The sun was shining brightly, and the plants on either side of the mountain path swayed gently in the breeze. A few leaves occasionally drifted down, spinning in the light.
The disciples he encountered along the way stopped to bow as Fang Han approached.
Their gazes held awe, admiration, and a shared sense of pride.
Fang Han responded with a slight nod, never breaking his stride.
Before long, the imposing silhouette of the Library Pavilion appeared in his view.
With its flying eaves and bracketed cornices, it exuded an ancient charm, glowing with a soft luster in the afternoon sun.
He stepped into the pavilion and ascended the familiar, spiraling wooden staircase.
The handrail, polished smooth and warm by countless hands, gave off a faint scent of wood.
His steps were steady yet swift, and he soon reached the fourth floor.
At the entrance to the fourth floor, Elder Mo's familiar figure was still leaning against the sandalwood desk, engrossed in an ancient scroll.
