"I believe in the Island Master."
No one responded, but everyone nodded.
The sky outside the window turned dark.
Lanterns on the street lit up one by one, their glow seeping through the window paper, casting faint shadows on the table.
The old cultivator stood up and walked to the window.
He opened a crack and looked outside.
The street was still busy with people.
Vendors, pedestrians, people standing at shop doors talking.
The light illuminated each face, some weary, but there was a spark in their eyes.
This spark had been igniting bit by bit over the past fifty years.
He closed the window and returned to his seat.
"Let's continue drinking."
The old cultivator said.
A few people raised their cups.
When they clinked together, the sound was muffled, as if something was being suppressed.
The spirit wine burned down their throats, heating up their chests.
They knew the storm was coming.
The announcement was just the first leaf to fall.
