Hosta Sky Patrol Record

On the third night when the fire in the celadon kiln went out, Haoyue heard the sound of the glaze cracking. She knelt on the cold kiln bricks and touched a fragment with her fingertips - dark red blood was clearly flowing in those fine cracks. "This is a curse." Mo Lin swung his tail, and his scales glowed with a blue demonic aura under the moonlight, "But did you smell it? The smell of blood in the celadon is exactly the same as the silver jewelry case in Yunmiao Village last year." The ancient book on the inkstone suddenly flipped, and half a jade hairpin fell between the yellowed pages. The pattern on the head of the hairpin was exactly the same as the hairpin between the hairpins. Heather picked it up silently, and the sword blade reflected the warning of the man in black: "Those who find the wrong answer will become the next porcelain." When Hao Yue touched the wet soil in the reed swamp, she finally understood that behind those seemingly accidental cases, there was a murder code written with intangible cultural heritage techniques. The celadon glaze hides poisonous ingredients, the embroidered patterns reveal the cracks in the family tree, and even the ordinary tea soup is filled with blood debts from a hundred years ago. The dark shadow of "Eclipse Pavilion" always appears on the eve of solving the case, and the hosta in the hairpin moon will ooze light of different colors every time. She began to suspect that she was not only the one who solved the case, but also the chosen "vessel" - those ancient resentments sleeping in the glaze and embroidery were awakening in her blood. The book and inkstone recited the porcelain firing formula of "Tiangong Kaiwu", the blade of Heather's sword split the curse of Miao Yin, and the scales of ink reflected the trace of evil spirit. At the edge of the last realm's cliff, Haoyue looked at the colorful halo reflected from the jade hairpin in her hand, and she finally understood the truth that had been passed down for thousands of years in Hualing's bloodline: Those disappearing skills are never meant to be appreciated.