Zhou Chen took off his mask and used Alchemy to conjure a pure white steel mask, which he placed over his face, completely concealing his features.
The streetlamps cast a cold light, their shades swarmed by countless moths and mosquitos. The entire block was utterly silent, its inhabitants deep in slumber. The old house, swallowed by darkness, looked ancient. Its walls were mottled and peeling, and the ground around it was littered with shards of glass that had been blown out from within. The hollowed-out windows gaped like immense, dark mouths.
Zhou Chen slipped silently through a first-floor window and began to investigate the house with light, careful steps.
He entered into a kitchen where the counters were covered in bottles and jars. Most were coated in dust, and some spice jars hadn't even been opened, suggesting the owner of the house rarely cooked.
