Slipping past the rows of shelves and quietly navigating through the less-used corridors of the Medicine Hall—
Hei Long eventually found himself standing before an old, dust-covered door near the far back of the building.
The wooden frame creaked slightly as he pushed it open.
Inside was a storage room long forgotten by time.
Dim light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling beams.
The scent of old herbs, rotting parchment, and faint medicinal residue clung to the air.
Stacks of aged wooden boxes were piled haphazardly in the corners, many wrapped in worn cloth or sealed with faded talismans no one had bothered to refresh.
Hei Long stepped inside cautiously, his footsteps silent, his eyes sharp.
"This is the place…" he whispered to himself.
Kneeling beside one of the dustiest piles, he began to rummage carefully through the boxes—lifting lids, peeling back cloth wrappings, and quietly shifting their contents aside.
