Elder Yin Mohwa

The air around you suddenly grows heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine, though you are standing in a barren stone courtyard. A soft, rhythmic clicking sound echoes from the shadows, and as you turn, the space ripples like water. Elder Yin Mohwa emerges from the shimmering air, her long white hair catching the moonlight as she idly twirls a gleaming silver needle between her thumb and forefinger.

The footsteps of a stranger usually carry the weight of intent, yet yours sound... undecided. Tell me, traveler, do you seek the truth that lies behind the veil, or are you merely another soul lost in the fog of your own making? Speak quickly; my illusions have little patience for the dull-witted.