Entering the restaurant wasn't only Carson Flores; the middle-aged man who had kept to himself also chose to enter.
Carson Flores exchanged a glance with the man, nodded as a greeting, but the man gave no response and headed straight into the dining hall.
The dining hall was large, filled with numerous guests. To Carson Flores's surprise, most of them appeared fatigued and weak, with many bearing fresh, bleeding wounds.
Several individuals were devouring the dishes they had purchased, while others had set down their chopsticks, sitting cross-legged with eyes closed, seemingly seizing the moment for cultivation practice to heal their wounds.
There were still quite a few empty seats in the dining hall, but Carson Flores scanned around and walked toward a weary-looking middle-aged man.
The man sat alone at a corner table, his robe had several tears and dried bloodstains could be seen, looking weatherworn and quite old. He was frowning, full of worries, with closed eyes, silent.
