The layout of Shangjing's alleyways was different from anywhere else.
Even in the most secluded corners, a casual turn would often reveal a quiet, elegant bookstore.
These bookstores were usually small, but though they were tiny, they had everything you could need. You could often find unexpected treasures inside.
On a bright summer afternoon, stepping into a place like this, picking up a book you liked, and breathing in the faint scent of ink in the air was about as pleasant as it got.
And people willing to run a little shop like this were usually easygoing and extraordinary. They wouldn't care about what you did—right?
"You're the owner?"
Sprawled in a slouch in the rocking chair behind the counter, Fu Qian cracked open one eye and looked at the man standing before him.
He was in his forties or fifties, with an upright build and a well-tailored dark gray suit that was clearly bespoke. The hair at his temples was slightly gray, and it was combed to perfection.
This gentleman's bearing was undeniably different from that of the Bai Shuzhong huddled in the corner. He practically had the word "style" written all over him.
At that moment, the impeccably poised man was surveying his surroundings with a scrutinizing gaze, Fu Qian included. He seemed faintly displeased.
"I am."
Aside from speaking, Fu Qian didn't change his posture in the slightest.
"Do you have—"
"No."
The man had only gotten halfway through his question when Fu Qian cut him off.
"I haven't even said what book I'm looking for."
The gentleman was clearly taken aback. His expression froze for a moment.
"The shelves are such a mess. I don't feel like going through them one by one. Find it for me."
"That's right. It's already been swallowed by chaos."
Having