In the dim glow of a museum case, a pair of ancient bronze Pixiu crouch like living thunderclouds frozen mid-growl, their verdigris-crusted bodies shimmering with the deep turquoise and malachite patina of two millennia spent beneath the earth. Each beast is a masterpiece of coiled menace: broad, leonine heads thrust forward, bulging eyes glaring beneath furrowed brows, nostrils flared and fanged mouths agape as if roaring a silent challenge to any evil spirit bold enough to approach. A single curved horn sweeps back from the forehead, while powerful wings—feathered in sharp, archaic incisions—fold tightly along their muscular flanks, ready to unfurl in an instant. Their scaled hides ripple with raised spirals and cloud-like patterns, every claw of their splayed feet gripping the ground as though perpetually on the verge of a ferocious leap. Facing opposite directions, the mirrored guardians embody perfect symmetry and primal force, their weathered bronze surfaces catching the light in fleeting flashes of sea-green and gunmetal, whispering of Han-dynasty tombs and the eternal, insatiable hunger for wealth that only enters but never leaves.