As the distance closed, the object’s outline became clear.
It was a brass key wrapped in a thin, transparent film, resting beside a rusted iron box. The box was half-buried in the soil, opening downward, clearly exposed by the recent torrential rains.
Lin Moyang’s breath hitched. He knew that plum-blossom-shaped dent on the corner of the box all too well. When he was seven, he had stolen food stamps to buy candy and accidentally dropped the box, leaving that very dent; his mother had chased him halfway through the village with a broomstick for it.
Chapter 98