Grace Foster stopped speaking.

　　Within the silent city, tall buildings stood on either side of the intersection. Only four people stood quietly at the very center of the crossroads, motionless.

　　The sun hurried along its path, and at some point slipped into the dark clouds, making the gloomy world even colder.

　　"Click."

　　Grace Foster held a dry biscuit, chewed it up, and swallowed.

　　Crumbs stuck to his lips; he used his fingers to push them into his mouth, finishing the entire biscuit in just a few bites.

　　He picked up his water pouch and drank deeply, tilting his head back.

　　In a moment, half the water was gone.

　　Grace Foster wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put the water pouch away.

　　At the crossroads of Cheng'an County, the four people still stood there, all alone.

　　It had been a long time since David Bolton left. The shadows of the group kept shifting, and finally, even the shadows disappeared.

　　The sky was overcast; looking into the distance, the view was both clear and desolate.

　　The faces of the three farmers had become extremely terrified.

　　An unspeakable fear kept welling up from their hearts.

　　"The market is closing, it's closing..."

　　They trembled all over. "There's a curfew at night. He hasn't come back, hasn't come back. Night is falling, night is falling. We're going to die!"

　　"Oh God..."

　　The old man whimpered and began to cry.

　　Beyond the sound of weeping, it seemed that the faint sound of hooves could be heard in the distance. The hoofbeats played a death march on the road, and the three were nearly collapsing, a stench of fear emanating from them.

　　ps: Jiang Huaming, a native of Yunyang County, Jingzhao Prefecture, served as a porter for Dun Yuanjian, traveling north from Liangzhou to Beiting... carelessly lost his pass, was arrested and sent to the authorities... handed over to the Gongcao Office for interrogation. — "Fragment of the Case File on Jiang Huaming's Lost Pass, January–February, 21st Year of the Kaiyuan Era, Xizhou Governor's Office"

Chapter 7: Drawing the Bow, Asking the Way

　　"Go!"

　　Grace Foster turned and ran in another direction.

　　The old farmers were stunned for a moment, then shakily shouldered their packs and hurried after Grace.

　　The road was very clean.

　　Buildings of all kinds intertwined on both sides, and only this one road led to an unfamiliar distance, with absolutely no way to take a detour.

　　Not a sound from birds or insects; only their heavy footsteps could be heard.

　　Fortunately, the sound of hoofbeats from earlier was gone.

　　No one knew how long they had been walking. The sky grew darker, the buildings on either side more oppressive, and the hoofbeats sounded again from behind.

　　"They've caught up, they've caught up..."

　　Grace stopped and looked to the side.

　　On the left, at the entrance of a courtyard, a wooden sign hung with the character "食" (food) on it.

　　"Thump, thump."

　　Grace Foster knocked gently on the door.

　　No answer.

　　Grace Foster opened his hand, palm flat.

　　"Thump! Thump!"

　　Still silence outside the door.

　　Grace Foster made a fist.

　　"Bang!! Bang!!"

　　"Coming! Coming!"

　　At last, a voice came from inside. After a rustling sound, the wooden door slowly opened, revealing just a crack, and someone poked their head out.

　　This person was young, holding a candle, his smooth face covered in acne scars, one eye big and one small, both now staring at Grace Foster.

　　"What is it?"

　　"To eat."

　　"We're closed!"

　　The person pulled his head back and was about to shut the door, but Grace Foster grabbed the door with both hands and yanked hard. The servant was pulled out, stumbling, and crashed into Grace Foster's chest, clutching his head and crying out.

　　Grace Foster strode into the courtyard, the other three following, and Grace closed the door.

　　He stood with his back against the door, his body alone able to block the entire entrance.

　　Loud hoofbeats sounded from outside. The old farmers held their breath, not daring to move. Even the servant didn't dare speak, and the scene seemed to freeze.

　　Only when the hoofbeats faded did the servant finally lift his head, run up to Grace Foster, stick his head out, and angrily demand, "What do you want?!"

　　"Food and lodging."

　　"We're already closed! Closed! And you can't stay here! Out! Out!"

　　The servant pressed both hands against Grace Foster's chest, using all his strength to push him out.

　　Grace Foster looked down at him, unmoving. The servant gritted his teeth, his face turning red.

　　"Insolent! How dare you be rude to guests?!"

　　Someone shouted, and the servant withdrew his hands.

　　A middle-aged man appeared in front of Grace Foster. He wore a brocade robe, his hair tied and crowned, with a long beard. His appearance was ordinary, but he was quite refined.

　　The man greeted Grace Foster politely, then looked at the three old farmers standing beside him.

　　The courtyard was empty, with only two tables. On the left was a barred gate leading to the backyard's latrine, which was locked.

　　"My poor supervision allowed this boy to offend our honored guests. Please, come inside."

　　The innkeeper spoke.

　　Grace Foster looked past him. The inner room ahead had only one door.

　　At this moment, the door was open, but inside was pitch black, with no fire or candle lit.

　　"We dare not call ourselves honored guests, just country folk who came to the market with a wealthy family and got separated. It's already dark, so we hoped to stay here for the night."

　　"We'll just stay in this courtyard, and leave at dawn. Would that be acceptable?"