Chapter 1: The Pupils at the Scrapyard

The backyard of The Scrap Station was choked with a half-inch layer of yellow mud. Rain dripped from the eaves, sending murky ripples dancing through the sludge. The air was thick and suffocating, smelling of rotting copper rust mixed with machine oil and sodden cardboard.

Chen Su bent over to pick up a blackened fragment of bronze. The moment his fingertip brushed the coarse green patina, the world around him blurred. A ring of pale gold ripples exploded in the center of his vision, and countless hair-thin ribbons of light peeled away from the depths of the rust, floating in mid-air like fireflies dancing in a fog.

It wasn't a hallucination; it was a vast stretch of time compressed into the soul of the object.

He saw a rainy night a century ago. A forge fire was dying down as a craftsman, drenched in sweat, hammered at the base of a vessel. Droplets of sweat hissed as they hit the molten copper, the craftsman's face a blur amidst the rising steam.

Then the images shifted rapidly. Amidst the chaos of war, the bronze piece was wrapped tightly in a straw mat and shoved into a gap in a trench. Mud seeped into its edges; layers of blood and grime encased it. Finally, three months ago, it was sold by the pound as scrap copper, shoveled out from the corner of an old estate and tossed into a burlap sack filled with plastic bottles and tin sheets.

The flowing light finally froze on a jumping set of numbers: Patina Value 300.

Chen Su gasped, cold sweat sliding down his temples and soaking his collar. The cost of awakening the Time Patina Eyes was a doubling of physical pain. Those ribbons of light felt like red-hot wires piercing his optic nerves and striking straight into his cerebral cortex. He covered his eyes, steadying his breathing through the throes of pain, his knuckles white from the grip, but his heart racing with ecstasy.

Three hundred points. That was enough to exchange for a basic "Scent Comprehension" skill. As long as he could gather clues for the next batch of High-Value Goods, he could fish out the chips needed to change his destiny from this pile of junk.

Manager Liu arrived, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He marched through the puddles in his rain boots, splashing muddy water onto his pant legs. He clutched a thin checklist, the edges of the paper frayed and curled. Following him was a new intern carrying a canvas bag, his eyes so clear it was irritating—the kind of pristine innocence only found in fresh-faced academy types.

Manager Liu stopped in front of Chen Su and pointed the glowing tip of his cigarette at the bronze fragment. A sneer curled his lip; shrouded in cigarette smoke, his expression looked even more caustic.

"Chen Su, have you been getting a bit too confident lately?" Liu’s voice wasn't loud, but it had a poisoned sharpness to it. "The Scrap Station needs sorters with a keen eye and steady hands, not an appraiser playing detective with a magnifying glass. You're seeing patterns in a bit of rust? It seems you're really looking for a way to slow down your life."

The intern whispered in agreement, gripping the strap of his canvas bag tightly. "Manager Liu is right. According to the rules, this batch should be processed as ordinary scrap copper. Don't make things complicated." Chen Su kept his head down, pretending to comply respectfully, but his fingernail lightly traced a nearly invisible notch on the inside of the bronze base.

It was his personal mark. To others, it was invisible, but he knew that this groove hid the secret of the three hundred Patina Value—and the entrance to the next batch of collectibles he needed to monitor. The slight sting as his nail scraped the notch snapped him back to focus.

Manager Liu patted Chen Su on the shoulder with a force that actually hurt, as if he were trying to crack the bone. "Remember, there are surprises in this batch, but there are traps too. I'm only letting you take a second look as a special favor to help you avoid the pitfalls."

He narrowed his eyes, his smile meaningful, the red ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers. "Don't disappoint me. After all, some things are easy to let slip out, but very hard to get back." Chen Su knew exactly what was happening. Liu was scrubbing through High-Value Goods he had just scammed for himself; he wanted to look clean while dumping the "hot potato" onto his subordinates.

He shifted his body subtly to avoid further physical contact, his soles making a soft scuffing sound against the mud.

Just then, a lazy meow drifted from the corner. A pitch-black cat, A Mao, emerged from behind a pile of old cardboard boxes and leaped silently onto the bronze fragment. The cat rubbed its furry head repeatedly against the scratch Chen Su had just left, its whiskers twitching. The intern gaped in surprise. "Why is that cat so affectionate with a piece of scrap copper?"

Chen Su said flatly, "He's a picky eater. He only rubs against the genuine articles I've touched."

The air froze instantly. Even the sound of the rain seemed to stop. The smile vanished from Manager Liu's face, replaced by a predatory, snake-like glare.

Liu leaned in close, his voice low but carrying an undeniable pressure. "Chen Su, you'd better explain yourself. Private hoarding of contraband is strictly forbidden at the Scrap Station, especially marked old goods." He reached out to grab Chen Su's collar, but A Mao let out a low growl, arching its back to protect Chen Su, its tail puffing up into a black bottle brush.

Nearby workers stopped their sorting, whispers breaking out in waves. "Looks like Liu is checking his bags," Lao Zhang muttered under his breath. "That cat only ever listens to Chen Su. If it's protecting him now, something's fishy."

Chen Su forced himself to remain calm. "Manager Liu, A Mao just likes the smell of old metal soaked in sweat. It's just a habit of my work; you've misunderstood." As he spoke, he secretly gauged Liu's reaction, calculating his next move. If Liu actually tried to frisk him, he had to divert his attention before that ancient bronze coin was found.

Logic told him not to fight back right now, but a protective instinct kept his spine straight. He refused to bow in weakness, even as his muscles trembled.

Manager Liu snorted, but he didn't pull his hand back. Instead, he lunged, thrusting his hand into Chen Su's pocket. The moment his fingertips touched the heavy ancient bronze coin, his pupils contracted. He froze mid-motion, the sound of the rain suddenly fading into the distance.

It was a token from an old case, engraved with a blurred family crest. It was the only memento Lao Qian, Chen Su's master, had left him—and a piece of evidence that Manager Liu knew all too well. "What is this?" Liu's voice was ice-cold, but his eyes were locked on the coin, as if recalling a corner of the past he had tried to erase. His Adam's apple bobbed.

Alarm bells rang in Chen Su's head; he knew the other man had sensed something. He quickly adjusted his expression to one of innocent contempt, his fingertip lightly stroking the back of the coin in his pocket, planting a seed of misinformation. "Manager Liu, you actually recognize this?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "I bought this fake at a street stall last week. Plated copper, artificial patina. My master told me that holding a fake like this is more dangerous than holding the real thing. I was just about to throw it away."

Liu's fingers trembled slightly, but he forced a cold laugh. "Your master? Lao Qian retired ages ago. Where would he get the time to teach you how to spot fakes?" Chen Su shrugged, his tone nonchalant, as if discussing the weather. "He might be retired, but his eye is still sharp. If you're suspicious, feel free to take it to the appraisal office."

"But I wouldn't waste your time. This thing doesn't even have a tenth of the Patina Value of a real piece. You're a man of means, Manager Liu; don't waste your energy on trash." By deliberately using the industry slang "Patina Value," he demonstrated his information advantage and hinted that he already saw through the situation.

Liu's expression shifted between anger and uncertainty. He couldn't explain how Chen Su knew the specific characteristics of the coin, and he had no hard evidence to make an accusation. Finally, he let go and spat, "Get lost. If I catch you marking goods again, you're out of the Scrap Station."

With that, he turned and strode away, leaving a wake of awkwardness and suspicion, his boots splashing hurriedly through the water.

Only after Liu's figure disappeared into the depths of the warehouse did Chen Su's shoulders relax. He crouched down and gently patted A Mao's head, his fingertips tracing a few short, rapid patterns by the cat's ear. It was a Morse code only A Mao could read, transmitting the coordinates for the next batch of wooden crates.

A Mao narrowed its eyes, purring, then turned and walked straight toward the unopened crates, its steps so light they made no sound. Chen Su stood up, his gaze piercing through the swirling dust to lock onto the pile of goods in the corner.

There, several sealed boxes waited in silence. One of them possessed a strange, moist luster. Even from a distance, he could sense the surging layer of time patina inside, beating like a sleeping heart. That was his next target—and where the truth Manager Liu tried to bury resided.

Ten steps away, Manager Liu suddenly stopped and looked back, glaring viciously at Chen Su. "Don't think you've just slid by," he said, his voice low but loud enough for everyone to hear. "Some things, no matter how deep they're buried, will still rot."

Chen Su didn't respond. He simply held Liu's gaze for three seconds, then looked down to continue organizing his bronze fragments. A faint, imperceptible smile touched his lips as his fingers traced the patterns of the metal, as if stroking the future. He knew the real game had only just begun.

And right then, A Mao, who had been quietly grooming itself, suddenly bristled. Facing the direction where Manager Liu had vanished, the cat let out a piercing, shrill shriek. It didn't sound like a cat; it sounded like an ancient alarm echoing through the silent Scrap Station. Every worker looked up simultaneously, staring at the empty corner.

There, it seemed, something was quietly awakening through a crack in time.