There were lots of people around the old library, while the upstairs was quiet as usual.
On the bookshelf lay some precious spiral-bound cultivation books, and inside the books were the ordinary thin paper the Academy students usually used. On the desk beside the west window, a brush, ink, and inkstone quietly lay there. Near the east window, the female professor carefully practiced her small and regular characters. Ning Que, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, was absorbed in contemplating, except for making some notes on the paper and then tucking them into his book occasionally. When the night came, another fat lad would appear on the second floor and then, after viewing the notes, he would reply with a few sentences or a long comment beside the west window.
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