The front door of the Old Painting Pavilion was a rolling door, and the back door was a wooden door, the kind with a latch. There was a window by the door, but a piece of glass had already broken before the shop owner, Li Lingzhang, died, and the broken part remained.
Zhou Xuan reached a hand in, sliding the sturdy door latch aside and opened the back door.
As the latch was moved, there was a slight rubbing sound with the wooden groove, not loud,
but the Taoist in green robes, who was soundly asleep in the painting, heard the noise and suddenly opened his eyes.
"What was that sound?"
A third of the scroll was unrolled, resembling a cobra rising from the side.
The Taoist's eyes darted around, and suddenly, he saw a shadow. By the moonlight, he saw clearly that it was the young guest who had been flipping through books in the bookstore all afternoon.
*How could it be him?*
"How could it be him?"
