"Looks like... there are still stories to be heard in your town?" Lu Qing raised an eyebrow and asked with interest.

"It’s been so long ago that now it makes sense to talk about it as a story." The boss sighed, glanced at the two tables over there, and then said, "I’m not one to beat around the bush. You all have been so generous, and I’m grateful, naturally hoping that you remain safe, without any trouble.

So let me tell you about the events here from early days. Whether you believe it or not is up to you, but leave the town with caution."

Saying this, he casually picked up the kettle and an extra bowl from the table, poured himself a bowl of water, took a few gulps, and began to recount the old stories of this town.

According to the boss, these events trace back to at least ten or twenty years ago.

This town is remote, surrounded by wetlands, making suitable habitation difficult. Hence, over the years, as people migrated to more livable places, a community slowly formed here.

Initially, despite limited arable land, the proximity to mountains and water led people to rely on fishing and hunting. Those who were weak or had no strong family members would do odd jobs to make a living, opening tea houses, sewing, or making straw sandals and rain capes.

Over twenty years ago, the town’s people gradually formed a community, engaging frequently with the surroundings.

Soon after, strange events started occurring in the town.

Rumor has it that one morning, a young hunter from the town stumbled back, looking panicked, as if he’d had a big scare.

The townsfolk initially thought he’d encountered a fierce beast without preparation, frightening him.

Since no animals fiercer than foxes or pheasants have shown up, encountering a wolf could indeed frighten someone.

However, when the young hunter got home, rather than calming down, he grew more distressed, with a high fever, restlessness, incoherent babbling, and vacant eyes, as if he’d lost his soul.

The villagers, unsure of what was happening, grew increasingly anxious. The hunter’s family was tearful, not knowing what to do.

Later, someone in the village knew a bit about the mystical arts and suggested that the hunter might have lost his soul.

Under this person’s direction, many townsfolk stepped up to help, organizing a soul-calling ritual. Someone even trekked to find a Daoist to draw a talisman, which was burned to ashes and mixed in water for the hunter to drink.

None of the initial efforts seemed effective, but after drinking the talismanic water, the hunter’s condition finally improved, calming him somewhat.

When others asked, he trembled as he recounted his experience.

He went hunting on the mountain but had no luck, catching neither a pheasant nor a sparrow.

Seeking a catch, he wandered further and, during a sudden heavy rain, realized he’d ventured too far into an unfamiliar nestled valley.

The valley was mist-laden, lushly vegetated, with no shelter, and the rain kept pouring intensely, confusing his sense of direction.

Like a headless fly, the hunter wandered the woods, seeking shelter, when he spotted a small house with a faint glow through covered windows.

Soaked to the bone, cold and exhausted, seeking only shelter from rain, he hurried toward the small wooden building.

Before the building, he knocked a few times, but no one answered while the door opened by itself.

Straightaway, he entered, asking if anyone was home.

Inside, the house seemed abandoned, empty with no sign of habitation.

He shrugged it off, focusing solely on sheltering from the rain, thankful not to worry about an unwelcoming host.

He entered, even without a stove for warmth and drying clothes, relieved not to endure the weather outside.

Resting in the small house and tired from running, his eyelids grew heavy until they shut.

In sleep, he found himself in a sinister place with flickering will-o’-the-wisps, casting eerie shadows of looming spirits.

Terrified, unaware of his location, he contemplated fleeing when a stone wall fractured, revealing a fiendish face with horns and sunken, sharp features, more terrifying than a Yaksha.

The ghostly face glared, sinisterly declaring, "Who allowed you to trespass here?! Dare to intrude again and I’ll devour you whole!"

With that, a skeletal claw extended from the crack, reaching toward the hunter.

Frightened to his core, he abruptly awoke from the nightmare, finding himself unharmed.

Relieved, he patted his chest, stood up, and realized he wasn’t inside a wooden house but in a patch of grass.