The door of "Zhiweitang" was ajar.
The sun in June was so hot that the old bluestone on the street almost started to smoke. In the entire second-hand street, except for a few wild cats that are not afraid of the heat, stretching under the walls, there is not even a ghost in sight.
I just love times like this.
Pure.
My name is Xie Zhiwei, the shopkeeper of this "Zhiweitang" antique store. It's said to be an antique store, but it's actually more like a grocery store. It accepts and sells everything, as long as I like it.
I was leaning on the squeaky Taishi chair at the counter, dozing half-deadly. The indigo buttoned coat I wore was so washed that I could barely see its original color. Paired with this pair of old cloth shoes that were almost starched under my feet, I almost looked like an unearthed cultural relic when I sat down among these old objects.
The air conditioner in the store made an old roar, and the wind it blew out was filled with moisture, which barely brought people back from the brink of death from heat.
"Tsk."
