Before the morning mist had fully dispersed, Pi Yanlin was already sauntering toward the shore of Mirror Lake.
Last night, he had spent half the night flipping through the *Records of Strange Realms* in the side room of the Xuan'an Bureau. The dried mugwort leaves tucked between the book pages were still damp with dew, and now they were tumbling out of his loose sleeve, rolling into the cracks of the bluestone pavement.
"Morning," Gu Qinghuan's voice came from behind.
Chapter 167