The stall owner leads the way in front, bypassing the tail of the ghost market, and there is a two-story earthen building next to it.

The building was in disrepair, the walls seemed to have a skin disease, and the green glazed tiles on the roof were shining blue in the moonlight.

The whole house looks very unreasonable, but it looks quite harmonious.

The stall owner went up the stairs unhurriedly, and when he stepped down, the whole building shook.

I glanced down and instinctively clenched the railing, a little more careful under my feet.

The so-called staircase is a few wooden planks crookedly, and the end of the staircase is exactly the wall.

It is not difficult to see that this thing should be the product of its own transformation in the later stage.

"Squeak."

The stall owner opened the tin door and then pressed the switch on the wall, which was only a dull yellow, but I still felt a little glaring.

"Everything you need is here."

He pointed into the room, where half of the room was almost full, but it was covered with a white cloth that made it impossible to see what was inside.

I looked at him suspiciously, "Shall I see for myself?"

"Whatever."

The stall owner didn't seem to care much about these things, and casually threw out a sentence and leaned against the door frame to smoke.

I cautiously walked around the lunch boxes and cigarette butts on the floor, but there were so many empty beer cans on the floor that they tinkled with the wind beneath my feet.

"Whoa."

I grabbed the corner of the white cloth and gently pulled it down, and when the ashes landed, I was shaking and flying all over the sky, and I couldn't stop coughing.

When the ashes cleared, I was stunned.

From one-person-tall cabinets to palm-sized rouge boxes, you'll find it all here.

It's a museum in a garbage heap!

Although I don't know much about these things, I still have basic common sense.

Modern imitation technology is already very powerful, but no matter how advanced the technology is, only the shape is imitated, and the demeanor in it cannot be copied.

Just like the fan I have in hand, it is embroidered with a thrush, and each feather has a sense of layering, which is a good thing at first glance.

I tilted my head to look at the stall owner who was smoking behind me, then straightened up and shook off the dust from my hands.

"Dude." I took a cigarette out of my pocket, put it in my mouth and took a heavy puff.

"I don't want to break the rules, but you have to give me a promise."

He squinted at me, "Guarantee what?"

"I don't want anything that comes out of the soil."

I laughed half-jokingly, "Don't give me a stolen hat, I don't want to get in trouble."

"When you asked, you broke the rules."

I looked down at the cigarette butts, and if I remember correctly, this brand of cigarettes should be three dollars a box.

Seeing this, I suddenly smiled and spread my hands indifferently: "Then you can not sell it."

Indeed, there is a conventional rule in the ghost market, the buyer must not be cheap, and the origin of the thing cannot be asked.

But these things really make me feel uneasy, in case this guy is a tomb robber, wouldn't I have somehow become an accomplice?

After a while, the stall owner laughed a few times: "Yes, you are awesome."

"Let's make it clear, my ancestors are serious relatives of the emperor, and these things are all transported from the south."

"Don't look at me, there are more good things."

As he spoke, he slipped under the bed and pulled out a spittoon that smelled, "This thing used to be used by Gege."

I stared at him intently, and suddenly remembered the glazed tiles I had seen when I remembered them.

If you think about it, it makes sense.

This thing is what I want!

Everything that has happened recently seems to be a coincidence, but in fact there is a hidden secret, but I can't find the reason.

Cleaning the house in the normal way is almost useless, so I can only pick some old objects.

Preferably, fierce and old.

I know very well that this method of driving away the wolf and gobbling the tiger is actually playing with fire.

But the greater the risk, the higher the return, which is not a loss.

Soon, among the piles of objects, I chose a half-person-high dressing table, with a bronze mirror in the center, and obvious scratches on the drawer under the otoscope.

Obviously, this is what the owner loved in life.