Chapter One: Xijing City

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Xijing, autumn.

The lights shone white and bright; the projection was a little distorted, revealing only the bolded title: Practical Ceramics Restoration (I), Department of Cultural Heritage Preservation.

Long tables stood in a row, covered with porcelain shards. Students sat all around, focused intently on piecing them together. The scent of paint mingled with glue filled their nostrils.

Lin Sicheng stared at the projection, then glanced at the date in the bottom right corner: 2007-8-24, Friday.

He was dazed for a long while and rubbed his numb face hard. This was the ceramics restoration lab, first semester of senior year?

How did he come back?

He’d been invited by the National Administration of Cultural Heritage to a seminar on relic preservation, had a few drinks at the banquet, felt unwell, and went to his room to sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he was here.

He had no idea if his submitted proposal had been approved.

But now that he was back, what did it matter what happened eighteen years later?

He was half-amused, half-helpless, when a figure stopped in front of him.

She was strikingly beautiful, very young, with a megaphone in her hand and a student assistant badge on her chest.

She glanced at the untouched porcelain shards, her expression aloof and cool. “Don’t know how?”

Lin Sicheng didn’t answer.

His twenty-year-old self certainly didn’t, but after being reborn, he was more than capable.

The country’s youngest archaeologist, a leading figure in artifact authentication, preservation, and restoration, inventor and patent holder of over a hundred related techniques. Commended multiple times by the Ministry of Culture and the National Administration of Cultural Heritage, he’d served as advisor to several top-level national research institutes.

To him, this was child’s play.

He pondered how to reply when slender fingers handed him the attendance sheet. “Sign your name first. If there’s anything you don’t understand, come to me after class.”

Lin Sicheng took the pen and signed swiftly.

...

The sky was clear, yet the wind had picked up, rattling the iron horse-head ornaments under the eaves.

Sand and grass swept along, striking the gray stone walls. Last year’s dry locust pods hung from the roadside trees, making a faint rustling sound.

Carrying his textbooks, Lin Sicheng walked unhurriedly toward the campus gate. The pebbles in the stone path pressed distinctly against his soles.

Gu Ming lounged against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking lazy and careless. When he saw Lin Sicheng, he flashed a wide, toothy grin.

What are you grinning at?

Only twenty-seven, and his photo was already hanging on the wall. Afterward, his wife remarried, leaving Lin Sicheng to raise his child for more than a decade.

Damn it…

Sensing something off in Lin Sicheng’s gaze, Gu Ming looked down and scanned himself head to toe. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you looking at me like I just stabbed you?”

Gu Ming muttered to himself, glancing at Lin Sicheng’s face. “No classes this afternoon, right? Want to… go home?”

Go home?

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Lin Sicheng paused, and distant memories surged in his mind.

Back then, in a fit of youthful rebellion, he couldn’t stand that his grandfather was a professor at Northwest University, his father an alumnus, and now they wanted him to attend Northwest University too?

Besides, he was about to enter university and had never even left Xijing City. He was determined to resist.

But could he really have his way?

So for four years, his relationship with his family was strained. He’d often refuse to go home.

Worried, his family would occasionally send Gu Ming to check on him—bring him living expenses and try to persuade him a little.

Looking back now, it all seemed rather foolish. What was so bad about being born into a family of archaeologists?

In the end, after all the trouble and wandering, he still ended up on this path, wasting several years in vain.

Having lived twice, he couldn’t afford to be so childish again. Money could be earned slowly, fame and success weren’t urgent—at least he should live at ease, in harmony.

He sighed, “Where’s Grandpa?”

“At the East Gate market, still can’t sit still even in retirement!”

“What about my parents?”

“Of course, at work…” Gu Ming stopped mid-sentence, surprised. Was he turning over a new leaf?

He used to snort disdainfully at any mention of them, let alone ask after them.

“Are you really going home?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s my own home!” Lin Sicheng extended his hand. “Where’s my money?”

Gu Ming thought quickly. “Uncle Lin didn’t give it to me. He said you should go home to get it!”

“Liar!”

Before the words had faded, Lin Sicheng moved like lightning, reaching into Gu Ming’s pocket and pulling out a few bright red bills.

Gu Ming panicked—if this guy had money, he’d never go home.

“Is that really yours?”

Lin Sicheng sneered, “It’s only the first of the month—how would you have money?”

Since starting his internship after New Year’s, Uncle Gu had stopped supporting him. Besides, Gu Ming had large hands and spent his wages as fast as he earned them.

He’d be lucky to have sixty yuan in his pocket, let alone six hundred.

“I found it on the street!”

Gu Ming lunged to snatch it back, but Lin Sicheng brushed him off. “Enough, let’s go find Grandpa at the East Gate, then go home!”

Was he really turning over a new leaf?

While Gu Ming was still dazed, Lin Sicheng had already walked far ahead. Gu Ming hurried after him, rolling his eyes. “You’re buying groceries tonight. Let’s have Grandpa cook marinated pork and braised knuckles, and have a few drinks!”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Of course!” Gu Ming swallowed hard. “And have him stew the ‘Three Treasures’—with a nice, thick ram’s member, the gamier the better!”

At the mention of “the gamier the better,” Lin Sicheng felt his stomach turn.

...

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Two hours later, the two got off the bus.

A narrow alley nestled at the foot of the city wall, covered overhead by rain awnings. The slate road was straight and smooth, the dampness mingling with a musty odor in the air.

Long tables stood in a row, porcelain cups covered in fine cracks, bronzes gleaming with a faint light, a sandalwood box half-opened to reveal a jade scepter snapped in two. A cloisonné vase was shrouded in years of dust, while an old man with white beard and slicked-back hair dozed in a deck chair.

Continuing forward, they left the alley and entered a wide, open space.

Under the sunlit wall, stalls clustered so thickly that they seemed endless—porcelain, bronze, lacquerware, tin, ancient coins, jade objects, wood-carved furniture, calligraphy, and old books. The selection was dazzling, with everything one could imagine.

Xijing, once the capital of thirteen dynasties, had more ancient tombs beneath its city walls than Beijing, Nanjing, and Luoyang combined. It was a city steeped in history. There were many genuine artifacts, and plenty of tourists.

Of course, there were far more fakes.

They headed east, all the way to the city tower, only to find nothing.

Asking a neighboring stall owner, they learned that Grandpa had only just arrived that morning when he got a call—apparently to appraise something for someone.

Gu Ming sighed, “Shall we go home?”

“No one’s at home anyway. Let’s look around first.”

“You’d better not. Didn’t Grandpa always say? This lousy place is full of fakes!”

Lin Sicheng couldn’t help but laugh. “But there are still honest sellers—like Grandpa, for instance. Who knows, we might just stumble upon something good.”

“Stumble on what?” Gu Ming squinted. “You’ll only stumble into trouble!”

Lin Sicheng’s grandfather was impressive—having spent most of his life teaching archaeology and collecting antiques, even he could be fooled sometimes. So what chance did Lin Sicheng have?

Lin Sicheng only smiled.

Honestly, with his current expertise, he was at the very forefront of both the national appraisal and preservation fields. Besides, he had nearly twenty years of extra memory and knowledge.

If he had to compare himself to his grandfather, he’d only be better, not worse.

Besides, with no one at home, he might as well practice.

Lin Sicheng strolled leisurely among the stalls.

The stalls were modest—some held a hundred or so items, others only thirty or fifty. Lin Sicheng only needed a glance to make a rough judgment.

There were indeed many fakes, perhaps nine out of ten. Occasionally, when something was genuine, the price was exorbitant.

But that was the way of the trade—a treasure hunt in a pile of dross.

Wandering along, he stopped at a newspaper stall.

Gu Ming glanced at it. The stall was piled with newspapers and magazines, all in simplified script, all official publications.

There was People’s Daily, Shaanxi Daily, Reform, Seeking Truth—clearly scavenged from some government office.

“What’s there to see in this pile of waste paper?”

Lin Sicheng replied casually, “Maybe we’ll find a hidden gem.”

Gu Ming curled his lip. “If there’s anything valuable in this pile of junk, I’ll eat my hat!”

The stall owner was offended. “Hey, you little brat, watch your mouth!”