Neon lights dyed half the sky purple.
Standing behind the old elm door of "Tingfeng Pavilion", Xie Yinfeng was holding a suede cloth and slowly wiping a blue and white porcelain vase from the Qianlong period. The scent of sandalwood lingers in the shop, and the busy traffic on the street outside comes in through the glass, making it feel stuffy, like something from another world.
This shop is located at the end of the antique street in the south of the city. It has a small storefront, about thirty square meters, but the items on display are quite old. Most of them are old objects - porcelain vases, calligraphy and paintings, wood carvings, and copper coins. They are all crowded on the ancient shelves, and each one is stained with the dust of time. Xie Yinfeng is twenty-six this year and has taken over this store for three years. His life is like the old clock in the store, unhurried and unhurried. The needle moves 20,000 times a day, and even one more time is tiring.
