Darkness enveloped the surroundings. Purple, filthy motes of light swirled, churned, and compressed, finally transforming into a pair of opening doors that swung toward Su Xiao.
Su Xiao opened his eyes. The dim light above revealed that he was in a cramped room. Wooden bookshelves stood on both sides, with less than a meter of space between them.
Su Xiao rose from the wooden chair. The room was only ten square meters in size, and the bookshelves on both sides occupied more than four-fifths of it, leaving only a passage down the middle.
Opposite Su Xiao was the wooden door leading out of the room. It was covered in grime and bore numerous vertical scratches, as if someone had been using them to count the days.
The stench of rotten dust permeated the room, bringing a hint of oppression and two hints of fear to the heart.
Looking toward the inner end of the passage, he saw a corpse that had already dried out, hanging from a chandelier. The rope, woven from medical gauze, had mostly broken down over the years, yet it still tightly strangled the Corpse's neck.
Judging from the white robe worn by the Corpse, it was surprisingly similar to the apothecary robes of the Sun Church. The base color beneath this long robe was black. It had once been a doctor's attire, from which the Sun Church's apothecary robes had evolved.
This doctor had been hanged for many years. A fine hemp cord was tied around his wrist. Judging from its exquisite craftsmanship, it had been woven by a woman—patiently and meticulously. Perhaps his wife or daughter had given it to him.
A wooden plaque was tied to the other end of the braided hemp cord. Many small words were carved into it:
"I did my