Xu Jin practically dragged Liang Chen toward the final destination of their little evening trip—the shrine where visitors could pray for blessings, draw fortune slips, and tie red thread wishes onto the ancient tree.
The moment they stepped through the entrance, Liang Chen slowed down.
The shrine stood peacefully beneath the darkening night sky. Its curved roof rose elegantly against the moonlight, the edges decorated with rows of glowing lanterns. Golden light spilled across the stone courtyard, illuminating the visitors who moved quietly from one section to another.
Thin trails of incense smoke drifted through the air, carrying a faint, calming fragrance.
After the noisy festival street, the atmosphere here felt almost completely different.
It was quiet and peaceful.
It felt pure and sacred.
Yun Hu, however, seemed completely unimpressed, half sleepy and lazy.
