When the salty water vapor mixed with the burnt aroma of wheat cakes entered his nose, Zhao Heng was shaken by a violent jolt that made his stomach churn. He opened his eyes suddenly, and what he saw was not the towering rows of sandalwood bookshelves in the ancient book warehouse of the library, but the dusty oxcart fenders. Outside the fenders, two skinny old horses pulled the cart, and their hooves stepped on the bluestone road, making a muffled sound of "thumping, thumping, thumping."
"Are you awake?" The old man who was driving the carriage turned around. His deeply tanned face was criss-crossed with grooves. The long whip in his hand wavered in the air, causing the old horse to snort in surprise. "After one more journey, we will cross Hongqiao and we will reach Bianliang City."
Bianliang?
Zhao Heng's head felt like a ball of cotton wool soaked in water, heavy and swollen. He remembered that he was checking the trade files between the Southern Song Dynasty Shipping Department and Goryeo, and he was soaking in the special collections department of the Provincial Map. Suddenly there was lightning and thunder outside the window, and the old wires on the roof of the warehouse "sizzled" sparks.
