The sound of crackling filled the air, and the flickering flames cast shadows on the fireplace, dancing as the fire ebbed and flowed.
Yanchuan caught a whiff of burning pine, mingled with the unpleasant smell of gasoline.
Nearby, the clinking of glasses echoed, accompanied by loud laughter from a group at the table.
Yanchuan focused his gaze to assess his surroundings.
He was seated behind a counter-like table, facing a roaring fireplace that dispelled the dampness within the room.
Bright gas lamps illuminated the area, alongside wall sconces, casting light throughout the somewhat shabby yet spacious wooden cabin.
A gramophone on the counter spun, releasing a fragmentary blues tune that filled the expansive room.
Warmed by the fire, Yanchuan felt his cheeks flush slightly and instinctively moved a bit farther from the flames.
Glancing down at his pale palm, he realized where he was.
The script had assigned him the role of an innkeeper, and it seemed he had been directly placed in this tavern.
In the fog-cloaked forest, within this abandoned gold mine forest.
Yanchuan discreetly surveyed the cabin.
The windows were open, likely due to the rare sunny day deep in the dense forest, letting in bright sunlight that filtered through overlapping leaves and cast mottled patches on the wooden floor.
A moist, earthy breeze wafted in, carrying a slight chill.
As the wind blew in, Yanchuan suddenly felt a bit cold and quietly edged closer to the fireplace.
In an inn deep within the forest, having each room equipped with a fireplace was essential.
His gaze returned to the surroundings.
As it was an inn, the ground floor was furnished with numerous tables and chairs for guests to eat and chat.
Surprisingly, there were quite a few guests in the tavern; perhaps it was the tourist season, and those passing through the Fog Mountain Forest were taking a break in this sole inn.
The guests were noticeably divided into groups based on familiarity, with clear lines drawn between friends and strangers.
A middle-aged couple sat nearby; the husband’s neck was flushed, a clear sign of long-term alcohol use, as he continued to drink. The wife, dressed in the most ordinary cotton dress, silently consumed the roasted meat on her plate.
Occasionally, her gaze flickered outside, where a nine-year-old boy in a white sailor suit was intently watching a man repairing a car by the entrance.
Beside them was a younger couple, laughing together and intermittently exchanging fervent kisses.
Next came a lone, young policeman, the epitome of a classic young white officer with blonde hair and blue eyes, exuding an air of straightforwardness.
The officer appeared at ease, his service weapon casually placed on the chair beside him.
Yanchuan blinked from behind the counter.
There was even a policeman among the NPCs.
The script was titled “Night of Terror in the Inn,” and without any supernatural elements, it hinted at a possible crime.
In the hall, another group was present.
A bunch of robust, young men dressed as “prospectors.”
It was rare to encounter such a classic depiction of gold diggers in the abandoned gold mine forest, drawing Yanchuan’s attention the most.
This group comprised five members.
They chatted and drank, clad in dusty denim. Their pockets bulged while their solid frames gave off a robust presence.
Even while drinking, they appeared cautious of their waists, adopting postures of readiness.
With sleeves rolled up, their sun-kissed forearms were exposed, revealing a deep bronze hue, a clear sign of years spent under the sun.
The man in the middle was younger, around twenty-six or twenty-seven, markedly taller, with pale skin. He had a handsome, upright face, carrying an air of nonchalance.
His long fingers tapped gently on the wooden table, producing a melody devoid of harmony.
Compared to his companions, the man exuded a more cultured demeanor, likely a result of frequently being in a commanding position. Yet, relatively speaking, his ocean-deep blue eyes were still unyielding.
He was not like his companions who deliberately unbuttoned their collars to showcase their muscular physiques, instead wearing a crisply ironed black shirt that suggested careful grooming.
Sensing Yanchuan’s gaze, those deep blue eyes flicked over to him.
Yanchuan quickly looked down and added more firewood to the flames, pretending to be unbothered.
The man leisurely swirled his beer, while his comrades began noticing Yanchuan.
They spoke in a language he couldn’t comprehend, occasionally peeking over at him, their exchanged glances filled with evident amusement.
This amusement was pleasing yet unfriendly, resembling a crude camaraderie between men, their stares sticky and overt.
Yanchuan slightly furrowed his brows.
As he averted his gaze, one of the brown-haired prospectors beside the man made a face at his companions, bursting into laughter.
“If you need anything,” the man who made the face deliberately sharpened his voice, speaking in a high-pitched tone, “I can get it for you!”
His companions joined in the laughter, sharing an understanding of a lewd joke, mimicking his voice with taunts, “A pretty little black-haired Asian!”
“I bet his skin is softer than pudding!”
“You got it wrong, it’s like cream; just one lick, and it melts away!”
[What lewd men!]
[Oh no, I don’t want men who look repulsive; my wife is too delicate to like this kind of thing.]
[My gosh, that’s so rude! How dare they stare at my wife like that!]
[Try harassing my wife again!]
Listening to the bizarre comments surrounding him, Yanchuan pressed his lips together and turned his face away.
He was particularly sensitive to such unkind gazes, especially in the script, where this group of men evidently found it gratifying to tease an “Asian innkeeper.”
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