Du Changqing shuffled to the window and forcefully opened it, allowing more light to pour in, half of which fell upon the bed in the room, making the person on it look a bit clearer.
The bed was very old, padded with dry straw underneath, and a few dirty quilts were piled carelessly on top, where a middle-aged man in a tattered shirt hugged the bedding as he sat on the bed. This man was probably just over forty or fifty, with strands of gray amid his black hair, which was disheveled atop his head, looking as if he hadn't washed his face for days. His beard was stubbly, and when he heard the noise, he lifted his eyelids to reveal slightly reddened eyes, showing no anger but merely asked in a drunken haze, "Who are you looking for?"
He clearly hadn't sobered up from the alcohol.
Lu Tong took two steps forward and asked, "Excuse me, are you Mister Miao?"