He was sitting in front of a pear wood table with peeling paint, holding a repair needle as thin as a human hair between his fingertips, and was carefully playing with a badly broken blue and white vase from the Qing Dynasty. The porcelain bottle had a large rim missing, and the bottle body had several deep cracks. It looked like a broken bowl. No one wanted it when it was thrown at the scrapyard, but Chu Shaohan regarded it more dearly than his own father.
