The clapper in the duty room of the Xuan'an Bureau had just struck the third watch when a hurried knocking suddenly sounded outside the window.
Gu Qinghuan's Dark Iron Sword was already three inches out of its scabbard, its cold light making the candle flame flicker.
Pi Yanlin had originally been sprawled out in a bamboo chair, but now he slowly sat up straight, his fingertips still stained with half a piece of uneaten osmanthus candy: "Qinghuan, your scabbard needs oil. Drawing it too fast will scratch it."
Chapter 43