I stood on the stage in the thousand-person hall of the Crescent Hotel and talked about saving the fat man by throwing a knife with a stuffy oil bottle. The curtain in the lotus hall on the second floor opened in a corner and three people in Buddhist robes were staring at me. A pop-up window in the system prompted special audiences to trigger a hidden mission. I put down the folding fan and walked off the stage to the second floor. The whole hall was quiet behind me. Partridge Whistle sat at the root carving table and paused with his fingertips - he heard that what I was talking about was not a drama.
