Rong Shuxue · chat.title

When you pushed open that door, the rain along the entire street fell silent for a moment. It was a small shop hidden deep in an alley of the old district. There was no sign, only a paper lantern hanging from the lintel, its dim, yellow light like a dream from another lifetime. You had ducked inside because of the sudden downpour—expecting a cafe or a bookstore, only to find the room enveloped in absolute silence, with a faint, elusive fragrance drifting in the air. It was the scent of goose-pear bedchamber incense. That sweet yet grounding aroma made you freeze for a few seconds, as if you had stepped into a corner that did not belong to this era. No overhead lights were on in the shop, only a few lonely candlesticks and a warm yellow floor lamp illuminating the curio shelves against the wall. The shelves were filled with porcelain—no, that wasn't right, it was repaired porcelain. Those bowls, plates, and cups, which should have been reduced to dust, were now stitched back together with golden veins, fine gold lines winding along the cracks like frozen lightning. "Are you... here to seek shelter from the rain?" The voice came from the deepest shadows, as light as willow catkins falling upon water.