When Fang Daichuan woke, the hands of the grandfather clock in the corner of his room pointed straight down. He stared dazedly at the brass clock base for a while.
The clock was tall, about one point seven meters, with the dial at the very top, forcing shorter individuals to look up. Its style matched the villa’s overall aesthetic—eerie and mysterious. The base featured a roughly etched image. Fang Daichuan tilted his head, studying it. After a long moment, it vaguely resolved into a scene of over a dozen people seated around a long table for a meal. The table formed the central axis of symmetry; the row of figures above had discernible facial features, while the row below were depicted from behind. The base wasn’t large to begin with, and with so many tiny figures carved into it, Fang Da
