Deep in the shantytown, "Seven Turns Alley" was a narrow lane that barely allowed a single carriage to pass through.
The low shanties stood shoulder to shoulder, squeezing the cramped space, turning the sky into a long, thin fissure.
Upon entering this alley, where the wide street narrowed, Zhang Shuyuan had no choice but to slow down.
Suddenly, Shen Qing, seated on the cart, straightened instantly, fingers gripping the bow tightly, his mind tense like a taut string on a bow, his expression solemn.
He sidestepped the protruding eaves and said, "Xiao Hu, draw the bow fully, and stay hidden."
"Okay."
Seeing Shen Qing's serious demeanor, Shen Xiaohu quickly nocked an arrow, drew the bow, and stood ready for battle.
It was too quiet around here.
Shen Qing instantly had a bad premonition.
As they rounded the first corner, the cart drawn by an old horse appeared on a short, straight path.
