The Library

The heavy drum of rain against the library's tiled roof filled the air as Zhuan Ming sat by a window, steam curling from his cup of bitter fern tea. Outside, the sect grounds were blurred by the downpour, the world reduced to the rhythmic patter of water and the occasional rumble of distant thunder.

Zhuan Ming turned another yellowed page, his fingers careful against the fragile parchment. The library's first floor—open to all disciples—was a maze of common manuals and basic cultivation treatises. Useful for beginners, but painfully shallow for someone like him. His gaze drifted upward toward the ceiling, where two more floors of knowledge waited, each more restricted than the last.

First floor: open to all.

Second floor: requires merit, talent, or status.

Third floor: reserved for elders and those with special permissions.

He smirked into his tea. The sect hoarded its secrets like a dragon guarding treasure. The real answers about the Azura Mist Sect's carvings wouldn't be found here among these pedestrian texts. But gaining access upstairs would require finesse—or forgery.

Zhuan Ming's fingers paused on the page as the realization struck him. There was another way - Li Qingyue. The sect's rules were clear: only top 10 inner disciples could access the second floor. Ranked second, she undoubtedly had the privilege he lacked. He drained the last of his tea in one measured sip. The library's first floor had yielded nothing useful - just basic manuals and common histories.

He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the worn library floor. Outside, the rain had thickened into a silver curtain, turning the stone pathways into glistening mirrors. The cheap umbrella he pulled from his sleeve was a flimsy thing—dyed indigo with a bent bamboo spine—but it would serve. He flicked it open with a practiced snap and stepped into the downpour.

Water splashed around his boots as he walked, the rhythmic tap-tap of droplets on oiled paper filling the silence. How fitting, he mused, watching the rain distort the world around him. Knowledge, like this storm, is layered. What most see is only the surface—a veil of obscurity. But peel it back, and the truth floods in.

The sect's tiered library was no different. The first floor offered parables for children; the second, half-truths for the ambitious; the third... ah, the third would hold the rot and honey at the core. And Li Qingyue, earnest and ever-eager to please him, could unwittingly pry open the gates.

A gust of wind tugged at his umbrella as he turned down the path to his plain shed that he called home.

He allowed himself a small, humorless smile. The sect's rules thought to keep knowledge from those deemed unworthy. But rules, like locks, only worked on honest men.