The second guard, shorter and potbellied, stepped forward and yanked the pendant from Victor's hand. He turned it over, spat on his palm, and then shoved it into his pouch of bric-a-brac. He thumbed the stamped copper coin into Victor's palm without ceremony.
"Day pass. Goes in your pocket, not your table," the rotund one snapped. He gestured with his chin. "Move along."
No "welcome," no courtesy. Victor slipped inside with stiff shoulders.
Inside, faded lotus lanterns still hung from the rafters, but their warm glow was gone. Paint was chipped, windows boarded.
This place was a hangout haven before, where Chen Wen would serve him hearty fire mist wine but now it felt deadened.
Murmuring to himself, he scanned the square for Chen Wen his former NPC friend, but the tavern's owners were nowhere to be found.
He approached a cluster of cultivators playing a game of spirit-dice under a studded awning.
