Jiangnan in June is always soaked in moisture. As soon as Su Yan took out a fragment of the "Tea Book" of the Southern Song Dynasty from the constant temperature and humidity cabinet, his fingertips came across a light green mildew stain on the corner of the paper. He frowned slightly, immediately took a soft-bristle brush, dipped it in very light peppercorn water and gently swept it - this was a method passed down by the old master, which can remove mold without damaging the fibers of ancient paper.
The window of the studio faces an old alley, and the cicadas are chirping so noisily that the summer is about to boil. Apprentice Xiao Lin burst in with a stack of newly collected old books. A cloth bag fell out from between the pages. Inside was a palm-sized bronze fragment with vague cloud patterns carved on the edge. When it was heavy in the palm of his hand, Su Yan suddenly felt numb on his fingertips, as if a weak electric current was passing through.
"Brother Su, this was collected from an old ancestral hall. It was dug out when digging the foundation." Xiao Lin came over to take a look, "Look at the pattern, could it be an old object?"
Su Yan did not respond. He was staring at a depression on the fragment. The shape was exactly the same as the rubbing of a fragment of a Ming Dynasty manuscript that he restored last week. There was a strange saying written in the handwritten note: "The cloud patterns reveal the light, the ink marks lead the way, and when the summer cicada silences, the soul of the paper returns." At that time, it was just the imagination of the ancients. Now, holding the bronze fragment, the chirping of the cicada in my ears was actually a bit weaker, and the light spot cast by the window lattice also shook inexplicably.
