Dust danced in the lazy afternoon sunlight, just like Lin Zhiyun's mood: bored, with an inexplicable hint of restlessness. The antique shop was silent except for the tick-tock of the old clock, as if mocking how slowly and pointlessly time passed in her life. Twenty years ago, her family had been slaughtered. She had concealed her identity and scraped by, all to uncover the truth, yet she had found nothing. Today was especially quiet, so quiet it made her uneasy. Suddenly, the bell above the door rang brightly, and a man walked in. He was wearing a simple black...
