There is an old bluestone alley in the south of Jinling City. At the end of the alley is an inconspicuous pawnshop with four faded characters on its sign: "Dianhun Pawnshop."
The shopkeeper is a man wearing a gray silk gown and always wears a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Rumor has it that what he received was not gold, silver or jade, but human memories.
When the copper bell at the corner of the eaves rang softly, Lin Wan opened the curtain and barged in, with rain dripping from the tips of her hair, and a gilt pocket watch tightly held in her arms.
"Pawn." Her voice was hoarse and her nails dug into her palms, "I take this."
The man wiped the lenses with a flannel cloth without raising his eyelids: "The pocket watch is not worth anything."
"What I treat is what's on the surface and what's inside," she took a deep breath, "my husband's last dream before he died."
