In the disheveled bluestone room, Shao Zifeng sat against the wall on the floor, absently caressing the hidden-edge knife sheath in his hand, his expression thoughtful.
The Chasing Moon Dog sat next to him, its tail wagging slightly, as it cocked its head, looking at its temporary master.
Its horrific wounds had healed, but the fur hadn't grown back, leaving it somewhat patchy and bald.
As for Shao Zifeng, he hadn't sustained any injuries; even the scratches on the back of his hand from earlier on the rooftop had been healed, but his clothes were stained with mud and blood, looking slightly ragged.
Stretching out his hand to pet the Chasing Moon Dog's fluffy head, Shao Zifeng leaned on the knife sheath to stand up and looked around the messy room.