The Cryptic Choice of the Birthplace of Conspiracy

A shaky kerosene lamp hung from the top of the dilapidated house by a rusty chain, emitting a faint and swaying light. The dead atmosphere was like dark clouds over the city, slowly spreading in this closed space. In the center of the room, there is a quaint long table, which is covered with traces of the erosion of time. At one end of the long table, there is an hourglass, and the sand is flowing downward at a constant speed, making a subtle but regular rustling sound. Along both sides of the long table, eight people with different postures and expressions were sitting. Their clothes were shabby and ragged, and their faces were full of exhaustion and vicissitudes of life. Some people rested their heads on their arms, while others leaned on the backs of chairs, all falling into a deep sleep. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.