The Murong brothers and Ning Qing were staying at a guesthouse with two trees in the courtyard.
One was a poplar, the other one as well.
At this time of the year, the leaves on the trees were almost completely fallen, only a few withered leaves remained on the tree on the left, like the last bit of stubborn hair on a middle-aged man's thinning head.
The Murong brothers and Ning Qing were dining on the first floor of the guesthouse.
They sat by the window, facing the poplar tree.
The guesthouse business was mediocre; with just three or four tables of diners, it seemed somewhat deserted.
Just then, a burst of rapid hoofbeats rose, kicking up a trail of dust outside the door.
The horse arrived fast, and stopped just as quickly, clearly well-trained.
Soon after, new customers appeared at the guesthouse.
They were two men, both dressed in red with red hair and red beards, looking as terrifying as the red-haired ghosts depicted in paintings.
