The midday sun stands proud in a silver white sky. Its bright yellow glow blotches the crumbled stucco walls of the inn. A slanted gate creaks and swings on its rusty hinges. Dust and gravel scuts on worn flagstones as our horses’ hooves clatter inside.
“They say Chang’an used to be the grandest city once.” Lanying slides from her stallion. “Now it’s nothing but a filthy trade town.”
A row of faded red lanterns dangles in the shade of the chipped clay-tiled roof. A rosebush wilts in the corner, its petals brown and limp. Splintered shutters shield the lengthy windows, and there’s not a sound but for our boots shuffling and our beasts trampling around.
“What’s this place?” Dendup scratches his head. His cap slides aside. “Seems deserted to me.”
Lanying point her chin at the open do
