One hundred and six. Formation

The small courtyard hosted two banquet tables, the Song family had drunk three rounds of wine and enjoyed five different dishes, gathered in noisy clusters chatting loudly, when suddenly an old Taoist burst in through the gate.

About a dozen people stared blankly, frozen like chickens made of wood, and the noisy courtyard fell briefly silent.

The old Taoist, having wandered the rivers and lakes for many years, had long since cultivated a thick skin, impervious to spiritual harm. He held a compass in his hand, his expression stern, ignoring the many stares as he spun around in the middle of the courtyard.

"You are…"

Song Hu's father stood up, wanting to ask.

"Silence!"

Old Taoist Lu suddenly shouted coldly, stopping Song Hu's father's words in his throat.

He stepped in the Big Dipper stance, wandering around the empty courtyard space. The compass in his palm spun rapidly.