Standing in the reflection of the CBD glass curtain wall, Lin Xingwan felt like an unearthed cultural relic that was out of place. The brocade box containing broken blue and white porcelain in her hand is the last hope of her family's workshop.
"Mr. Lu only gives you three minutes." The secretary's voice sounded like an ice chisel.
The office was filled with a sense of the future. The man was sitting in the intersection of light and shadow. The cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the cold reflection of his watch. He scanned the photo of broken porcelain and said, "Ms. Lin, what I invest in is the future, not antiques."
"This is the Ming Dynasty official kiln re-firing technology, which is 37% more accurate than the market..."
"Data is beautiful." He interrupted her, tapping his fingertips on the table, "But saving a handicraft workshop? Sorry, that's not charity."
She clenched her fists, her blue-glaze nails sinking into her palms. The heavy rain outside the window has just stopped, which is very similar to her mood at the moment.
