The sandalwood counter of Zhaoguzhai was covered with a thin layer of dust. Gu Zhao squatted on the ground, dipped some olive oil on his fingertips, and was slowly wiping it along the lines of the bronze sword.
The sword body is rusty, and some cloud and thunder patterns can be faintly seen on the sword's spine. It was a "leak" that my grandfather bought from Panjiayuan before he died. He always said that this sword "killed evil spirits and brought vitality."
"Old guy, you have to fight for your strength." Gu Zhao muttered, his sleeves brushed against the sword grid, and he was suddenly struck by something - the originally smooth bronze surface actually had slightly raised ridges, like some kind of scratches that had been smoothed by time.
He narrowed his eyes, remembering that his grandfather always touched the sword and sighed: "Xiao Zhao, these old guys are not dead creatures. One day they will recognize you..."
Before he finished speaking, there was a "click" outside the window.
Gu Zhao looked up, and the Bagua mirror in the glass showcase suddenly glowed with green light.
He stood up and felt a chill on the back of his neck - the sky that was sunny just now was now as dark as splashed ink. The milk tea shop opposite and the hardware store on the left were all distorted, as if they were slowly covered by an invisible cloth.
