Broken Glass Born in Jin Dynasty

Winter, the second year of Xianxi. Lead-gray clouds hung low at the top of Luoyang City, and the wind carrying flakes of snow blew through Tongtuo Street like a knife, making the hem of the brocade robes of the nobles passing by rustle. In an abandoned woodshed in the east of the city, Sheng Mingyuan opened his eyes with a severe headache. The first thing he smelled was the cold air mixed with the smell of musty and hay. "Hiss..." He tried to push himself up to sit up, but found that his arms were as heavy as lead, and there was still a strange numbness in the tiger's mouth - that was the place where he was scratched by fragments of a glass showcase that suddenly exploded when he was checking quarterly accounts in the head office's vault. The last frame of my memory is a glass cup from the Qing Dynasty worth 300 million that cracked in the strong light. The light spots reflected by countless facets suddenly twisted into whirlpools. In my ears, I could hear the exclamations of my colleagues who changed their tone, and a high-pitched buzzing sound similar to an old-fashioned telephone dial tone.