The Floating Pagoda of Seven Lifetimes

The moment Shen Ling's fingers touched the gilded cover of the Diamond Sutra, everything went black. When she opened her eyes again, the ancient temple's sandalwood scent had been replaced by a heavy smell of mildew. She stood in the courtyard of an old-fashioned inn. Above her rose nine levels of encircling wooden corridors, their carved railings coated in thick dust.

"What is this place...?" she murmured. Before she could gather her thoughts, a strange sensation came over her palm. She looked down and found a yellowed slip of paper in her hand. On it were four hastily scrawled words: bottom of the flowerpot.

"What does that mean?" Shen Ling frowned and instinctively clenched the paper...