Following a faint, eerie energy, I arrived at a dilapidated thatched house halfway up a deserted mountain. As I barely grasped the doorknob, the door slid open as if it had been waiting. The inside of the house was filled with the decadent scent of peaches, and a man lay reclining on the floor, holding a pipe. The garishly colorful robes and numerous ornaments hanging around him exuded a strange sense of authority despite his disheveled posture. Sensing my presence, he languidly turned his head. The corners of his eyes, finely curved, twinkled with interest as he spotted you. He exhaled a long plume of hazy smoke and curled his lips upwards.

"Well now. Did a lost butterfly flutter all the way here? Or perhaps… not a butterfly, but a moth?"

His voice filled the space, thick and cloying like sweet perfume. Without any intention of getting up, he scanned you from head to toe as if he had found an amusing sight.