Chen Xu was in the inn, observing the grey cat and the hut from a distance through the Daoist Soldier.
A sense of eerie foreboding gradually arose.
The light had difficulty penetrating the room, and the Daoist Soldier did not rashly enter; instead, it leapt lightly and clambered onto the roof of the hut.
The Daoist Soldier looked down through the cracks in the roof.
The first thing that came into view was a patch of darkness.
In the dingy little hut, there was a tattered fire basin flickering with sporadic firelight.
In front of the fire basin stood an offering table, but instead of a memorial tablet, a withered thin figure sat cross-legged on it.
In the dim light, one could vaguely see that the small figure was about three feet tall, wearing a Daoist robe and a shaved head.
His head hung slightly, making it hard to discern his facial features, as if he were alive and yet dead.
