The oil lamp sputtered, popping with a brittle sound.
Shen Jin wiped the cold sweat from his brow and began tidying the scattered remains of parchment —
but outside, muffled voices stirred in the mist.
Boots scraped across broken stone, soft and measured, carrying the unmistakable cadence of trained men.
Shen Jin's chest tightened.
A slow, deliberate knock rapped against the bronze door ring.
Three times — steady, precise.
The signal of the Lingyuan Division:
Sealing. Inspection. Cleansing.
Shen Jin glanced toward Luo Qinghan.
She returned his gaze calmly, slipping the torn remnants of her transcription quietly into her sleeve, her movements almost invisible.
Drawing a deep breath, Shen Jin moved to the door.
It creaked open.
Beyond it stood a man, framed by swirling mist.
He wore a pale robe embroidered with faint cloud patterns; a sword hung sheathed at his hip, and a silver badge of the Division gleamed at his waist. His face was calm, almost to the point of detachment.
Ling Wanzhou.
He held a yellow sealing scroll in one hand, and his voice was mild as drifting mist:
"Inspection by order of the Lingyuan Division.
All scrolls must be accounted for."
Shen Jin frowned slightly but did not protest.
Though the Archive Tower sat isolated in the outer courtyard, it remained, by law, under the jurisdiction of the Lingyuan Division.
Whenever forbidden scrolls showed signs of disturbance, immediate sealing and inspection required no prior approval — it was procedure, pure and cold.
Shen Jin inclined his head and stepped aside.
Ling Wanzhou entered the tower with an unhurried pace, his gaze sweeping over the scorched scrolls, the blackened table, the pale figures within.
He said nothing at first.
Instead, he bent, picking up a charred scrap of parchment.
His fingers rubbed it gently, and it disintegrated into ash.
"…Soul resonance," he murmured.
Straightening, he turned toward Shen Jin, smiling softly — a smile too polite, too empty.
"What were you repairing, Shen Jin?"
"Volume Thirty-Six," Shen Jin replied without hesitation.
"Chronicles of the Abyss — Fragment Three.
Severely damaged. Undergoing restoration."
Ling Wanzhou nodded, as if this answer surprised him not at all.
Then he turned to Luo Qinghan, his voice taking on a strange, almost pitying gentleness.
"And this young lady? Your assistant?"
Shen Jin shifted subtly, positioning himself between them.
"Copyist. Assigned by the Division."
Their gazes met — a subtle clash, sheathed in formality.
Ling Wanzhou let the silence stretch, thin and taut.
At last, he withdrew, brushing dust from his sleeves.
"Archive Tower, sealed for three days. Neither of you —"
his gaze sharpened —
"— are to leave the outer courtyard."
Shen Jin bowed low.
When he straightened, a sliver of cold anger flickered behind his lowered lashes.
Ling Wanzhou seemed to notice — but said nothing.
A small gesture from his hand summoned silent figures from the mist: Division enforcers, setting up the sealing wards without a word.
He turned to leave.
But at the threshold, he paused, smiling over his shoulder with the same mild, chilling ease.
"Tell me, Shen Jin —
do you think gods leave their mark upon old scrolls?"
Shen Jin stood still.
After a heartbeat, he raised his eyes and replied evenly:
"No.
Not gods."
Ling Wanzhou arched an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Shen Jin's voice was quiet as burning paper:
"Only dreams."
For a long moment, Ling Wanzhou regarded him.
Then, with a faint, disappointed sigh, he turned and vanished into the mist.
The tower fell into silence once more.
Shen Jin closed the door carefully and looked toward Luo Qinghan.
She stood where she had before, her face serene, her gaze lowered —
yet her fingers were tracing delicate marks upon the torn scrap hidden in her sleeve.
Not words.
Not symbols.
Warnings.