Wangxiang Terrace.
Jiang Qiao and Fang Xun followed the line slowly into the small seven-story tower. The light inside was dim, but they could still see where they were going. The stairs were wooden, and oil lamps hung on the walls beside them.
To their surprise.
Aside from being rather cramped, the tower had none of the musty smell common to old towers.
Nor did it have the stench of decay peculiar to the Supernatural World.
It was a very clean place.
There was not even any dust.
Step!
Step!
Step!
People came and went in two orderly lines, ascending on the left and descending on the right.
The first floor.
The second floor.
The third floor.
They kept climbing, but every floor was ordinary. None of the lost souls lingered on the lower floors; they all continued up the wooden stairs. Only when they reached the sixth floor did something finally change.
In a corner on this floor.
A small shrine had been set up.
It stood a foot high.
And half a foot wide.
The statue was indistinct; all they could make out was a figure sitting cross-legged. Before the shrine stood three sticks of incense that had long since burned out, two candles reduced to bare wooden sticks, and a gray pottery bowl.
"What is this?"
Jiang Qiao paused briefly.
A puzzled look crossed his face.
Yet he sensed no aura from the shrine. It appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary divine seat.
But...
Could a divine seat on the sixth floor of Wangxiang Terrace.
Really be ordinary?
Sure enough.
A moment later, Fang Xun said quietly beside him, "This is a statue of the First-generation River God. Nobody knows who put it here. It's been here for a very, very long time."
"But I've