Luo Ji slowly lowered his head, focusing his gaze on the ancient bronze mirror lying quietly in his palm.
The mirror's surface was like a weathered, tattered mask, crisscrossed with cobweb-like cracks; those cracks were intricate, seemingly deep imprints left by the passage of time.
What was eerie was that from each crack, dark red liquid seemed to ooze out faintly.
The liquid meandered across the mirror's surface, slowly wriggling through the twisted cracks as if retaining some consciousness, yearning to break free and flow out.
Looking at the frame, it was carved with a hollow human face.
This face seemed like an existence forgotten by time, its skin decayed like sun-dried and wind-beaten bark, coarse and ancient.
Amidst the folds, one could faintly see intricate runes flickering.
These runes seemed like some invisible threads, tightly binding the broken face, preventing it from completely falling apart.
