Dan Heng does not seem bothered by the ticking of the Archive's clock. In fact, as the hours creep later and later into the night, the rhythmic noise seems to spur the movement of his pen on the surface of the scroll. There's a pile steadily growing to his side as he sits cross-legged on his bed, writing furiously.

His almost manic writing is disrupted only by three sharp, soft knocks on his door. Lifting his head and pen, he asks, "Who is it?"