Hes closed the door, and the noise outside weakened, as if it suddenly isolated the worlds inside and outside.

With the firelight seeping through the cracks in the wooden planks, Fang Hong surveyed the room: a narrow workshop not more than ten steps long from one end to the other, with a low ceiling. In the center of the room stood a dyeing vat, beside it a birch wood square table cluttered with pottery of various sizes and tools, and shelves on both sides similarly filled but mostly with jars and vases.

The air was permeated with a faint scent of earth.

Fang Hong noticed that the furnishings were coated with a thick layer of dust, as if no one had touched these things for a long time. The girl placed a basin on the ground and carefully lit a wind lantern on the table, shielding it with her hands.

She picked up the lantern, adjusted the brightness, and the dim light sketched the contours of the room. She then turned around and said somewhat apologetically to Fang Hong, "Ever since Dolifen turned into this, these things haven't been moved much. Be careful not to trip on something, sir."

"Have you always lived here?"

The girl nodded and then shook her head. "I live in the city, but not here. I come back to visit occasionally."

"Are there other residents in the city?"

Suddenly, the girl gestured with her hand for him to be silent. It was then that Fang Hong heard a rustling noise in the darkness. He traced the sound and turned around, seeing through the cracks of the door the scene outside.

Countless undead were slowly crossing the street, moving in one direction like a river of ghosts among which floated stark white skeletons. The ghosts moved silently, the rustling was the sound of the skeletons' footsteps.

He held his breath, watching the massive army of the undead take several minutes to pass by. Only when the last ghost vanished at the end of his vision did he turn back and ask, "Why didn't they notice us? Where are they going?"

"They can't see the people inside the buildings; they are probably heading to the City Hall. The demon there controls them."

"The demon, Nikopolas?"

"Shush," Hes nervously put a finger to her lips, "You mustn't speak of that demon's name, sir; she might hear."

Fang Hong thought to himself that even if she heard, she couldn't get in. But he didn't voice this thought, instead, he asked, "Do you know her?"

Hes replied, "There's no one here who doesn't know her. Thirty years ago, she was the one who destroyed this city."

"Here? Are there other people in the city?"

Hes nodded again.

Fang Hong felt a bit puzzled. How could there still be other people living in these ruins for decades? He had never heard adventurers mention it, nor had Gita.

The girl, holding the wind lantern, walked aside, picked up a picture frame from the table, and wiped it. After dusting it off, it displayed a portrait of her with a middle-aged man with a slight paunch, presumably her father, the owner of this crafts workshop, who had an arm around his daughter's shoulders and a happy smile on his face.

"This is my father, everyone called him Old Geet. Before he left us, everyone said he was a good man." While speaking, she carefully wiped the frame clean and put it back in place.

Fang Hong silently watched the girl. She rested her hands on her simple dress; her face was thin and pale, clearly indicating a life of hardship, but her expression was calm, and her brown eyes were resolute and persistent, not the kind to be easily overwhelmed by difficulties.

He asked, "Why not take it with you?"

"Because it originally belonged here,"

Hes added, "I hope to keep it as it was, just like the old times."

"Just like the old times."

Fang Hong silently pondered the phrase.

He turned back to look at the reddish gold cracks between the planks of the darkened wood and asked, "But what if there is a fire?"

"It won't happen," the girl shook her head. "The fire only reaches the lower district. Every few months for the past thirty years this scene has reenacted, and it has never changed, not even by that demon."

"Is it a reenactment from the past?" Fang Hong wondered.

He looked at the girl carefully before asking, "For thirty years?"

But the girl didn't answer his question.

She picked up the lantern again and said, "We can leave this place now, sir."

Fang Hong hesitated momentarily before realizing that it had become completely quiet outside; then he nodded.

However, he took another look around the workshop, meticulously scanning every detail, when he noticed something beneath the picture frame. As Hes opened the door, he went over to pick it up and found a thin sheet of parchment:

"Holite Academy Admission Notice"

'To the esteemed Miss Hes, your talent and effort have been unanimously recognized by our mentors and trailblazers. We hereby approve your admission starting…'

The text below was smeared and unclear; Fang Hong tried wiping it but to no avail—it was unreadable, so he skipped ahead.

'...April 15th. Please prepare your personal items and proceed to... for registration.'

The parchment was marred with blotchy marks. Fang Hong frowned at the signatory, also obscured by stains. He wanted to reread it, but he heard the door opening behind him and quickly set down the document.

At that moment, a small object slid from behind the frame. Fang Hong was slightly surprised and picked it up.

As the girl opened the door and looked around outside to make sure it was safe, she then turned back and said, "Sir, where do you need to go? It's not safe in this city, let me take you there."

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