Zhao led Yan from the banquet room through a short passage and into the experimental wing library. The doors stood between two brass lamps. A guard held the key at his belt, but Zhao nodded and unlocked them himself.
The room smelled of clean paper and cedar oil. It was a different smell from the disposal yard, where manuals came wrapped in ash-stiff cloth or fell apart when he touched them. Shelves covered three walls. A cabinet at the far end had a glass front and an iron lock.
Yan stopped just inside. “You keep all of these in the wing?”
“Research disciples may consult them,” Zhao said. “Some are incomplete. Some have been set aside until we know more about their effects.”
A clerk brought a catalog and opened it on the reading table. Yan recognized three titles he had wanted to study since his days sorting discarded pages. He had seen fragments and copied only what could be read. Here, their full lines sat in neat ink beside notes about the condition of each book.
One entry was marked complete. Another had an intact sequence but missing commentary. The third described a movement art, its steps written clearly enough to imagine. Yan leaned closer, then caught himself before touching the page.
