Under Chen Yuan's gaze, under the flickering candlelight, an old man dressed in coarse cloth, with gray and disheveled hair and beard, moved slowly, slightly hunched, and walked out of the dim surroundings, holding a broom in his hand.
Those eyes were incredibly deep, with the eye sockets almost buried under layers of loose eyelids.
"May I ask who you are?"
Chen Yuan forcefully suppressed the turbulent fire within, slightly lowered his gaze, and the golden light in his eyes flickered.
The old man stopped at the boundary of light and darkness, his wrinkled lines resembling old tree bark, slightly easing as he spoke, "I am the temple priest of this place."
"I usually sweep the ground, offer incense, year after year, my throat, ah, choked by smoke and dust, always likes to cough."
"Cough cough."
The voice was calm and strong, with a hoarse texture.
