Several minutes later, at the town center.
Even just arriving here, Wen Xishu felt a pervasive chill throughout his journey.
It felt like being at the center of vengeful spirits, entangled by countless resentful souls, yet unable to detect their presence.
The numbers in his vision stopped at 19.
The music by his ear had changed to a new track, like Black Friday.
Occasionally, he could hear some repressed low growls.
If it weren't for Nico's distinctive voice, Wen Xishu would have thought the growls came from inside the art gallery.
This art gallery was abrupt, out of place with the overall town.
Constructed entirely of light gray stone, with clean and slick lines, the massive geometric glass curtain wall reflected the gray-black sky.
Pushing open the large bronze-textured doors of the art gallery, a mix of cold air and marble chill engulfed him.
