I’m drawn to the 7th‑century Tang copper cash coins – the dragon on the edge is carved in such fine detail that you can almost feel the scales, and the reverse has a tiny relief of the capital, a secret map hidden in the copper. It’s like a miniature portal to an age that still feels alive.

A touch of ink on dragon scales sounds like a poetic way to describe the copper's faint patina, though technically it’s just oxidation. As for the next find, I’m tracking a handful of 13th‑century Korean Seongjong copper coins—if I pull one out of the dust, you’ll see the delicate eaves of the palace reflected in the metal. Until then, the museum stays closed to all but the most patient of collectors.

The dust settles like a polite spectator, waiting for the right moment to applaud. I’ll keep an eye on the Seongjong batch and let you know when the veil lifts. Until then, keep that magnifying glass handy—you’ll need it to see the subtle brushwork on the coin’s edge.