The door gently closed behind him, making a barely audible thud.
This was a study.
It was large, yet warm.
An entire wall of the room was a bookshelf, stretching from floor to ceiling, packed with books.
The spines were of leather, cloth, some embossed with gold letters, some faded; clearly, they had been collected over many years.
The fireplace was lit, burning wood crackled softly.
The firelight flickered, casting light and shadow across the room, causing the shadows on the walls to sway.
Above the fireplace hung an oil painting of an old man in military uniform, with a white beard and stern eyes.
Song Heping didn't recognize him, but from the uniform and epaulettes, he assumed it was a historical figure.
In front of the fireplace, two dark leather armchairs faced each other, with a small round table in between, holding a silver tray with a crystal decanter and two glasses.
By the floor-to-ceiling window stood a person.
His back was to the door, looking out at the night.
