A Dream of Yellow Millet

Xiao Ran tucked away the spirit money, ignored the man's furious, embarrassed curses, and headed straight for the Eight Immortals Tower.

According to the man, Xiao Ran would soon reach a left turn off the main road. The farther he went, the stronger the scent of spices grew, though it was mixed with an indescribable greasy, fishy smell, like fat being boiled. It was nauseating.

Before long, a three-story restaurant stood before him, brightly lit and adorned with carved beams and painted rafters.

Three huge gilt characters—"Eight Immortals Tower"—shone brilliantly on the sign above the entrance.

Yet their light had an eerie, deathly pallor. The entrance was thronged with carriages and guests, while the waiters' calls mingled with the diners' laughter in a deafening, bustling din.

If anyone could get by most comfortably in a place like this, it was Wu Man, that old fox.

Xiao Ran was sure that Wu Man wouldn't let his identity hold him back. He would certainly choose the trade he knew best as his way in.

Standing across the street, Xiao Ran spread his mental power like an invisible web, quietly seeping into the restaurant.

The main hall was packed with people, its tables littered with cups and plates. Waiters wove through the crowd with trays, but the dishes weren't ordinary chicken, duck, or fish. They were revolting feasts of flesh and blood.

There were dishes like steamed human hands and crystal-glazed elbows, laid out in plain sight on the tables.

After seeing that, Xiao Ran immediately withdrew his mental power and turned to leave.

From those few dishes alone, he could tell that Wu Man wasn't in this restaurant.

Wu Man would never serve food so brazenly in front of his guests.

Whatever the ingredients, if even the most basic of the three