In the 23rd year of the Republic of China, deep in the Xijiaomin Lane of Peking, there was a restaurant that no one dared to set foot in - Qinghetang. The shop is small, the red paint wooden door is mottled and peeling off, and the plaque on the door lintel is covered with thick dust. However, the three words "Qinghetang" are still written vigorously, showing an indescribable coldness. Rumor has it that this shop only does night business. It opens at one o'clock and closes at five o'clock. Those who come are all people with gloomy faces. After eating, they leave quietly without making any noise. What's even more weird is that there is no fixed menu in the shop. The shopkeeper Chen wears a half-worn ebony mask all day long, covering most of his face, revealing only a pair of untroubled eyes and a pale and thin lower jaw.
