

Right in front of their eyes, among men who loved their horses dearly, two horses were missing without anyone noticing.

And worse, that thing was among them!

Third Brother even felt a sinister gaze fixated on him.

It chilled him to his core, making him tremble.

“Who is it? Who’s the extra one?”

“What should I do? Run now?”

“But what about my brothers?”

“I’m just one man, and that thing is a demon beyond reckoning—what can I do?”

As Third Brother wavered, a younger man stepped forward and patted his shoulder:

“Third Brother, what’s wrong with you?”

The sudden touch made him shudder, but the address “Third Brother” gave him resolve.

These were his sworn brothers; if he fled, how could he face their wives and children?

His scattered thoughts steadied.

A clear plan formed in his mind, and his steps quickened.

Calm now, Third Brother smiled and pushed the younger man aside:

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just too dark; my old eyes played tricks on me.”

The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, laughing and jesting:

“You old rascal, you scared me to death!”

“Third Brother, go home and have your wife cook you some eggs for strength.”

Third Brother waved off the teasing and went to the nearest pack horse.

“I need to get something. Help me unload this.”

The younger man stepped forward, and another followed.

“Third Brother, why bother at this hour? Let’s just keep moving.”

“It’s important, really important.”

Third Brother explained, hastily trying to unload the goods.

His thought was simple—they were just ordinary men, no match for the unknown demon.

But he knew who could handle it.

That storyteller!

No doubt, the man had sensed the intruder among them and had given some hints.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t taken it seriously.

But at least the storyteller had said he would be nearby in the coming days.

What did that mean?

It meant the storyteller left them a lifeline—an invitation to seek him out!

Otherwise, why say he would be here?