3: Chapter 3 Trading Station

Chen Mo rested by the side of the road for over ten minutes.

It wasn't that he didn't want to keep driving, but his body had reached its limit.

The overuse of the Pupil of the Sequence and the first activation of his danger Prediction.

Made his mind feel like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.

He leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed, but his right hand kept a firm grip on that rusty wrench.

Feeling that it was enough, he started the vehicle.

Fuel level: 19%.

Countdown: Three hours and twelve minutes.

He needed to find a safe place as soon as possible, preferably one where he could replenish resources.

The "Trading Post" on the map was his only option, but that lantern-carrying Ghost Shadow made him hesitate.

He hadn't driven far before he saw a light in the distance.

It wasn't headlights, nor was it firelight; it was a soft, white light shining from the fields on the right side of the highway.

Chen Mo narrowed his eyes as his Pupil of the Sequence barely functioned, and the golden lines in his vision indicated:

No threat, or rather, the threat level was below f-grade.

He hesitated for three seconds.

Then he turned the steering wheel and drove off the highway.

The field was flatter than he had imagined.

The light drew closer, and Chen Mo saw the source clearly—

A gas station.

It wasn't one of those modern gas stations with a convenience store.

It had a 90s style, with two gas pumps and a small corrugated iron shack. A neon sign stood on the roof, displaying the words "No. 7 Trading Post."

The neon light was white, appearing exceptionally desolate in the night.

There was no fog within the radius of the gas station's lights.

It was as if an invisible dome was blocking the fog outside.

Chen Mo stopped at the edge of the light, not daring to enter rashly.

He observed for a full two minutes, confirming the following points:

First, the gas pumps were operational. One of them displayed numbers; although he couldn't see the exact value, it indicated that there was fuel.

Second, the door to the iron shack was open, emitting a warm yellow light, and there were... human voices?

Third, two vehicles were parked next to the shack.

One was a modified pickup truck, its body covered in scratches and dents from impacts, with a searchlight mounted on the roof.

The other was a motorcycle, a heavy-duty bike, with a helmet resting on the seat.

These were other Chosen Ones.

Chen Mo tapped his fingers on the steering wheel three times, a habitual action when he was thinking.

Then, he made his decision—enter, but remain vigilant.

He slowly drove into the illuminated area, stopped not far from the shack, and turned off the engine.

The voices were clearer now.

It was a conversation between two people, a husky male voice and a shrill female voice, arguing about something.

"...The price is too high, I can't come up with that many fragments..."

"That's your problem, not ours. The rules are very clear: equivalent exchange."

"But last time—"

"Last time was last time. Ghost Night is approaching, so it's reasonable for supplies to increase in price."

Chen Mo pushed open the car door, the rusty hinges emitting a harsh screech.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt.

He stood by the car, his right hand hanging naturally, but his fingers were already hooked around the ring of the wrench.

His posture wasn't threatening, but he wasn't relaxed either; it was a stance ready to handle sudden situations at any moment.

A man walked out from the door of the shack.

He was around forty, with a full beard, wearing an oil-stained work jacket and carrying a hurricane lamp in his hand.

It wasn't the ghastly green light of a Ghost Shadow, but a normal, warm yellow light.

The man scanned Chen Mo, then his gaze stopped on his right eye.

Chen Mo noticed that the man had a scar on his left eye, as if something had clawed it.

"New here?"

The man asked, his voice being the same husky one from before.

"Yes." Chen Mo replied, not saying an extra word.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

The man grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth stained yellow by smoke.

"You've got guts. Coming to the Trading Post alone at this hour... you're either a greenhorn or..."

He paused: "...someone with some real skill."

"I need fuel," Chen Mo said directly, "and some information."

"I have fuel and information, but do you have fragments?"

Chen Mo took the five sequence fragments out of his pocket.

Under the light, the fragments had a translucent quality, with golden threads flowing inside, like sealed lightning.

The man's eyes lit up, but quickly returned to a calm state.

"Five f-grade ones, that's not much. For fuel, one fragment gets you five liters; that's the market rate. Information is extra."

"Market rate?" Chen Mo noted the term.

"Does the price fluctuate?"

"Of course. Prices go up before Ghost Night and down after; it's very reasonable." The man shrugged. "How much fuel do you want?"

Chen Mo calculated quickly. His car's fuel tank capacity was sixty liters, and he had about eleven liters left.

Theoretically, he only needed to replenish twenty liters to make it to the next safe point, but if the next point didn't have fuel—

"Thirty liters," he said. "Six fragments, but I only have five."

The man's smile faded slightly.

"That is your problem then."

"I can make up the difference," Chen Mo said.

"With information, or... something else."

The man narrowed his eyes, sizing him up.

That look reminded Chen Mo of the director of the Orphanage, the kind of gaze used to evaluate the value of an object.

"There's something in your eyes," the man suddenly said. "Golden, just Awakening?"

Chen Mo didn't answer, but his right hand tightened slightly.

"Don't be nervous." The man raised his empty hand.

"The Trading Post is neutral, that's the rule. I won't make a move here, and neither will you, but once you step outside this circle..."

He smiled. "It's up to your own ability."

He turned and walked toward the shack.

"Come inside to talk; the wind is picking up outside."

Chen Mo hesitated for a second, then followed.

The inside of the shack was more spacious than he had imagined.

A wooden table, a few chairs, and various sundries piled in the corner—oil drums, toolboxes, and even a medical kit.

A blackboard hung on the wall, with the prices of various items written in chalk, the handwriting sloppy but clear.

Fuel: 1 f-grade fragment / 5 liters

Compressed rations: 1 f-grade fragment / 3 portions

Basic medical kit: 2 f-grade fragments / 1 unit

f-grade perception serum: 3 f-grade fragments / 1 dose (Side effect: temporary tinnitus)

Regional map: 5 f-grade fragments / 1 copy

Vehicle storage expansion: 10 f-grade fragments / 1 time

Chen Mo's gaze lingered on "Regional map" for a second.

Five fragments were exactly enough to buy the map, but then he wouldn't get the fuel.

A woman sat at the table, around thirty, thin, wearing an ill-fitting leather jacket, and was whittling something with a dagger.

Seeing Chen Mo enter, she looked up, her eyes as sharp as knives.

"New here?"

She asked the same question as the man.

"Yes." The same answer.

"Alone?"

Chen Mo did not answer this question.

He looked at the man.

"You said I could make up the difference. What kind of information is worth one fragment?"

The man and the woman exchanged a look.

The woman put down the dagger, pulled an old-fashioned tape recorder from under the table, and pressed the play button.

After a burst of static, a weak voice came out:

"...This is... Highway 13... We've found a... safe zone... no Ghost Shadow... repeat... no Ghost Shadow... the coordinates are..."

The recording cut off here, turning into harsh noise.

"A recording from three days ago," the man said.

"From an exploration team on Highway 13, about eighty kilometers from here. They said they found a 'safe zone,' but there's been no news since then."

"It could be a trap," the woman added. "It could also be real. It's worth one fragment if you plan to head in that direction."

Chen Mo thought for a moment.

"Deal. Five fragments for thirty liters of fuel, plus the coordinates in this recording. But how am I supposed to tell you?"

The man laughed.

"Smart. If you can survive, we will naturally meet again in the future. But I want to remind you, the Trading Post has its rules—"

"Neutral, no fighting," Chen Mo continued. "I know. Are there any other rules?"

"Yes," the woman suddenly said.

"Every six hours, the Trading Post 'refreshes.' When it refreshes, everyone must leave or enter the lounge over there."

She pointed to a door in the corner of the shack.

"It's absolutely safe in the lounge, but you must pay one fragment for every hour you stay."

"Refresh?"

"It means..." the woman searched for the word, "a reset. The things outside will be replaced. Sometimes it's new supplies, sometimes it's new... visitors."

Her tone made the word "visitors" sound less than friendly.

According to the System's countdown, there was one hour and four minutes left from now.

"When is the next refresh?"

"Five-thirty," the man said. "You have thirty-five minutes. You have enough time to fill up on fuel and then decide whether to stay and wait out the Ghost Night or keep driving."

"Is the lounge safe during Ghost Night?"

"Relatively safe," the man corrected.

"During Ghost Night, everything outside will become... more active. The Trading Post's protection can block most of it, but not all. If you're unlucky, you might encounter 'knockers'."

"Knockers?"

The man didn't explain, just smiled, and there was something in that smile that Chen Mo couldn't understand.

"You'll know soon enough. Now, shall we trade?"

Chen Mo nodded and handed over the five fragments.

The man took an iron box from under the counter, put the fragments inside, and then counted out thirty liters worth of fuel vouchers.

It was a card printed with numbers.

"Take this to the gas pump, insert the card, and fill up. The nozzle is automatic."

He took out a hand-drawn map and marked a point on it.

"The coordinates for Highway 13. But I'll give you one more piece of information for free—"

He lowered his voice. "That 'safe zone,' if it exists, is likely not prepared for 'humans'."

Chen Mo took the map. "What do you mean?"

"It means," the woman suddenly said, "some safe places are more dangerous than dangerous places. Judge for yourself."

Chen Mo didn't press for more.

He put away the map and fuel voucher and turned toward the door.

"Hey," the man called out to him. "What's your name?"

Chen Mo didn't look back. "Chen Mo."

"Chen Mo." The man repeated it, as if savoring the name.

"I'm Old Zhou, and this is Sister Lin. If you survive, we might meet again."

"If I survive?"

Old Zhou smiled, and the smile looked somewhat eerie in the dim, yellow light. "Ghost Night is coming soon, newbie. Good luck."

Chen Mo walked out of the shack, and the night wind blew in his face, carrying a damp, fishy stench.

He looked up at the sky and discovered that the stars were gone, obscured by a layer of thick clouds.

On the highway in the distance, the fog was gathering, slowly writhing as if it had a life of its own.

He walked quickly to the gas pump, inserted the card, picked up the nozzle, and started refueling.

The smell of gasoline was pungent but reassuring, and the numbers ticking on the fuel pump emitted a faint green light in the night.

Just then, he heard a sound.

It wasn't the sound of the wind, nor the sound of an engine; it was a faint, rhythmic tapping.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It sounded like knuckles tapping on metal, coming from behind him.

Chen Mo didn't look back.

His Pupil of the Sequence was spinning frantically, and in the vision of his right eye, a silhouette appeared at the edge of the gas station's light range—

A tall humanoid figure, wearing some kind of uniform, standing at the boundary between light and darkness.

It was holding something in its hand, rhythmically tapping against the gas station's lamppost.

With every tap, the light dimmed a little.

Chen Mo's fuel nozzle clicked at thirty liters.

He yanked out the nozzle, tightened the fuel cap, and then—

He saw that thing's face.

No facial features.

Only a smooth, pale mask, like the shell of some insect.

But on that mask, a smile was drawn with black, charred-looking marks.

An exaggerated smile.

【E-Class Ghost Shadow (Knocker) · Weakness: Unknown】

【Threat Assessment: High】

【Suggestion: Enter safe zone immediately, avoid eye contact】

Chen Mo quickly lowered his head, walked rapidly to his car, opened the door, and started the engine.

The moment he closed the car door, the "Knocker" stopped tapping.

It turned its head, and that drawn-on smile "looked" in Chen Mo's direction.

Then, it raised its hand and gently tapped on its own "face."

Thump.

Chen Mo stepped on the gas, rushing out of the Trading Post's light range.

In the rearview mirror, Old Zhou was standing at the shack door, carrying the hurricane lamp, waving at him.

It wasn't a farewell, but a warning—his other hand pointed to his watch, then pointed to the sky.

Chen Mo glanced at the System.

Five-fifteen.

Forty-four minutes until Ghost Night descends.

And now he knew why the "Knocker" was called by that name.

It was knocking on an invisible door leading to somewhere.

And that place was very likely—

Chen Mo's gaze shifted to the road ahead, where the fog was parting, revealing a road sign.

Ahead: Fog Village Road · Length: Unknown · Exit: Unknown

Warning: Do not stop in the fog. Do not respond to any sounds. Do not—

The text afterward was covered by bloodstains.

Chen Mo gripped the steering wheel tight, stepped on the gas, and charged into the fog.

His right eye was throbbing with pain, and in his golden vision, countless lines were weaving through the fog, like the blood vessels of some massive creature.

And at the end of those lines, he "saw" something—

A bridge.

A bridge completely different from the stone bridge from before, a bridge suspended in the Void Realm, built from the wreckage of countless vehicles.

At the end of the bridge, there was a point of light.

That point of light was summoning him, or rather, summoning everything that entered the fog.

Chen Mo didn't know what it was.

But he knew that before Ghost Night descended, he had to find the answer.

Or become a part of the answer.