At the break of dawn, just as a sliver of fish-belly white appeared in the sky, Wang Chen quietly left the alleyway.
He was clad in a cyan-grey Taoist robe, his hair and beard flecked with gray and his face gaunt, his frame thin as if he lacked the strength to even truss a chicken.
However, the high-tier Qi Cultivation aura that faintly emanated from him was not to be underestimated.
On the main street, people bustled about, and most of the shops along the street were already, or were in the process of, opening their doors.
Wang Chen, familiar with the area, made his way through the streets and alleys to reach a tea house.
This tea house served breakfast, and he found himself a seat, ordering a pot of Spiritual Tea and a basket of steamed buns.
While eating, he listened to the other patrons chitchatting about everything under the sun.
