It's not bright yet, it's only half past five in the morning, and there's already movement in the antique street in the old town. This street is quite old, and there are traces of time everywhere.
There is a damp smell of dust in the air, and from time to time there are dogs barking in the distance. The two of them play together like a tune of urban life.
For Shen Yan, this place is like his battlefield.
He is just a young apprentice in an eighteenth-tier antique shop. At best, he is a "treasure hunter"; at worst, he is just a rag picker.
"Oh, isn't this the 'blind' Shen Yan? Is he lucky again today?"
