As dusk fell, wild grass overran the roadside. The new year had only just begun, yet the roads were already sparsely populated, with few carriages and even fewer travelers in sight.
At a crossroads stood an inn.
A few Mongolian horses lowered their heads, devouring their feed, their necks practically covering the entire manger. Sparse lamps were lit inside the inn for illumination, and someone inside called out a few times,
"Is anyone here?"
"Here." An old man, frail and hunched, descended the stairs slowly with the aid of a walking stick.
"We're from the Pingyuan Escort Agency," the middle-aged man at the front introduced himself before asking, "Elder, may I ask your name?"
"My humble surname is Shen. I hail from Taiyuan."
"Elder Shen, does this inn belong to you?"
"Merely passing through. This place has been abandoned for who knows how long."
