Lin Mo runs a small second-hand pawn shop deep in an alley. When he opened the rolling shutter door every morning, he could see gray numbers floating above each item - the precise time they turned gray. A wicker chair still has three years and seven months left, an enamel cup has two days left, and a grandmother's silver bracelet is counting down the minutes. He was used to silently watching them fade, shatter, and be forgotten, until that Thursday afternoon, a woman walked in holding a lacquered wooden box. The numbers above the lid were: 00:00:07.
