The shadows of the bamboo swayed delicately across the snowy white window paper, like faint ink washed by clear water, exuding a sense of tranquility with every stroke.
Sun Lingtong was temporarily staying here to rest.
He sat cross-legged on a low couch, with a few ancient jade slips spread out before him, two well-sealed soul bottles, and an old wooden box picked up from a second-hand stall.
The lacquer on the box's surface had peeled off, and its edges were smoothly worn, resembling an aged object played with by time and countless hands.
Inside the box was empty.
Sun Lingtong extended two slender fingers, gently tapping the bottom of the box with his knuckles.
Thud.
Thud thud.
On the third tap, a hidden compartment at the box's base silently slid open, revealing a sheet of black talisman paper as thin as a cicada's wing.
