Duan Rong had prepared everything he needed and proceeded down the wooden staircase on the east side of the pavilion, descending the steps until he reached the door on the first floor.
This door was located in a dim corner some distance away from the staircase entrance. Its color was dark, and if Fan Hongjiao hadn't led him through it once before, Duan Rong might not have noticed the door at all.
He came to the door and pushed it open with a creak. Behind it lay a darkness so thick it felt impenetrable, with dim steps stretching downward, gradually swallowed by the dark.
Duan Rong took out a prepared torch and lit it with his flint.
He stood at the doorway holding the torch, the wind blowing past, causing the flames to dance and lick at his ears.
With a step, Duan Rong crossed into the darkness. Behind him, the door creaked shut on its own.
The sound of the wind ceased abruptly, and the flames of the torch flared up, the sound of its burning starkly loud in the silent space.
