"This should be the place, right? the Druff waxwork museum?"
It was already late at night, and the gas lamps on the side of the road gave off a faint light. In the darkness, a swarm of mosquitoes flew around the light, like lonely dust. At this time, there were not many people on the street. Xia Pingan stood at the entrance of an alley, squinting his eyes as he sized up an old three-story building on the street in front of him.
The building must have been built for many years. It looked like a dilapidated factory. The metal frame sign of the Wax Museum hanging on the roof of the building was damaged and rusty. The words on the sign were badly corroded, and people could only barely make out the words on it. The dark red brick wall of the building was mottled, with many signs of smoke and fire, and some messy graffiti.
