Zheng Xiu strode into the main hall.
Last night, he had come here with Feng Bei.
Now, he was alone, a painted scroll on his back. The candlelight cast his shadow, making a pair of one.
In the main hall, the old Monk with the long, grizzled beard still sat on his cattail cushion. Before him, the surface of the wooden fish was smooth with a patina of age.
The old Monk seemed to have sat there all night without moving a single inch.
As Zheng Xiu entered, he used [Scouting].
He discovered that the two doors to the main hall were brand new, the other cattail cushions had been moved, and there were fingernail scratches on the floor in one spot.
Sandalwood incense burned in the four corners, but beneath its tranquil and elegant fragrance, Zheng Xiu detected an indescribable odor.
The smell was faint, almost unnoticeable.
If he had to describe it, it was like... bird droppings.
