The cold rain was like countless fine needles pricking the capital in the early winter night.
At the Panjiayuan Flea Market, the noisy crowds in the past were washed away by the sudden rain. Most of the stall owners have closed their stalls, and only a few scattered shops still have dim lights on, as if they are breathing stubbornly in the damp and cold darkness.
Chen Xu shrank his neck and buried half of his face in his upturned collar. Rain dripped down the ends of his hair, making him shiver with ice. The old leather shoes under his feet were already soaked through, and they made a "clucking" sound with every step he took, which was particularly harsh on the empty street.
Twenty-four years old, graduate student in the Department of History, majoring in the history of Qin and Han Dynasties. In the eyes of outsiders, this identity is either a serious history teacher in a middle school in the future, or a scholar buried in old papers and living alone. But Chen Xu himself knew that he got into the pile of old papers, not for a degree or a professional title, but only for a name that had been missing for five years - his grandfather, Chen Guanshan.
