The night was as black as ink.
All was silent.
The Blood Moon hung high in the sky, casting its cold, eerie light over the slumbering Cyan Yang Ancient City. Its glow was dim tonight, as if draping all of creation in a viscous, dark-red gauze.
The shadows of eaves, streets, and withered trees were all stretched long and distorted.
As if hiding countless ghouls and demons.
In the distance, a few scattered barks could be heard.
It only served to make the night feel even more deathly still.
"DONG—DONG! DONG! DONG!"
The sound of a clapper—one slow beat followed by three quick ones—came from the far end of the long street.
It was accompanied by the watchman's drawn-out, sleepy call: "The air is dry, beware of fire!"
The sound echoed in the empty night.
It offered no comfort, instead serving as a reminder—danger lurked in the darkness.
