The people trapped in this building had already forgotten the passage of time.
By their reckoning, perhaps only half a night had passed, and they were still in the deepest darkness before dawn.
But in the actual world outside, the shouting and clamor along this bustling street had reached their peak. It was already the liveliest part of the following evening.
Shops lined the street, crammed together, with crowds of browsing customers packed between the racks.
Every vendor shouted in less-than-clear Mandarin, scrambling to draw in a few more tourists from out of town.
Here, the Black and White Building of the Supernatural World was instead a residential building most people had forgotten, though the flow of people entering and leaving was just as heavy.
Plenty of unlicensed "guesthouses" crowded the entrances and exits, forcibly stopping hurried tourists with luggage to pitch how cheap and affordable their lodgings were.
A plump middle-aged woman in a dark red coat, with a black mole on the lower part of her face, had long since set her sights on the middle-aged man before her.
She had been watching him for a while.
The middle-aged man before her was probably older than his appearance suggested.
Perhaps his smart, well-fitted leather jacket took years off him, or perhaps the unusual resolve and determination in his dark, firm-featured face made this man in his fifties look forty.
As the owner of the largest guesthouse in the area, the plump woman had honed her ability to read people to perfection.
She could tell at a glance that this man was anything but ordinary. Although he had arrived at Temple Street two hours ago, he could not possibly be an ordinary tourist.
For those two hours, he had lingered near the beginning of Temple Street, carrying a bulging