A strange place, indeed

Yang Qing froze for several seconds, unable to move forward or backward. Fear... and something else, kept him rooted to the spot, with the source of his paralysis only a few inches away.

As it turned out, there was indeed someone in that hut, which explained the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and why his heart seemed ready to jump out of his chest to join his cowardly spirit—no doubt mocking him for ignoring its wisdom earlier.

"Move, legs! Move!!!" roared Yang Qing, chastising his body that had, yet again, failed him. His legs refused to move, and his eyes refused to blink, forever fixing their gaze on the figure before him.

Before him, and at the heart of his current predicament, sat a young man in his early thirties, dressed in purple-black robes that gleamed with the charm of a clear, blue night sky.