Chen Mo took the box. The moment his fingertips touched the cold metal casing, a complex scent filled his nostrils. First came the rich aroma of red oak, with a metallic hint of anti-rust oil from the brass nails. Then came the clean bitterness of jasmine tea, mingled with the strains of jinghu and traditional string music. Finally, a trace of salty sea air drifted in. The scent was like a puzzle, each piece filling in the outline of the years. He remembered his grandfather saying that gramophones from the Republican era usually had mechanisms imported from the West, but their casings were often made of red oak. Over the years, the wood would absorb the scent of its owner.
