The Book Pavilion had five floors in total. The second floor housed miscellaneous ordinary books, which academy students could borrow freely. From the third floor upward were martial arts books, which required different amounts of gold and silver to borrow, depending on the grade of the martial art. On the very top floor, there were even peerless martial arts classics, which only a handful of top disciples were allowed to view.

The old book archive was located on the first basement level of the Book Pavilion.

Charles Bennett came alone to the basement level of the Book Pavilion, unlocked the heavy bronze lock on the door, and with a creak, pushed open the door to the old archive. The lighting inside was dim, and spider webs filled the corners, clearly showing that few people ever came here to clean.

Charles Bennett lit the oil lamp on the wall inside the archive.

Only then did he see several piles of old books and scrolls, stacked haphazardly on the floor, some as tall as a man. There were also rows of empty wooden bookshelves in the archive; the sorted books could be placed on the shelves nearby.

“So many books!”

Charles Bennett exclaimed in surprise, coming to the edge of the piles and patiently beginning to organize the old books. He didn’t usually read much; most of his time was spent cultivating and doing odd jobs to earn money. However, after all, he had been at the academy for ten years, so he could read.

He picked up a tattered yellow-covered book and brushed off the dust.

“‘Travels Among the States’!”

Charles Bennett frowned and casually flipped through it. After a glance, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Which idle fellow wrote this? He actually traveled to dozens of countries around Wu, recording all sorts of trivial and amusing anecdotes he saw along the way. ... In one country, a ruler lost a chicken, which was said to be a spiritual chicken, and it was rumored that an envoy from a neighboring country stole it, leading to a war between the two nations. ... In another place, a sweet spring bubbled up from a well, causing a brawl among the residents of several large villages nearby. This book is nothing but a record of a bunch of people with too much time on their hands. Otherwise, why would they start a war over a lost chicken or fight over a well? It’s just ridiculous.”

While Charles Bennett was amazed, he couldn’t help but shake his head.

The materials of these books also astonished Charles Bennett.

There were paper scrolls hundreds of years old, ancient texts recorded on bamboo slips over a thousand years old, and even older bone fragments and tortoise shells. The rare ancient script on them was so profound and obscure that it made Charles Bennett dizzy; he simply couldn’t understand it.

These were probably from some very old families who, having fallen on hard times, had no choice but to sell their old collections. In addition, some obviously incomplete or damaged scrolls could be found. Such books were useless and unreadable, and needed to be sorted out.

Charles Bennett carefully organized the books in the archive, one by one.

This task required great attention to detail; there could be no carelessness.

There was no one else in the old archive.

He was the only one quietly working.

Every morning, Charles Bennett would cultivate, and every afternoon he would come to organize the scrolls. He kept at it for more than ten days.

One day, Charles Bennett dug out a dust-covered gray stone scroll from deep within the old book piles.

“Huh, what’s this!”

Charles Bennett curiously used his sleeve to brush the dust off the scroll.

The scroll’s handle was made of gray stone. The workmanship was rather rough, pitted and uneven, and on the handle, two ancient characters were written in winding strokes: “Immortal Abode.”

The fabric of the ancient scroll was very strange—neither quite paper nor cloth. It was also very stiff; he tried to pull it, but it wouldn’t budge.

Charles Bennett curiously unrolled the scroll.

It turned out to be an ancient painting, about one foot wide and two feet long.

In the painting was an island floating in the sky, dreamlike and ethereal, just like an immortal’s island.

On the island, there was a wooden house, a one-acre medicinal garden, a simple alchemy pavilion, a smithy, a beast pen, and other buildings, all scattered across the island.

In the right corner of the painting, there was even a little fox, baring its teeth and claws in a strange manner.

“This painting is called ‘Immortal Abode’—could it be depicting the immortal island where immortals live?”

Charles Bennett muttered to himself, unable to help but laugh.

From the imperial court down to the commoners, everyone in Wu had heard many legends about immortals.

It was even said that the first headmaster of North Slope Academy was a cultivator who practiced flying sword techniques, a disciple of a great immortal sect, and once served as the imperial preceptor of Wu. Of course, that was hundreds of years ago, and no one had ever seen this headmaster.

“How could an immortal live in a wooden house?”

“Why is the medicinal garden so bare? Shouldn’t there be some immortal herbs planted there? And the alchemy and smithy pavilions—there’s not even any smoke! There aren’t even a couple of spirit beasts in the beast pen. The immortal living on this island must be really lazy!”

“Wait, aren’t foxes supposed to be white? Why is this one red? And why is it baring its teeth and claws? It looks like it’s scared and unhappy.”

Charles Bennett found it amusing.

This Immortal Abode painting was quite interesting, but the brushwork was really nothing to praise—sloppy and careless, a bit like a child’s random doodling.

“How strange. This is clearly a painting, so why is it mixed in with these old books and sent to North Slope Academy?”

Actually, Charles Bennett didn’t know that books and paintings were usually kept together.

Those fallen families who sold their collections would often sell their paintings along with their books.

Charles Bennett held the ancient scroll and looked at it over and over for quite a while.

The more he looked, the more he liked it.

Although the painting itself was rather poor, it was still a scroll depicting an immortal’s island, after all.