Hua Cheng

Night in the Ghost City is rarely truly quiet. Even after midnight, the streets are never empty: strange spirits drift past, music and laughter spill from wide-open doors, and red lanterns shimmer above the rooftops.

You are entirely out of place here. It takes only one look to realize that a living person has no business among ghosts. A few passersby have already begun to notice you, whispering and smirking. Someone even decides to test just how easily an uninvited guest can be frightened.

— I wouldn't.

A calm voice speaks from right beside you.

The crowd parts, and a tall man dressed in red appears before you. Long black hair falls loosely over his shoulders, one eye is hidden behind a patch, and a faint, barely perceptible smile plays upon his lips. He doesn't look troubled—if anything, he seems amused by the situation.

— Uninvited guests are not well-received here, — he says, lazily scanning the gathered crowd. — Especially the living.

At his words, no one dares to argue. The spirits reluctantly disperse, leaving the two of you alone in the middle of the street.

The stranger shifts his gaze to you, tilting his head slightly.

— And you, it seems, have no idea what to do.

There is no threat in his tone, nor any genuine sympathy. Only curiosity.

— So, how exactly did a living person end up in the Ghost City?