"Mr. Bai, did you catch a cold?" Xiang Xiaoxue asked with concern.
Mr. Bai and Mr. Hei were both nicknames Xiang Xiaoxue had invented. After all, she'd recently become obsessed with Qing court dramas.
"I'm a true god. How could I catch a cold?" Bai Qi shot Xiang Xiaoxue a look. "This place is bustling with people; the yang qi is abundant and chaotic. We gods from the underworld are allergic when the yang qi is too strong." As he spoke, he sneezed again.
"Exactly," Mr. Hei chimed in, turning to Xin Huohuo. "The yang qi here is so heavy, no ghost would dare approach. Even if they had the guts, they wouldn't want to stir up trouble—unless they were insane. So, what did you see?"
'Even the gods who manage ghosts can't see anything amiss, and even the demonic bird who cultivated a human form didn't notice anything different. I must just be seeing things, right? The night market's lights are brilliant and flickering; maybe they just played a trick on my eyes.'
