Her back was bent so severely that her head was almost tucked into her chest. Sitting there, she looked like a breathing, withered tree stump.
Her skin was as wrinkled as tree bark, covered in deep and shallow crevices, her desiccated flesh clinging tightly to her bones.
Her nose was sharp and hooked, curving downward until it nearly touched her lips.
Most terrifying of all were her eyes.
Her sockets were deeply sunken, the whites of her eyes a muddy, jaundiced yellow, while her pupils were as tiny as pinpricks.
When she looked at someone, her eyeballs remained completely still, cold and lifeless like two dried-up wells.
After Cen Yao entered, she slowly raised her head.
Those eyes landed on Cen Yao, scanning from her hood to her hemline, and then from her wand to her hand hanging by her side.
It was as if she were sizing up a cut of meat.
Cen Yao ignored her sinister gaze and walked up to the counter.
“Do you have any vacant rooms?”
The old woman grinned.
Her teeth were sparse and blackened, with what looked like bits of red meat still stuck between them.
“Of course, my guest.”
Her voice was raspy and unpleasant, sounding like a rusty saw scraping against a wooden board, making Cen Yao's ears ache.
“What kind of room do you need?”
“We have soundproofed ones, and non-soundproofed ones.”
“The soundproofed rooms are a bit safer.”
Cen Yao's pale, slender fingers tapped gently on the counter.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She smiled.
“Soundproofed, of course.”
The old woman's smile widened, her wrinkles bunching up like a crumpled piece of old paper that had been smoothed back out.
“Very well, guest.”
“Five gold coins a night.”
Cen Yao's fingertips paused for an imperceptible fraction of a second.
Talk about a rip-off.
Five gold coins.
In the context of a fairy tale dungeon, a single gold coin was a massive sum for an ordinary NPC.
But she didn't try to haggle.
After all, in a place like this, sometimes what you saved by haggling wasn't money, but your life.
Cen Yao reached into her Witch's robe pocket, pulled out five gold coins, and placed them on the counter.
The coins let out a crisp clink as they landed.
She had conjured them with magic.
To be precise, it wasn't creation out of thin air, but rather imitation gold coins temporarily condensed using alchemy.
Their appearance, weight, texture, and even the wear and tear on the surface were extremely close to real gold coins.
As long as the dungeon rules didn't force an appraisal, they were real.
The old woman reached out with a hand like a withered branch and slowly picked up a coin.
She scraped it with her fingernail, then brought it to her nose to sniff.
Cen Yao's expression remained unchanged, but she quietly tightened her grip on her wand.
After a moment, the old woman swept the gold coins into a drawer.
Cen Yao wasn't sure if it was just her imagination.
She felt that after the old woman received the gold coins, her entire demeanor stiffened slightly.
When she looked at Cen Yao again, that sinister, meat-evaluating gaze had faded quite a bit.
Though she still didn't look like a good person.
At least she now resembled a bad person who was temporarily willing to do business.
The old woman took a key down from the wall and handed it to Cen Yao.
“Guest, this is your key.”
“Fourth floor, the fourth room on the right.”
“Please do not lose the key.”
Her muddy eyes stared at Cen Yao as she said, word by word, “This is your proof of check-out. Whether you can successfully leave depends on it.”
Cen Yao reached out to take the key.
The key was very old and dark, feeling bone-chillingly cold to the touch.
The moment she took the key, her fingertips seemingly brushed against the back of the old woman's hand by accident.
Cold.
Hard and dry.
The knuckles protruded so much they looked like they could pierce through the skin at any moment.
The old woman paused.
“Guest?”
Cen Yao withdrew her hand naturally.
“My hand slipped.”
The old woman stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.
“I wish you a peaceful sleep tonight.”
Cen Yao smiled back.
“Thank you for the kind words.”
She took the key and walked upstairs.
The inn's stairs were very old. The wooden boards creaked under her feet, and each step felt like stepping on a skeleton that was about to fall apart.
Cen Yao even suspected the staircase would collapse in the next second.
A few faded portraits hung on the walls.
The faces in the portraits were blurry and indistinct, but their eyes were painted with exceptional clarity.
As Cen Yao passed them, those eyeballs silently turned to follow her.
From the end of the second-floor corridor came the sound of a child bouncing a ball.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
But from the outside, this inn didn't look like it had any guests at all.
Through the crack of a door on the third floor, a pale finger poked out.
The finger groped along the floor, its nail scraping against the wooden floorboards with a faint, scratching sound.
Cen Yao kept her eyes straight ahead.
A fire butterfly fluttered around her, its pale golden light shining onto the finger.
The finger instantly retracted with a whoosh.
Cen Yao continued up the stairs.
She could feel numerous eerie gazes watching her.
From the cracks of the doors, from behind the portraits, from the corners of the stairs, and from the pitch-black ceiling overhead.
She ignored them all.
It seemed there were quite a few "things" in this inn.
She reached the fourth floor.
The fourth room on the right.
The room number was 404.
Cen Yao: “...”
Great.
Incredibly unlucky.
She unlocked the door with the key.
With a click, the door slowly swung inward.
To her surprise, the room was very clean.
Though small, it was reasonably well-furnished.
A wooden canopy bed stood against the wall, its posts carved with rose patterns, dark dust settled in the crevices of the petals.
A thick quilt lay on the bed, its color a faded, dark red that looked like repeatedly washed blood.
By the window sat a small round table and two high-backed chairs. An oil lamp rested on the table, its wick unlit.
In the corner stood an old wardrobe, its door embedded with a foggy bronze mirror.
The mirror was blurry and indistinct, unable to reflect a face, only showing a swaying shadow.
A hand-woven old carpet covered the floor, patterned with intertwining vines and roses. However, the colors were so dull that, upon closer inspection, they looked like tangled blood vessels.
The window was very small, with one half boarded up by heavy planks, leaving only a narrow slit.
The night wind slipped through the crack, bringing a damp chill.
The entire room was far too cold and gloomy.
It didn't look like a place for the living; instead, it resembled a temporarily vacant tomb.
Cen Yao was in no hurry to sit down.
She first shut the door, locked it, and then cast a simple Alarm Curse on the door crack.
Afterward, she swept the entire room with a Detection Spell.
Under the bed—nothing.
In the wardrobe—nothing.
Behind the walls—nothing.
On the ceiling—nothing.
The mirror...
Cen Yao looked at the foggy bronze mirror.
The mirror remained perfectly quiet, and the Detection Spell didn't find any obvious anomalies.
Even so, she walked over and turned the mirror around, making it face the wall.
The orb asked, “Host, didn't the Detection Spell say there was no problem?”
Cen Yao sat on the edge of the bed and said earnestly, “Just because there's nothing wrong with it doesn't mean it doesn't look ominous.”
The orb: “...”
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