After transmigrating into the body of the protagonist's childhood friend, he was targeted by a

"This Fellow Daoist Lin is my friend. Hearing of the unusual activity in Nanshan, he came here specifically to help," Wen Wuqing said with a smile, his tone natural. Anyone who didn't know better would think the two had a very good relationship.

Lin Zhixu glanced at him subconsciously.

Upon hearing this, the county magistrate immediately bowed to Lin Zhixu.

Anyone who can be called a friend by Master Wen must undoubtedly be a cultivator.

He secretly rejoiced that he hadn't neglected this distinguished guest earlier, and quickly instructed the yamen runners to bring chairs and serve tea, becoming much more attentive.

Lin Zhixu didn't bother to explain. He nodded lightly to the magistrate, lifted his robe, and sat down.

Wen Wuqing sat down beside him and lowered his voice, saying, "Fellow Daoist Lin, please don't be offended. If I hadn't said that just now, the magistrate probably wouldn't have let you stay."

Lin Zhixu remained noncommittal, merely curtsying with a slight smile, without saying anything.

Wen Wuqing smiled, offered no further explanation, and turned his gaze to the people in the hall.

The magistrate cleared his throat and began to introduce the distinguished individuals present one by one.

He first led the Taoist priest, speaking respectfully: "This is Abbot Qingcheng of Qingfeng Temple, a master of talismans, and a renowned expert among the people."

Master Qingcheng flicked his whisk, nodded slightly, and raised his chin slightly.

His gaze lingered on Wen Wuqing for a moment longer, his attitude noticeably more polite: "Fellow Daoist Wen, your Daoist arts must be profound. I wonder if I may have the time to learn a thing or two from you?"

Wen Wuqing smiled and nodded, seemingly without any airs.

The magistrate quickly turned to the elderly man with white hair and a youthful face, accompanied by a child, in the center: "This is Master Yunhe of Mount Luofu, who is skilled in feng shui and geomancy and understands yin and yang."

Master Yunhe stroked his long beard, his face displaying an unfathomable expression.

Before the magistrate could introduce them, the monk in the corner spoke up: "Amitabha. My Buddhist name is Huiming. I have been traveling here and heard that there are evil spirits causing trouble in this place, so I have come to deliver the souls of the dead."

After he finished speaking, he put his hands together in prayer, his face full of compassion. But then he changed the subject and added, "However, judging from this formation, I'm afraid it's no ordinary evil spirit. If you fellow practitioners are not strong enough, I can recite a few more scriptures to pray for your well-being."

These words drew criticism from others.

The magistrate's forehead was already sweating, and he quickly tried to smooth things over with a dry laugh: "All of you immortal masters are highly skilled. It is truly a blessing for our county that you can gather here together."

He secretly wiped his sweat with his sleeve, thinking that he couldn't afford to offend any of these people, so he should quickly throw this hot potato away.

Wen Wuqing seized the opportunity to speak: "Your Excellency, why don't you first tell us the specific situation of Nanshan? The more detailed our understanding, the better prepared we will be when we go up the mountain."

The magistrate glanced at him gratefully, then quickly pulled out a thick stack of files from his drawer and began to speak as he flipped through them.

The strange occurrences in Nanshan probably started about two months ago.

First, a hunter went into the mountains and didn't return all night. His family reported it to the authorities, who sent several constables to search for him. In the end, they only found a shoe on the mountain path that the hunter often took.

After that, several more groups of people went missing, including caravans, herb gatherers, and woodcutters... In total, there were at least a dozen people.

The magistrate's voice grew weaker and weaker as he spoke, and sweat kept beading on his forehead, clearly still shaken by the incident.

Even stranger were the noises at night.

Several families living at the foot of the mountain said that at midnight, a strange sound would come from the mountain, like someone crying or laughing.

A hunter listened to this story for most of the night, and when he looked in the mirror the next morning, he found that most of his hair had turned white.

After that, rumors spread that the mountain spirit sucked people's souls.

The county magistrate sent people up the mountain to investigate, but ended up losing most of his own men.

The only person who witnessed the "mountain spirit" survive was a deserter who had been driven mad by fear and could not understand anything.

Wen Wuqing pondered for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Where is the only yamen runner who returned alive? Could you take us to see him?"

The magistrate looked troubled and hesitated, saying, "Immortal Master, that man has gone mad and talks nonsense all day long. I'm afraid we won't get anything useful out of him, and we might even offend you immortal masters."

Wen Wuqing shook his head: "It's alright. It's precisely because he's a witness that we should meet him; we might be able to find clues from him."

Seeing his insistence, the magistrate stopped trying to stop him, got up and led the group through the back hall of the yamen, winding their way to a secluded courtyard.

The courtyard was small, the gate was locked, and two yamen runners were guarding the entrance. When they saw the county magistrate coming, they quickly bowed and saluted.

The magistrate waved his hand and asked, "How was he today?"

The guard replied with a bitter face, "Sir, he's still the same as before. He's delirious and needs to be fed."

"This morning, while I was feeding him porridge, he suddenly yelled and almost knocked the bowl over. He kept muttering something about 'ghosts'... It gave me the creeps."

The magistrate waved his hand, signaling him to open the door.

The door opened, and everyone looked through it. They saw a thin man huddled in a corner, staring blankly at the ground in front of him.

He was still muttering to himself, but his voice was indistinct and he couldn't make out what he was saying.

To everyone's surprise, his hair was completely white from root to tip.

This white is not the silvery white of old age, but a withered and lifeless grayish-white, as if something has forcibly drained its vitality.

The monk Huiming put his hands together and chanted "Amitabha," his compassionate expression now tinged with solemnity.

The group had just stepped into the courtyard, wanting to get a better look.

As if sensing someone's approach, the constable who had been huddled in the corner with a blank expression suddenly began to tremble violently.

He abruptly looked up, his unfocused gaze meeting Wen Wuqing's. His pupils contracted sharply, as if he had seen something utterly terrifying, and he let out a piercing scream: "Ghost! The ghost is here! The ghost in white! It's here—!"

Wen Wuqing paused, remaining in the position of stepping over the threshold, his smile freezing on his face.

He subconsciously looked down at his spotless white clothes, and for a moment he didn't know how to react.

A ghost? Is there such a handsome, dashing, and otherworldly ghost as him?!

Upon seeing this, the magistrate's face changed drastically. He hurriedly called the constables behind him to come forward and help, and they frantically held down the struggling and screaming man.

Standing behind Wen Wuqing, Daoist Qingcheng suppressed his urge to smile, but finally couldn't help but cough lightly: "Fellow Daoist Wen, perhaps... you should go change your clothes first?"

Wen Wuqing sighed, seemingly helpless, and cupped his hands in a gesture of respect to the crowd: "It seems he encountered something dressed in white. I was inconsiderate. Please wait a moment, I'll go change quickly."

After saying that, he left, but looking at his retreating figure, he seemed rather unhappy.

Lin Zhixu ignored the farce and kept looking at the yamen runner who was still trembling.

Sure enough, as soon as Wen Wuqing left, the man stopped calling for ghosts, though he was still huddled in the corner, trembling with fear.

This confirms that the things on the mountain should be dressed in white.