In the afternoon on the antique street, the sun made the stone pavement hot.
Wan Cangyun squatted in front of the stall, brushing his fingers over a pile of scrap metal. The stall owner is a bald old man, taking a nap holding an enamel vat.
"How do you sell this?" He picked up the dirtiest bowl in the corner.
There was a gap in the rim of the bowl, and there was a layer of black mud on the bottom of the bowl, as if it had been pulled out from under the stove.
The old man opened his eyelids and glanced: "Fifty.
