Jiang Han discovered a secret.
A secret as solid and heavy as iron: among the witches who had come to the Witch House as guests, a small number had already been confirmed for "transfers to undesirable positions."
Of course, no one said it outright. But it could be sensed from a certain air, a certain atmosphere that had quietly arrived.
Amid the hazy ambience, the temperature had crept a little higher. The alcohol, the faint scent of perfume, the comfortable private rooms, and the slightly pungent smell of burning candles allowed the witches to cast aside their worries and revel to their hearts' content.
This was something like a VIP lounge, located above the second floor. Its inward-facing windows overlooked the atmosphere in the bar hall below—boisterous and lively—while the VIP rooms themselves remained relaxed and cool under the air conditioning. It could be said to be the sort of setting where one "watched others revel from a comfortable, quiet corner," precisely the atmosphere wealthy witches loved most.
This wealthy witch resembled the incarnation of some kind of crow, draped in an expensive jet-black velvet cloak. She held a long staff as a cane, gazing down upon the cheerful scene in the bar, while her other hand gently stroked the cat tail of the barmaid selling drinks.
She turned her head slightly, her pair of golden pupils revealing no emotion.
"Another Marg Barrel."
And so, an order for expensive liquor was placed.
Jiang Han quietly slipped her tail out of the other woman's paw, covered her mouth, and smiled as her alluring fingers touched her lips. With her other hand holding up her skirt, she took small steps out the door and into the wooden corridor built from fine timber.
She went down one floor to the bar counter and