Zheng Qing wasn't sure if the Sprites had become more lively.
But he felt that he must be the loneliest guest in the entire bar—sitting in the middle of the noisy, boisterous crowd, yet on the edge of the excitement.
The witch in the wall mural danced feverishly in red shoes, candles hanging upside down from the ceiling flickered with notes of light, a Black Wizard was trading banned drugs in the corner, at the next table two Minotaurs were hugging and crying, someone was playing push nine, the clatter of bone tiles mixed with the rhythmic screams of the Siren, a Warlock turned his own head into a rabbit and was wandering around the tables with his belly exposed.
Just like what was said in books, there is no shared feeling in human sadness and joy, Zheng Qing only felt they were noisy.
