Fabricating myths, starting with the creation of eight fictional ancient tribes

Strangely, no matter how fast Ren Quanxu sped up, he could only see that blurry back view, always maintaining that distance.

Is this what they call "shrinking the earth to an inch"?

This thought suddenly popped into Ren Quanxu's mind.

Finally, at a corner, Wan Xingwang stopped.

Ren Quanxu caught up, panting, and was only two or three meters away from the figure.

He was panting heavily, not daring to get too close, only daring to shout loudly through the fog:

"Master... please wait!"

Wan Xingwang did not turn around, but stood there quietly, as if he had become one with the surrounding darkness.

Ren Quanxu swallowed hard and mustered his courage to ask:

"Was that... really a dragon?"

"Are you... the legendary immortal on land?"

"Where exactly is this place? Do the eight ancient clans that Ji Xuanyuan spoke of really exist?"

A series of questions were raised.

Every question is the answer that the millions of viewers in the live stream most want to know.

However, all that answered him was deathly silence.

After a long while, Wan Xingwang's voice finally came slowly.

His voice was hoarse and deep, like two rusty iron pieces rubbing against each other.

"Don't ask."

These three simple words carry a suffocating sense of oppression.

Ren Quanxu opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something.

Wan Xingwang spoke again, his tone now carrying a stern warning.

"Let's go quickly."

"Before it gets completely dark."

"Disturbing their rest... will kill them!"

The last word, "death," seemed to carry a chilling wind, penetrating directly into everyone's very bones.

The voice just fell.

That figure in the tattered Taoist robe seemed to be swallowed by the mist, vanishing into thin air.

There was no sign of it, and no sound was heard.

They just disappeared like that.

"A...master?"

Ren Quanxu tentatively called out and took two steps forward.

The place was empty; not even a footprint was left.

A chill ran from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head.

Ren Quanxu felt cold sweat pour down his body, and his clothes were instantly soaked.

"Boss... is this... is it a human or a ghost?"

Zhang Xing approached, his teeth chattering, clutching a machete tightly in his hand, yet he felt utterly unsafe.

The other two inexperienced newcomers in the team were also intimidated.

But the fearlessness of young people has led them to continue trying to explain it scientifically.

"Boss, this must be for the live stream effect, right?"

One of the young men, with dyed yellow hair, said somewhat uncertainly.

"That dragon was just a well-made prop; the Taoist priest probably used some kind of magic trick to become invisible."

"Yeah, have we been pranked? There are no gods in this world!"

Another echoed this sentiment, trying to bolster his courage with such words.

"Shut up!"

Ren Quanxu turned around abruptly, his eyes bloodshot, and shouted angrily.

"What kind of time is this to be spouting such nonsense!"

"You've never been to a tomb, never been to a no-man's-land, you have no idea what real danger signals are!"

He has been working in this industry for over a decade.

We've descended into bottomless sinkholes and ventured into perilous rainforests.

He has an almost beast-like intuition for danger.

The moment the Taoist priest disappeared, the hairs on his body stood on end.

That feeling was a hundred times stronger than when he encountered a group of venomous snakes in the Horseshoe Sinkhole or even when he was caught in a blizzard in Changbai Mountain!

This is definitely not a prank.

"Listen up, all of you!"

Ren Quanxu took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

"From this moment forward, no one is allowed to leave the group, speak out of turn, or touch anything without permission!"

"Let's find a way out right away!"

Zhang Xing shakily pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

At times like these, only nicotine can offer some relief from the fear of impending death.

He took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and with trembling hands tried to press the lighter.

"Click...click..."

The windproof lighter, which usually works perfectly, seemed to be broken and wouldn't light no matter what I did.

Only a tiny spark was flickering.

"Damn it, this is a ghost..."

Zhang Xing cursed and irritably stuffed the lighter back into his pocket.

He instinctively turned around to see how his brothers were doing.

As he turned around, his pupils dilated instantly.

"Boss... Boss..."

Zhang Xing's voice was trembling violently, choked with sobs.

"What's wrong?"

Ren Quanxu was in front identifying the direction when he heard the sound and immediately turned around.

"Then...those people behind...they've all disappeared!"

Zhang Xing pointed to the mist behind him, his face filled with terror.

The group of "burden" livestreamers who were originally following behind them,

And that "Invincible West" who drove a luxury car and swaggered around has completely disappeared!

I just clearly heard them chattering and complaining behind me.

How could they have vanished into thin air in the blink of an eye?

The surroundings were eerily quiet, with only the sound of the flowing fog.

"not good!"

Ren Quanxu's expression changed drastically.

The fog is getting thicker!

I could see clearly for five meters just now, but now I can't even see three meters!

Everything around me became blurry, and only the cold, oppressive feeling grew stronger.

"Stand close together! Form a circle! Don't get separated!"

Ren Quanxu gave the order loudly.

The remaining five people, including two photographers, huddled together, back to back, forming a defensive circle.

Just then.

"Tap...tap...tap..."

A series of heavy footsteps slowly echoed from the depths of the mist.

The sound was slow and rhythmic.

"Someone's coming!"

The blond-haired hothead's eyes lit up, as if he had seen a savior.

"It must be those people who got separated earlier! Hey! We're here!"

He was so excited he wanted to rush out.

"Don't go!"

Ren Quanxu reacted quickly, grabbing him by the back of his collar and pinning him to the spot.

"Are you looking to die? Listen to that footsteps! Is that the sound of a normal person walking?"

Huang Mao was stunned by the scolding, but after listening carefully, his expression changed.

The footsteps were so heavy.

It didn't look like walking at all; it looked more like dragging something heavy.

Everyone stared intently in the direction from which the sound came.

The beam of the flashlight swirled wildly in the fog, unable to penetrate the thick white barrier.

A few seconds later, several blurry black figures slowly emerged from the mist.

They did not come from the same direction.

Instead, it slowly surrounded them from all directions.

The moment the first shadow stepped into the aperture.

Everyone stopped breathing; it was an old woman.

His face was covered in wrinkles, piled up like a piece of dried orange peel.

She was wearing a dark red burial garment embroidered with gold coin patterns.

It reflected an eerie light under the flashlight beam.

She had a worn-out earthen basket slung over her arm.

Dark red blood was dripping from the bottom of the basket.