In a secluded hall at the mountain top.
Three people were seated around a table, and beside them, a figure was busily working.
Zhang Fei Xuan was shaking a folding fan, nodding his head to and fro, quietly humming a tune from some unknown opera, like a languid young noble.
Gao Sishu sat there, focused on a trap-like device, from which green vapors occasionally drifted.
Lingdang sat cross-legged, holding two small dolls that were jostling each other, with a crackling sound coming from her mouth.
Wang Qizheng was placing several items on the table.
One of them was a cup, filled with a thick substance that resembled human blood.
On a plate, there was some unknown flesh and bone, still bleeding.
There were also two wooden bowls; one contained a green, oily liquid that was steaming as if it harbored some corrosive poison.
The other bowl was filled with a black paste of unknown composition.
