The shadows of the trees loomed eerily, revealing a ghastly pale ghostly face with disheveled hair. Its hollow eyes and silently open mouth seemed to be lamenting endless grievances.
Shao Po froze in place, every hair on his body standing on end. He trembled violently, struggling to catch his breath.
An ominous wind swept through the alley,
and that ghostly face floated from the wall's edge, slowly drawing closer.
The cold seeped into him entirely, and Shao Po even forgot to draw his blade, only to hear a sharp "pop" sound.
The ghostly face vanished at once.
"W-Where did the ghost go?"
Shao Po's voice quivered, his soul still unsettled as he spoke belatedly.
"There are no ghosts." The Taoist stretched his hand forward, revealing a child's temple fair mask—a red face mask of Guan Yu—as he presented it.
