Xu Yunfan looked up and saw the firelight hanging halfway up the mountain, like several red lanterns suspended in the night.
As he drew closer, and once Xu Yunfan got a clear look at the so-called mountain gate, cold sweat was already beading on his palms.
It was enough to depress him.
On the crooked plaque, the paint on the two words "Qixia Temple" was peeling off. It was clearly a repurposed old temple.
Dozens of people were sitting in a circle in the open space before the hall. In the center of the crowd was a scrawny, middle-aged Daoist with a goatee, dressed in an ornate robe, who was continuously preaching his doctrine.
Several grim-faced, sinister-looking men stood around them casually, their sharp eyes constantly scanning the area.
