Dragon Gate Inn was a two-story earthen building. It took up no small amount of space, with outer walls painted in white lime. A faded wine banner hung at the entrance, the four words "Dragon Gate Inn" written on it, while on the outside stood a row of thick wooden fencing over two meters tall, enclosing several hundred meters in every direction.
Xiao Yun stood at the entrance and looked up at that wine banner, suddenly remembering a certain movie he had seen in his previous life—Dragon Gate Inn in that story was no good place.
Old Zhou parked the carriage in the inn's stable, and the two of them got down.
Xiao Yun pushed open the door and walked into the main hall of Dragon Gate Inn with Old Zhou.
The main hall was brightly lit. Several wooden tables were scattered about, and more than ten guests sat apart from one another. Some were drinking, some were eating noodles, and some were talking in low voices.
At a table in the corner sat three people wearing leather armor, sabers hanging at their waists. At a glance, they were mercenaries who lived life on the edge.
By the window sat a one-eyed big man. In front of him were a pot of wine and a plate of peanuts, and he was slowly shelling them.
Beside the counter sat two middle-aged men in gray robes, one fat and one thin. The fat one had a face full of hard, coarse flesh, while the thin one looked sharp and capable. Neither spoke; they only silently drank the tea in their bowls.
There were also several people wearing bamboo hats and veils, occupying two of the tables.
The instant Xiao Yun entered the main hall, everyone's gaze turned toward them—an old man