Inside the woodshed, the light was dim.
A man in night clothes lay on the ground, his hair disheveled. He bore several sword wounds, and his hands and feet were bound with rope. A thick, nauseating stench of blood emanated from him.
He lay there motionless, on the verge of death, as if he could draw his last breath at any moment.
"Master."
Yun Cheng, who was standing guard nearby, lowered his head in a bow.
Shen Yanchuan raised a hand. "Has he woken up?"
Yun Cheng shook his head. "No."
Shen Yanchuan took two more steps forward, stopping beside the man.
"Have you been able to identify him?"
Yun Cheng looked ashamed. "Forgive my incompetence. Other than his bow and darts, he had nothing else on him. We don't recognize his face, either. I'm afraid it will take some effort to uncover his origins."
Shen Yanchuan kicked the man, who showed no reaction.
