The rosewood table was cold, and Liu Yishou's fingertips unconsciously traced circles on it. Is this the third day since he came here, or the second day? The feeling of time here is sticky and chaotic, just like the leaden sky outside the window that weighs heavily on the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City. There is an old smell in the air that belongs to dust and countless past years, mixed with the vague smell of incense floating in the distance.
Spread in front of him was a yellowed copy of the "Da Ming Hui Dian" with ink characters as small as ants. But he didn't read a word of it. All his attention, almost a physiological desire, was concentrated on the square, flat object on the right-his silver-gray laptop. At this moment, it closed the lid and lay silently on the same cold table, like a metal beast that had exhausted its strength and fell into a drowsy sleep.
He couldn't help but stretched out his hand again, and his fingertips gently brushed the smooth Apple logo on the top cover. Then, almost holding his breath, he dug his nails into the gap and opened the screen a very thin crack.
The dark screen turned on with a soft buzzing sound.
