The Small World's Past (Part 1)

"Your life or the man? Choose for yourself." The person at the door wore hemp clothes fastened with clasps, a grass rope around the waist, and a black cloth over the face. The voice was strange, yet the words carried an oppressive force.

The City God Temple could only be entered and exited through this door. Now that the Man in hemp clothes blocked it, the tiny chamber had become a prison and a dead end because of a single sentence.

The waiter retreated behind the offering table, cupped his hands, and forced a smile. "Sir, I'm afraid that won't do. The young man on the ground has urgent business with my master. Please make an exception."

The Man in hemp clothes remained unmoved, merely stepping forward. He stared coldly at the waiter. Crushed beneath that momentum, the waiter's face filled with wariness. He could not help bracing both hands against the offering table, bending at the waist as he watched the man. Even the incense burner atop the table trembled, as though fearing the Man in hemp clothes would come over.

The Man in hemp clothes narrowed his eyes and grunted, "White Ape Offering Peaches?"

He stomped heavily on the ground. The bricks before him burst apart and flew more than a man's height into the air. With a palm strike, he lunged straight for the waiter's face.

Having had his move exposed by the Man in hemp clothes, the waiter no longer bothered concealing himself. He gave a sly chuckle, shedding his former humble manner. His eyes flickered, and a crooked smile hung at the corner of his lips. In the Man in hemp clothes' eyes, he was utterly unlike the man from moments ago—his treacherous face laid bare.

No sooner said than done; the waiter punched the