Qinghe District, 1:00 a.m.
In a very secluded old tavern, the signboard was dim beneath the neon lights.
An old man in a white suit, leaning on a purplewood cane, slowly entered the tavern. Perhaps because of its remote location, though it should have been open for business, the tavern was empty.
Zhou Jiren came to the bar, lit a cigarette, glanced inside the counter, and tapped the bartop.
"Knock, knock."
The vibration was faint.
Yet with those two taps, the entire bar, including the huge display cabinet and shelves behind it, seemed to ripple.
Had there been any other patrons in the tavern, they would have seen the space itself resemble a lake, rippling at the same frequency with those two taps...
From a pitch-black shadow behind the bar, someone suddenly opened his eyes.
A flash of brilliance lit up in his gaze.
It was hard to believe that flash came from a ragged old man. He wore a thin, beggar-like cloth shirt; beneath it, his body was as gaunt as a skeleton. His eye sockets were sunken, and he looked as though he had not yet woken up, while tightly clutching a greasy-looking bottle in his hand.
The two old men stood in light and shadow, their clothes, physiques, and spirits forming an extraordinarily stark contrast.
"I didn't expect your business to be this bad... Don't tell me I'm the only one here?"
Mr. Shu slowly sat on a barstool and handed over his lit cigarette.
The ragged old man took it and inhaled deeply. He chuckled softly, his hoarse voice sounding as skeletal as he looked.
"Other than you, who would come to a tavern like this for a drink?"
He took out a goblet from the display cabinet and skillfully mixed a drink beneath the counter.