Chen Xu put down the bald pen in his hand and was about to pick up the [Defective Bone Mirror].
His action not only caught the attention of Wang Ji but also Wu Zhengze, Cui Jingxian, Wang Mochuan, and other clear-minded individuals, who all looked at him with concern.
The shadow behind the stall suddenly said, "Mr. Chen, are you really giving me the original of this poem?"
Indeed, the original.
It was exactly the piece of yellowed edged paper with the poem written on it, lying on the stall.
Ordinary, such a rough piece of paper, yet it bore an exquisite chapter.
At this moment, most of the cyan smoke rising from the paper had dissipated, with only a faint cyan glow lingering above the rust-like words.
The old yellowed paper, the dark red rust-colored ink, and the faint cyan glow, under the illumination of paper lanterns, collectively presented an indescribable coldness.
