Hannah’s illness required long-term medication, and the variety of medicinal ingredients was vast, each needing to be of the highest quality.

Hannah worried that Sixth Hoffman and the others would get the formula wrong and turn the medicine into poison, so she took charge of procuring the medicine every time.

Hannah’s throat felt tight, he struggled to keep his voice steady, "You brought back a lot of medicine last time."

"That’s good." Hannah patted his shoulder, "Remember to tell Sixth if you feel unwell."

Hannah nodded.

It was only after she stood up and left that he turned to watch her retreating figure.

She moved naturally over to Arnold Simmons, then leaned against him as she sat down.

The two were chatting at a very intimate distance.

Different from him.

Tell Sixth if you feel unwell... In the past, Hannah always told him to speak to her.

In the end, it’s different.

...

Sixth brought wine.

Gregory Lawrence, holding a wine bottle, was utterly drunk.

He could hardly stand steadily, seeing double images.

He grinned stupidly, slurring to Sixth, "You... no, why do you look so familiar?"

Sixth had also drunk quite a bit, but not as much as Gregory.

He just propped his head up with a thick stick, waving his hand dismissively, "Cut the nonsense, who’s seen you!"

Gregory stumbled over, supporting Sixth’s shoulder, "No, really, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before, and your vulture too."

Someone pointed at the seventh member of their group.

Gregory nodded, "Yes, that’s the one. I’m sure I’ve seen you guys!"

His voice grew quieter and quieter.

Sixth wanted to look at Hannah, but just as he averted his gaze, Desolation looked over, forcing him to quickly squint his eyes again.

"Nah, you must be seeing things."

Before closing his eyes, Sixth didn’t forget to retort one last time.

"No, my eyes are fine, no blurriness, no... blurriness."

After uttering the last words, Gregory collapsed softly.

Landing right on Desolation’s black robe.

...

During the night, a cool breeze was blowing.

Over the distant sandy expanse, the wind rolled through piles of withered grass.

The Milky Way in the sky was scorching hot, yet it couldn’t warm the cold of June in the mortal world.

The temperature plunged suddenly, and the last flicker of fire was extinguished by the cold wind.

Gregory’s snoring was intermittent; he smacked his lips and subconsciously reached out to wipe away the unknown liquid at the corner of his mouth.

In the distance, Sixth Hoffman peered out for a moment, then quickly hid again.

"Recognize me, really? Could I have robbed him?"

"How could one know, us wanderers rob so many every year, he might just be one of them."

"Is it because last time you didn’t cover your face well while stealing clothes, and got recognized?"

A group of five or six began pointing fingers at one another.

"Stop the nonsense, when do us wanderers ever hide our faces during a robbery, acting so openly and honestly?"

"You have a point there," Sixth Hoffman scratched his beard.

He was terribly annoyed because of Gregory’s drunken words just now.

"You know, I actually find that kid somewhat familiar," Sixth Hoffman ruminated, "but I just can’t remember where I’ve seen him."

He was distressed.

A companion tried to comfort him, "Forget it, don’t think too much about it, since the boss has found what we needed, these people aren’t important anymore. If you ask me, we should eradicate them root and branch!"

The person made a throat-slitting gesture.

Sixth Hoffman promptly smacked him on the head, "Are you dumb? The boss’s boyfriend is still here, do you want to kill him too?"

The guy scratched his head.

Sixth Hoffman picked a blade of grass, placing it in his mouth and crouching on the ground, "Alright, let’s just follow the boss’s orders, did you not see the boss gesturing to us earlier, telling us not to make any rash moves!"