The incense in the Snake King Temple burned without end, drawing an endless stream of worshippers.
Before the majestic and imposing statue of the Snake King, there was never a moment's peace from people kowtowing and making wishes. The Snake King's Main Hall was packed, a surging tide of humanity, yet everyone was content to remain in this small space.
It was as if only by staying here could they find solace for their souls, a reprieve from the terror and helplessness that awaited outside.
In a corner of the Snake King's Main Hall, a mother and daughter each sat on a prayer cushion. The daughter was carefully wiping down an animal with a towel—an animal so still, most would have mistaken it for a dead dog.
Meanwhile, the mother held a clean towel of her own, using it to polish the Spiritual Rank in her hands. She wiped with such tenderness, so meticulously that not a speck of dust remained and its surface began to reflect the light.
