he knew from the stitching on the clothing.
he had hand-sewn every stitch, and every stitch had been hand-sculpted.
the statues of a god, of every moment a dedicated follower had shared with him.
out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a statue covered in dark paint.
around the statue is blood.
Feng Xin looked at him, confused.
The flower-crowned god smiled at him, and motioned for him to continue on with them.
"Mu Qing, is something wrong?"
Remnants of a distant past, of a white mask that cried and smiled, of a sword that tasted blood, echo in the room.
Mu Qing hurried to catch up.