I Restore Museum Artifacts, and the Archaeology Team Treats Me Like Their Ancestor

I was pushed into doing odd jobs in the museum storeroom, and everyone was waiting to see me make a fool of myself.

Then my fingers touched a thousand-year-old artifact, and a burst of light exploded before my eyes. I saw the furnace where it was cast, and I saw the twilight when it was buried.

“This one is an authentic Southern Song piece. That one was made last week. And the one in the corner… please call the police.”

Later, the National Cultural Heritage Administration classified my file as top secret. Their public statement was: This person is dead.