The old man's dance ended in the darkness, and the roomful of dead souls returned to the mirror once more.
With his hands drooping, it seemed as though the old man was dancing with his life, like a leaf slowly falling onto its root, each dance a lifetime.
Staring blankly at the mirror with his hollow eye sockets, the old man's special aura slowly faded. His back remained hunched, his white hair disheveled, and the wrinkles on his skin became even more pronounced.
"Old master, may I try dancing on the stage?" Han Fei didn't know how to dance, but he possessed a superhuman memory and absolute control over his body. He had memorized every movement of the old man and could completely "imprint" them.
"Anytime you wish, even if you don't join the club in the end, you can still come here to dance," said the old man, as if just coming back to his senses, turning around and replying to where Han Fei's voice originated from.
