Chapter 10: A Legacy of Scholarship

“Master Hao!”

At the sound, a man of about fifty came down the stairs.

“Master Liu, have a look!”

“Feather duster? That’s rare! Hmm, Liu-style running script, these characters are quite good.”

His eyes fixed on the calligraphy, his fingers tracing the strokes in the air. After nearly two minutes, Master Liu’s eyes lit up: “Pu Xinyu!”

Lin Sicheng looked admiringly: “Master Liu, you have a keen eye.”

“Just been at it longer, gained some experience over the years,” Master Liu smiled. “Running script is easy to write well, but carving it perfectly—surely only a master painter-carver could do that. And if it maintains strength, fluidity, and graceful elegance, that must be someone who combines painting, calligraphy, and carving all in one...

As for the feathers and bamboo handle, they must be at least sixty or seventy years old. Considering the era, only a handful of masters could have such skill...”

“Just right, the inscription is ‘Presented to Mr. Qiuming.’ Forgive my ignorance, but I only know that Mr. Shen Yinmo styled himself Qiuming. And among his close friends who were masters of painting, calligraphy, and carving, there was only Pu Xinyu...”

“Impressive!”

Lin Sicheng gave a thumbs-up. Master Liu smiled modestly, but Master Hao sneered.

At first, he had listened attentively, but seeing Lin Sicheng’s shocked and admiring expression, he realized something was off: what was the difference between what he just said and what you said?

So why are you so full of admiration?

Then he thought, if he knows so much but uses it to appraise, is he just burning money?

So, the appraisal was fake—the real intent was to sell.

In the end, it worked out well: spending a thousand yuan and adding a subtle compliment made Master Liu so pleased he revealed everything, essentially endorsing it.

Sure enough, after a couple of thanks, Lin Sicheng smiled at Master Hao: “Shopkeeper Hao, will you take it?”

Of course, if not, why would I have brought my laptop?

“You’re young but quite shrewd.”

A feint to the east, an egg laid in the chicken’s nest... just selling an antique and already employing strategies from the art of war?

Lin Sicheng took it as a compliment.

Sighing, Master Hao opened his laptop and pulled up several photos.

There were samples of Liu-style calligraphy, as well as bamboo and wood carvings—all works by Pu Xinyu auctioned in recent years.

The two masters took up the duster and carefully compared.

The calligraphy matched, the carving was correct, and even the aging of the feathers and bamboo handle was consistent.

Still, they examined it for over ten minutes. After confirming no errors, Master Hao pushed the laptop toward him: “Here, see for yourself.”

Lin Sicheng glanced: a 2.4 square foot Liu-style copybook sold at Artron auction for 52,000 yuan; another 3 square foot piece at Chengxuan Auction in the capital went for 43,000.

There was also a pair of bamboo brush pots carved with withered tree patterns, sold at Xiling Yinshe auction for 36,000 yuan.

“It’s undervalued,” Lin Sicheng said deliberately, “this is a relic of Mr. Shen himself!”

Master Hao shot Master Liu a glance: told you not to speak too hastily, now look what you’ve done.

Master Liu belatedly realized the young man was cunning, a couple of compliments and he let the secret slip.

He smiled awkwardly: “I’m not absolutely certain, only said it’s possible.”

Lin Sicheng pondered: from start to finish, Master Liu never said “certain” or “definite.”

“That’s true,” he nodded, “but it must be the first feather duster of its kind to appear on the domestic market.”

Master Hao paused: “You really dare to boast?”

Such items are rare, but the Forbidden City must have some, and surely some private collectors in Beijing own them; just none have come to market.

But conversely, this is indeed the first feather duster of this sort to appear in West Capital City.

Cultural relics and antiques—any claim of being the first is a big deal.

Besides, the words came from Old Liu himself. Even thick-skinned Master Hao couldn’t deny any connection to Mr. Shen.

With both factors combined, a fair price had to be set.

He thought for a moment: “Eighty thousand, no more.”

Lin Sicheng’s eyes brightened: “Deal!”

Master Hao choked a little: was that too high?

Not that the item wasn't worth it, but the young man’s expectations had been nowhere near that high.

But once the words were out, there was no turning back.

He rolled his eyes, took the card number, and handed it to the cashier: “Eighty thousand, after tax.”

Quite formal.

In no time, the message confirmed the transfer. Master Hao handed back the card and personally escorted him to the door.

Apparently quite impressed with Lin Sicheng, he handed him a business card as they parted: “Next time you find anything, just bring it over!”

“Of course!”

Lin Sicheng took the card and glanced at it:

General Manager of Rongbaozhai, West Capital.

Secretary-General of the Provincial Folk Traditional Arts Research Association.

Researcher at Peking University’s Resource and Cultural Relics Identification Training Base in West Capital.

Lin Sicheng was surprised: not just a shopkeeper, but half official, half merchant?

The key was the last line: although this institute is like a business training school similar to an MBA program, it’s led by Peking University’s School of Cultural Heritage, jointly established with the Palace Museum and the National Museum.

The so-called researchers were actually professors, invariably from one of these institutions.

Lin Sicheng thought for a moment and tentatively greeted: “Senior Brother Hao?”

Who’s your senior brother?

Master Hao laughed with a hint of irritation: “Is this how senior brothers play tricks?”

Ha! So he really is a graduate of Peking University?

If ranking domestic archaeology and cultural preservation schools, Peking University naturally comes first, and West University surely second. The two have cooperated and exchanged students since the late 1980s; this senior brother title was no mere formality.

Though this senior brother was somewhat older.

“Don’t you know?” Lin Sicheng pressed on, pulling out the unclothed female Buddha statue. “Senior Brother, you have broad knowledge and many connections—could you have someone take a look?”

“You’re quite direct,” Master Hao chuckled, taking the statue and narrowing his eyes. “Sakya sect’s Fan Nayijia?”

“No... how do you know?”

Seeing Lin Sicheng’s shocked, inexperienced expression, Master Hao beamed: “Isn’t it written right here on the ribbon?”

It was indeed written, but in the Mongol-era Phags-pa script, already a dead script.

A thought struck Lin Sicheng, and he guessed: this Senior Brother must have majored in Buddhist relics at university—among antiques, that would be a miscellaneous category.

And in ancient script research, no school could rival Peking University.

What a fortunate coincidence!

He exhaled: “Then I’ll leave it to you, Senior Brother!”

“No problem, but it still has to go through the machines; might take two or three days. I’ll give you a receipt first!”

Master Hao glanced again. “I reckon it’s at least from the Ming dynasty, maybe Yuan. Too bad it’s small and incomplete. Don’t expect more than three dusters if it’s sold.”

Three is already quite a lot.

Lin Sicheng guessed that even if his grandfather got involved, it might only fetch two and a half.

“Thank you, Senior Brother!”

“No need.” Master Hao waved his hand. “As usual, I have to ask: where did you get it?”

Not daring to say he found it, Lin Sicheng blurted: “I picked it up with my grandfather, Lin Changqing!”

Master Hao paused, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as expected—West University is impressive, but no way is a student still studying there better versed than someone with over twenty years immersed in antiques.

Now he was comfortable: it’s a family tradition after all.