A dilapidated wooden hut, as if forgotten by time in the deep mountains and forests.
The mud-packed walls are full of cracks, like the wrinkles on an old man's face, telling endless stories of change and decay.
The wooden boards of the roof have long since rotted, and a few strands of sunlight filter through the gaps, but they cannot dispel the chill and dampness inside the cabin.
Everywhere, spider webs cloak the room like a veil of grayish-white gauze. The floor is covered with thick dry straw, which rustles when stepped on.
In the nearby empty space, several earthen bowls and jars are placed haphazardly, with two half-eaten coarse buns inside one of the bowls.
In one corner, a wooden chamber pot stands with peeling red paint, emitting a pungent stench of mold and feces, making it nauseating.
