Screech—clack—
As the rusty old elevator doors slowly opened, He Ao raised his head and looked outside.
Densely packed yet orderly "shops" came into view.
The building's master had converted the entire floor into a commercial district, making it convenient for the residents to shop and spend.
At that moment, some people in the shops were fleeing in panic, some clutched cash boxes tightly, and some huddled in corners.
Panicked crowds were scattered throughout the corridor.
But all their movements had frozen in that final instant, like statues engraved into time, forever fixed upon the earth.
He Ao quietly passed through the gaps in the crowd and reached the outermost edge of the commercial district.
There was a narrow "hall" of roughly one or two hundred square meters here. The hall seemed to possess some special "power"; all the people fleeing for their lives had stopped at its edge and had not entered it.
Even crossing the hall to reach the main exit was only a dozen or twenty meters away.
Inside the hall stood a small "booth," with a bright sign hanging above it: "Check-in Registration."
An old reclining chair sat inside the booth, empty.
And in this "empty" hall, the only figure was someone standing before the main entrance.
It was a short, somewhat balding, white-haired and white-bearded Old Man. He wore a simple striped shirt and had a short, stout build.
Unlike all the panicked people on the first floor, the Old Man stood directly before the entrance, gripping an old silver baseball bat and glaring furiously ahead.
His eyes were wide open, his loose muscles tensed beneath his skin, as though he were facing an utterly heinous enemy.
He Ao walked up to the Old Man, paused briefly, and gave him a slight bow. Then he