I was so angry at his words that I laughed, and said, "Have you ever seen an antique shop selling paper crafts?"

But as soon as the words left my mouth, I suddenly realized what I had said.

The red clay stuck to his clothes, the bundle he was clutching tightly, and his furtive manner made him look just like a gravedigger who had just crawled out of a tomb.

Are you new to this industry?

I stared at the bits of grass rubbing against his wrist.

"What tomb raider?"

He looked bewildered, his chapped lips trembling slightly.

I tapped the table, my gaze falling on his lap: "Did you dig this thing out of the ground?"

His face turned deathly pale instantly, and his lips trembled so much that he couldn't speak.

After a long pause, he stammered out, "No...it was a gift from someone else..."

The expression on his face was extremely strange as he said this—

Fear, confusion, shock, and a strange sense of happiness twisted together as if possessed.

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from outside the private room, like a piece of porcelain falling to the ground.

Upon hearing the sound, the middle-aged man suddenly jumped up from the wooden stool, causing the overturned bowls and plates to crash onto the table with a sharp, jarring sound, and nearly causing the blue cloth bundle in his arms to fly away.

His cloudy eyes were fixed on the half-open carved wooden door, as if he would burst through the door and run away at any moment.

"Don't rush, don't rush!"

I hurriedly pulled out my cigarette case, took out a cigarette, and handed it to him.

He stared at the cigarette as if it were some kind of hidden weapon, his Adam's apple bobbing twice before he reached out and took it.

I quickly lit a fire for him.

"You little bastard! You can't even hold a plate properly!"

The landlady's cursing voice boomed through the door, followed by the clattering sound of shards of porcelain being swept away.

"Apologize to the customer right now! You can forget about getting paid this month!"

The waiters' tearful apologies and the customers' grumbling rose and fell.

The middle-aged man's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but his arms, still gripping the bundle, remained like two iron clamps.

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, the ash falling in a flurry onto his shiny cotton-padded jacket.

When I offered him a second cigarette, his fingers were still trembling slightly as he took it, and smoke was leaking from between his teeth.

When the fifth cigarette burned down to the filter, he finally waved his hand.

"No, I'm not smoking anymore, my throat's burning..."

I poured more hot water into my teacup: "Now can you tell me? What exactly is in that bundle...?"

He suddenly started coughing violently.

After finally calming down, he buried his face in his rough palms, the sounds leaking out between his fingers muffled.

"Master... have you ever seen a fox spirit?"

After saying that, he seemed to have used up all his strength and slumped back in his chair.