Jiang Cheng wasn't in the mood to play guessing games with him. He looked around, then frowned. "How come there are only six of you left? Where's the maid?"
"She was frightened last night, so we left her behind to watch the room." The spirited woman stepped forward and answered Jiang Cheng calmly.
"Don't talk nonsense. We just came from the West Wing. There wasn't anyone in the room."
At Jiang Cheng's words, the spirited woman paused, then grew a little anxious. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. We have no reason to lie to you."
The fat man quickly described the layout of the West Wing. The faces of the spirited woman and the others darkened as they listened.
"No wonder you weren't in your room. You went to ours instead." The man dressed like a porter, who had kept a low profile until now, spoke in a hollow voice.
The fat man only realized what that meant a moment later, and a chill ran down his back. "You went to our room?"
The middle-aged man with the knife described the state of their room, and the two groups fell briefly silent. "We can talk about that later. What's going on in there?" Jiang Cheng lifted his chin toward the Hall of Merit, a few dozen meters away. A steady din poured out of it, completely drowning out their conversation.
The spirited woman looked worried. "It's the same as last night. Those monks are drinking and eating meat. Only one of them refuses, and they're tormenting him."
"That monk is called Huicong. He's the key to whether we can get out of this temple." Jiang Cheng lowered his voice. "You should have realized by now that we're trapped in this wretched place. Unless we deal with whatever's going on here, we'll