"We're here. This is the place."
Night had fallen.
Liu San led Yang Jian back to the ancestral hall.
Unlike during the day, the ancestral hall's doors were closed at night, and it was utterly silent without a single sound.
"It's too late. The ancestral hall is closed. When I came before, the doors were still open. They were closed not long ago. But there's an old man inside who guards the hall. He holds an enamel teacup, is a little hunched over, and has one eye," Liu San said.
He described some of the situation inside the ancestral hall.
"That was the person who destroyed one of my paper figures. I think it would be safer if you joined me. We still have to deal with the Ghost Lake Incident, and I don't want to lose too many paper figures here."
But as Liu San spoke, Yang Jian had already stepped forward and shoved open the heavy doors of the ancestral hall.
The doors creaked, producing a shrill scraping sound.
It was especially distinct in the silent night of the ancient town, and it carried far. The nearby residents had probably all heard it.
Once the doors were opened, the smell of burning paper drifted out. The surroundings were pitch-dark, with only two inconspicuous oil lamps lit in the middle of the ancestral hall.
The flames on the lamps were tiny and swayed faintly. They were not enough to illuminate the entire hall. Instead, the flickering lamps cast shifting shadows all around, adding an even more sinister air.
Yang Jian glanced inside and strode into the ancestral hall.
"Be careful," Liu San reminded him.
Yang Jian said, "Opening the door made such a huge noise, yet it didn't draw the attention of the person you mentioned. Either he's deaf,