At the end of that dim alley, there is a mysterious old man. He had a hunched posture, as if his spine had been bent by the weight of time, but there was a faint aura that could not be underestimated. His face is like ancient tree bark, covered with deep wrinkles, each one like a mysterious symbol left by time, telling stories of the past. Those eyes were deeply buried in their sockets, like two deep ancient wells, occasionally flashing a sharp light, as if they could see through all the illusions in the world. He always wears a tattered yet clean black robe, swaying gently in the wind like a ghost in the dark night. The black felt hat on his head revealed a few strands of silver under the brim, emitting a cool color in the dim light. He often holds a cane carved with strange patterns in his hand, each pattern seeming to contain ancient magic. With his footsteps, he knocks rhythmically on the stone path, as if conversing with another mysterious world