The air grew heavier the closer he got, the blood Qi denser, tainted with fear, resentment, and despair. The buildings shifted in design, becoming more utilitarian, more oppressive. Formation arrays hummed faintly beneath the ground, suppressing cultivation and enforcing obedience.
Han Yu walked with measured steps, his expression once again settling into the cold, detached mask of Ju Fan.
By the time he reached the familiar building, his mind was calm.
Inside, the atmosphere was exactly as he remembered.
Dim lighting. Red lacquered pillars. The faint scent of incense mixed with iron and blood. Formation screens floated in the air, displaying rows of information that most people tried very hard not to read too closely.
Behind the main counter stood the same sleazy clerk.
The man's hair was tied back in a loose knot, his robes stained faintly at the cuffs. His eyes lit up with recognition the moment Han Yu entered.
