The fingerprints on the Qin bricks are not yet cold, but the Tang moon has already covered the camel bells; when the Song porcelain cracks the ice pattern, the bright lamp is warming the market words. Each dynasty intercepts a speck of dust - the home letters of the garrison soldiers, the silk threads of the embroiderers, the abacus of the merchants - hidden in the folds of time are the fresh heartbeats that have been missed by the official history.
