At the end of the room, a tattered boss's desk that he had picked up from nowhere served as the front desk, and behind it stood a scrawny old man.

A faint light shone on his face from below, emphasizing his sagging cheeks and the wrinkles of the ravines. The old man had no eyes, so he couldn't tell if he had seen them.

The lights kept changing, illuminating the old man as if his face was changing—this image, which appeared at this dilapidated hotel at this moment, literally raised the horror index to 100 percent. For a while, everyone's faces turned white, and Ma Qiang's cleanliness habit was no longer committed, so he actually picked up the broom in the house and looked at the broom that had not been washed for hundreds of years, and pointed at the old man tremblingly.

"Ouch, hello guests, come to the hotel?"

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