The cold wind howled outside the guesthouse, rattling the loose doors and windows.
The waiter dozed off at the counter, snoring thunderously when no one knocked.
With a bang, the door opened.
The waiter was startled, scrambled up, and rushed to the door, looking around in panic.
"No one, it's the wind." Yang Fan, having eaten and drunk his fill, put down his chopsticks.
The waiter yawned, closed the door, and returned: "Indeed no one, who would want to come to this ghost place?"
"Why do you stay here then?" With his meal finished, Yang Fan chatted with the waiter.
The waiter walked over and stood in front of Yang Fan: "Ah, bitter fate. Generation after generation has been here, where else can I go?"
"How's the situation around here lately?"
The waiter shook his head: "Not sure, don't dare to look, but heard it's been quite fierce, lots of people have died."
"Really?" Yang Fan nodded.
