Emerging from his cultivation cave, Zhao stopped in confusion at the sights around him.

For one, Tai Yang was leaning up against the mountainside waiting for his boss at the break of dawn.

Ignoring the inner workings of the battle maniac’s surely concussed head brought Zhao to the second odd sight; a scroll left on the ground at the entrance to his home.

A quick inspection revealed that it was an official sect missive granting him permission to escort the trader who had requested their help.

The official stamp assured that the bureaucracy had been wrangled in record time by a figure powerful enough to subvert the usual red tape.

That set Zhao on edge.

As if Tai Yang’s presence and the delivery of his hastily approved assignment weren’t enough, a quick glance around was met by an unusually thick fog.

Though his sect’s namesake implied the existence of similar phenomena, Zhao had never seen such a dense cloud descend onto their valley before. Especially given how early in the winter it was.

What most disturbed Zhao was not a new sight but rather the absence of an old one, as the two watchers that had been covering his cave were gone.

The series of circumstances he encountered were feeling increasingly like he had stumbled into the plot of a novel, and Zhao was growing distinctly uncomfortable at the fact that he couldn’t even begin to unravel what the appropriate course of action was.

Trusting the mysterious Elder that had visited him seemed logical enough, though there was always the possibility that he was being lured into a trap.

Zhao quickly had their group scrounge together a passable traveling bag that consisted of three rolled bamboo mats, a pan, spices, and the flint and steel they used to start fires.

It wasn’t as extensive as he would have preferred, but their supply of spirit stones had dwindled to the point where purchasing a proper kit was beyond them.

Tai Yang clapped happily as they set off. “This minion thanks the boss for taking us outside the sect rather than to another boring pagoda!”

Che Fang snorted at the comment. “You seem full of energy,” he noted while offering their travel bag, “perhaps you could put it to use and carry our supplies?”

The giant nodded with one of his signature grins before securing the bag to his back.

As they walked down the mountain the haze seemed to exude a pressure on them, separating them from the environment.

It was barely possible to make out the other disciples around, and though muted sounds reached them occasionally, the general atmosphere was one of abnormal silence.

Zhao had a rising feeling that his morning was the eerie set up for a horror movie-like encounter and made an effort to extend his pitiful divine sense into the mist.

That only further heightened his tension as he realized that over time the mist was pushing back against him, quickly forcing his divine sense to retreat and thereby limiting him only to brief scans.

Tai Yang seemed immune to the creeping anxiety as he hummed a tune to himself, but Gu Hong was turning pale and Che Fang’s eyes darted around cautiously.

Like this, the party silently found themselves approaching the sect’s formal torii, the mist just thin enough there to make out the complete gate that loomed over them.

Before it, a fidgety Han Lee stood in his jean outfit trying to calm the two horses affixed to his overburdened carriage. Each of the animals whinnied objections to his insistent calming words.

Upon reaching him, the traveling salesman quickly offered a bow. “Thank you for taking this lowly one’s request!” he exclaimed.

Zhao nodded to the man and urged them forward, not eager to leave the safety of the sect but wanting to keep moving.

One of the guards approached their group while waving his hands in a blockade. “Disciples are banned from leaving until this mist clears up,” he said dully, clearly ready to shrug off any objections.

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The mortal Han Lee looked ready to protest when another more decorated disciple emerged from the two-story pagoda serving as a guard tower.

“Ah, yes,” the senior disciple said. “I was informed you would be passing through.”

With narrowed eyes she glanced past the torri, where the fog thickened as if being held at bay on the edge of the sect’s boundary.

She flicked her chin towards the path snaking down the mountain. “I wish you luck on your mission.”

The two enforcement disciples walked alongside the cart until it passed under the torii. As the group rolled away, their indistinct figures watched absently before being enveloped by the ghostly white expanse.

The subdued struggles of Han Lee’s goods rumbling along served as the only interruption to the stillness between the young men as they set out through the mortal village.

In the abnormal weather, common sense seemed to have led the entire population to remain inside their homes.

A hush stretched between the group until Zhao decided to cut through it with a spiel he hoped would lighten the mood. “Did you all know that there are rules to surviving if you find yourself in a horror mov- story?” he asked with a grin, causing heads to swivel in his direction.

Being the youngest, Gu Hong’s reaction was the most pronounced as his eyes widened. “Rules?” he intoned, latching onto the distraction.

Zhao nodded sagely, and Tai Yang chuckled from beside him, still seemingly unbothered by the unnatural mist.

“First,” Zhao declared with a raised finger, “no sex, alcohol, or drugs for the duration of story. For us, that means the duration of this mission.”

Tai Yang opened his mouth to protest but seemed to decide to hold his dissent after glancing at Gu Hong.

Raising his second finger Zhao continued, “Second: stay away from water whenever possible and be extremely cautious around it.”

He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “That includes when using the bathroom.”

At that comment Che Fang joined Tai Yang in snickering at the lecture, while Gu Hong was thoroughly enthralled and nodded along enthusiastically.

Riding with his goods, Han Lee looked terrified despite, or perhaps because of, the rules listed.

“The next rule should be obvious for cultivators; never go anywhere alone. Again, including relieving oneself.”

Zhao then held his hands over his mouth in an exaggerated gesture, as if stifling a cry. “And if you think you are not alone, or are being hunted, do not call out. Silence is your friend.”

With a cheeky grin, Zhao held up three fingers. “The third rule-”

Gu Hong protested. “We’re on the fifth!” he said innocently.

“We’re reviewing out of order,” Zhao said, chuckling. “The Three Points rules. Three points of contact on unstable ground. Three points scored with fatal blows on an opponent to ensure true death.”

Tai Yang nodded and added in a tone reminiscent of an Elder, “Ah yes, always watch your footwork. And to ensure your foe is truly dead, very wise!”

The three older cultivators laughed together at their antics, Gu Hong missing the humor as he asked for more rules.

“The final rules: stay on the road no matter what and heed the warnings of strangers, no matter how odd they appear,” Zhao said while stroking a nonexistent beard.

At his words, the mist around them shifted, and a figure limped into view ahead.

The smiles Zhao had fostered died.

He signaled Che Fang forward to inspect the stranger.

Before the thin disciple could approach, they heard the babbling. Incoherent gibberish shrieked into the emptiness.

Transfixed by the sight, none of them reacted until the mortal was on them. Clad in tattered rags and covered in mud, he made for a pitiful sight.

The man’s broken stride accelerated upon seeing them. Han Lee had stopped his horses and gazed at the scene with trepidation.

Lurching, the man grabbed onto Che Fang when the disciple moved to block his path.

“Run,” he squawked. “Turn back now, before it's too late!”

More jumbled rambling followed, but when no one acknowledged it, the villager grew increasingly agitated.

Hands clutched at his head while hollow eyes flitted between them before settling on Han Lee. A guttural sound clawed its way out of the tortured soul’s throat. “You!”

The denunciation was punctuated with a trembling finger pointing at the merchant.

Before any of them could react, the ghoulish newcomer exclaimed, “Run! It's not too late for you. Run, run, run…”

The warnings trailed off into nonsense again, and Zhao wavered between restraining the madman and heeding his words.

Whatever choice Zhao would have made was rendered moot when the nutcase dashed off the road into the shrouded wilderness.

Several seconds passed as each individual digested the interaction.

Zhao’s final instructions had turned prophetic, which was unsettling for all of them.

Everyone turned to look at him for instruction, but he was at a loss.

Regret welled up in Zhao for bringing up the rules to survive a horror movie, as the world itself conspired against his desire for a long life.

“So… we take the stranger’s advice and turn around, right?” Gu Hong said quietly, only causing everyone to stiffen further.

For the first time on their trip, Tai Yang’s jovial expression was absent.

Zhao looked up at Han Lee. “As my junior brother says, I believe for our safety we should turn around.”

Hands trembling around the reigns, the frightened man nodded with downcast eyes. “I agree.”

Without further conversation they turned around back towards the sect, the mist swirling around them.