The group raced through the dark corridor, legs churning, until a faint green glow winked at the end.
A fire basin burned there, throwing off a spooky light.
In its shine, they could just make out a figure in white mourning clothes, tossing money bills into the flames.
The sight hit hard. “Another… another freaking Specter?!”
Things went from rough to end-of-the-world bad. Blood Handprints and Shadow Killers behind them, this mourning weirdo ahead—they were stuck right in the middle.
While the others locked up, Fang Xiu didn’t flinch. He walked straight toward the mourner.
Yang Ming and his crew didn’t even pause—just followed on autopilot. The Land Between people, out of better ideas, trailed behind.
Up close, the mourner’s face sharpened: a dried-up corpse, all skin and bones. It gripped a handful of Spirit Money, feeding it into the basin.
The bills burned with a ghostly green flame, giving off a cold, eerie feel that prickled your skin. The group stepped into the light, their bodies washed in that weird glow.
“Run!” someone snapped at the corpse.
The guy with the blood handprint came charging in, eyes wild and desperate, ready to slap the curse onto anyone close.
But the second he hit the firelight’s edge, something crazy happened—the bloodstain on him just… vanished, gone like it was never there.
“Holy—! This light’s keeping the Specters off!”
Right then, the blood handprints and Shadow Killers rolled up, but they stopped dead at the light’s edge. Their shapes flickered between shadow and glow, like they couldn’t step over.
The group perked up fast. “Hell yeah, this light’s legit!”
“It’s not the light,” Fang Xiu said, voice calm. “It’s the Spirit Money. Burn it, and it holds the Specters back.”
They all stared at the cash the corpse kept tossing into the basin. Spirit Money—the stuff that’d been their chains all along—could do that? Who’d have guessed?
Guess it was true: money talks, even to Specters. No wonder they’d never clocked it in the Land Between—there, Spirit Money was everything. Burning it? No way they’d even think about it.
“Hey, uh, bad news—the Spirit Money’s almost out!” Yang Ming, always sharp with cash, pointed at the corpse’s shrinking pile.
Panic shot up. The less Spirit Money the corpse had, the weaker the green flames got.
The blood handprints and Shadow Killers crept closer, cutting the distance bit by bit. That quick taste of safety? Gone again.
Yang Ming flipped out. He dove at the corpse, rummaging through its robes. “Where’s more, huh? You’ve got to have extra—give it up!”
But the second he touched it—CRACK!—the corpse fell apart into a heap of bones, scattering like dry sticks.
The last few Spirit Money bills slipped from its hands.
Yang Ming’s hands were quick. He grabbed the bills off the ground and, eyeing the fading flames, tossed them into the basin. The fire flared back up, green and bright.
“Grab the basin and go,” Fang Xiu said.
Yang Ming didn’t wait. He scooped up the fire basin, his face shining a greasy green in the light. The group bolted through the dark, Blood Handprints and Shadow Killers right behind them.
“It’s fading! Huff huff—!” Yang Ming gasped, blowing into the basin as the flames dipped low.
No luck—the glow kept shrinking.
Their hearts sank with it, gripped tight by some unseen pressure. The darkness loomed like a starving animal, ready to gulp them down.
Then, a few loose Spirit Money bills drifted into the basin. The fire blazed back up, green and fierce.
Translator's note: It's DON'T STARVE TOGETHER time! Build the campfire or die!