Mo Ling was certain it was a sentence.
But he couldn't understand it.
The script writhed, slowly burrowing into the robed man's brain, etching itself onto it like a tattoo.
Yet the robed man showed no reaction. He continued to share his excitement with his companions until the black script burrowed deep.
The smile on his face abruptly vanished. As if he had suddenly realized something, his expression turned solemn, and he looked around.
The gaze he cast upon his companions now held a faint trace of pity.
He stopped sharing his excitement. Closing his mouth, he slowly began to walk.
Reaching out to grasp at the empty air, the robed man seemed to be sensing his surroundings before taking a deep breath.
'What is he doing?'
As Mo Ling watched in confusion, the robed man squatted down and pressed his palm flat against the ground, as if feeling for something.
After a moment, the robed man walked over to the side and stroked the crooked houses, his eyes filled with bewilderment.
