My family's private library, called "Moyin Tower," is tucked away in a quiet alleyway in the Capital. My father was a scholar who hated holding a regular job; instead, he preferred to sling an old cloth bag over his shoulder and travel far and wide, claiming he was searching for rare editions and visiting reclusive sages. Consequently, this entire building full of thread-bound books and the fragrance of ink falling thick on the shelves all landed squarely on my shoulders. My name is Shen Wei. Having grown up amidst stacks of books, my fingers are accustomed to turning yellowed pages, and my nose is used to the scent of aged paper. My days flowed like dried flowers pressed between book pages—quiet, and perhaps a bit dull.
Until that spring, when the peach blossoms were in full bloom, and a certain someone walked into Moyin Tower.
When he first arrived, I was up on a ladder organizing the books on the top shelf. The ladder wobbled slightly, and just as I was feeling uneasy, I heard a voice from below, as clear and gentle as newly thawed spring stream water: "Be careful, Miss."
Chapter 139