In the corner of the room, there stood an antique bookshelf, made of sandalwood, exuding a faint fragrance.
The bookshelf was filled with various books: martial arts manuals with old covers that spoke of the ravages of time; classical ancient texts with yellowed pages, chronicling the wisdom of bygone eras; and some mysterious Jianghu novels that added a touch of mystique to the martial arts-themed attic.
By the window, there was a low table, upon which lay a zither, the body of it as black as ink, with strings shimmering faintly.
Beside the zither were several petite tea cups, adorned with exquisite floral and avian motifs, brightly colored and vividly lively.
Shi Feiyang stepped into the bathing room, greeted by the warm steam that slowly dispelled his weariness.
