Upon exiting the Obsidian Moon Parlor - as it was known in this city - from a different exit he came in through, though equally unpopulated, Wu Long was already alone.
He stopped, taking a breath, and feeling the cold temperature around him even as the morning passed and the sun stood high, he was reminded once more that the long summer they spent here was coming to an end, transitioning into a short autumn, which would be followed by a long winter, seemingly coinciding with the lull that was about to descend onto the continent.
A chirping sound reached his ears, and a small bird with silvery wings landed onto a half-crumbled stone statue nearby, the light reflected off the feathers catching his eyes.