The oil lamp in the ancestral hall flickered on and off, turning Qin Mo's shadow on the wall into monsters of different lengths. He knelt down on the futon, the ancestral bronze sword in his hand was stained with rust, and the lines of the Big Dipper on the sword were blurred to the point of looking like cataracts in an old man's eyes. When his fingertips brushed against the third star, a pulse-like beat suddenly came from the sword.
