After my rebirth, I gained the ability to detect treasures, and my life span would be shortened if I touched fakes.
I make a living helping people inspect goods on the black market, and I cough up blood when I touch fake goods.
One day, an arms dealer forced me to inspect a batch of antique guns.
As soon as I touched the barrel, I saw the signature of the maker - the old craftsman who just died yesterday.
"There's something wrong with this batch of goods." I said wiping my nosebleed.
The dealer sneered: "The gun is new, and the man just died this morning."
I stared at the inscription on the inside of the butt and felt cold all over:
"The problem is... The signer died thirty years ago."
