On a rainy night, Yu Ci, a debt collector, kicked open the door of the bookstore.
I saw Shen Yan protecting the ancient book with his back, and the rain was dripping down his jagged butterfly bones.
"Pay back the money." Yu Ci slapped the IOU on the repair table.
But Shen Yan hid his bloody fingertips in his cuffs: "Give me three more days... They can't get wet."
Later, the debt collector became a regular customer of the bookstore
He watched Shen Yan use tweezers to repair a century-old fragment of a scroll, and his breathing tangled under the warm yellow light.
When the loan sharks smashed the window, Yu Ci subconsciously used his body to block the glass flying towards Shen Yan.
Blood drops dripped on rare books from the Ming Dynasty, like red plum blossoms suddenly blooming.
In the darkness, Shen Yan touched his wound tremblingly: "Does it hurt?"
A hot kiss finally fell between the blood-stained pages.
At dawn, Shen Yan said: "The account has been settled, you can go."
Three years later, a blood-stained ancient book suddenly appeared in the auction house, with the inscription and postscript reading:
"I used gold powder to patch up the blood stains into flower petals, and those who waited for them to wither never came back.
