"It can't be thrown away," the old lady shook her head. "It has recognized its owner. From the moment you touch it, your 'bone form' is tied to it." She patted Chen Yan's shoulder with unexpected force, "Remember, don't let the bell get stained with blood, and don't open it later. Also, stay away from those 'bone eaters'."
But in the corner of the photo, there is a line of vague words printed on it, like the date of a newspaper:
July 13, 1998
Chen Yan's pupils suddenly shrank.
1998? He is only seventeen years old this year. In 1998, he was not born yet.
What's going on with this photo?
He raised his head and looked deep into the alley. The darkness there seemed to come alive, swallowing up the remaining light bit by bit. And the rusty bell was getting hotter and hotter in his hand, as if something was about to break through the bell.
