Zhuo Yu Feng Yang Chapter 7

The next morning, Jiang Zhuo first circled the area near the Municipal Cultural Relics Bureau. He saw Old Huang shuffling toward the main entrance, clutching a newspaper-wrapped bundle, before turning and heading toward West City.

West City was a different scene from Antique Street. There were no street stalls or hawkers everywhere, only rows of old residences with blue tiles and white walls. The alleys were so narrow that only a sliver of sky was visible overhead. Jubao Pavilion was hidden deep within one of these alleys. A black plaque with gold characters hung above the door. The calligraphy was in the slender-gold style, the brushstrokes sharp and aggressive, suggesting it had been there for many years.

The door was slightly ajar. Jiang Zhuo raised his hand and knocked. A hoarse voice answered from inside: “The door isn’t locked, come in.”

Pushing the door open, a strong scent of ink mixed with camphor wood wafted out. The main hall held several sets of curio shelves displaying some porcelain and jade pieces, but they were not rare items, seeming more like props to fill the space. The bamboo curtain to the inner room was drawn back, revealing an elderly man in a gray mandarin-collared jacket sitting at a desk writing. His hair was white, but his back was ramrod straight.

“Elder,” Jiang Zhuo stood at the doorway and spoke politely, “Elder Zhou Jingshan sent me.”

The old man paused his brush, not turning around, but merely pointing to a wooden stool nearby: “Sit.”

Jiang Zhuo sat as instructed, his gaze sweeping over the rice paper on the desk. It bore four large characters: “Maintain integrity, act unexpectedly.” The ink was rich and saturated, penetrating the paper. He remained silent, waiting quietly, pondering the relationship between this old man and Zhou Jingshan.

After a long while, the old man finally set down his brush and turned around. His face was dark, the wrinkles around his eyes deep as if carved by a knife, yet his eyes were startlingly bright, as if they could see through people’s hearts.

“That old fool, Zhou Jingshan. It’s been so many years, and he only comes looking for me now?” The old man spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing, “He still remembers he has an old friend like me?”

Jiang Zhuo’s heart stirred. So, this was an old acquaintance of Elder Zhou. He pulled out the address Elder Zhou had given him from his pocket and handed it over: “Elder Zhou gave me this address a few days ago, saying he had an old matter and asked me to inquire about it.”

The old man took the slip of paper, glanced at it, and lightly rubbed his fingertips over it, his eyes darkening: “Zhou Jingshan was framed back then.”

Jiang Zhuo didn’t reply, waiting for him to continue.

“Three years ago, he authenticated a remnant scroll of the Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains painting, declaring it genuine. But as soon as it changed hands, someone reported him, claiming he colluded with the seller to fake it, swindling the collector out of three million.” A hint of anger laced the old man’s voice. “Zhou Jingshan valued his reputation more than anything in his life. How could he endure that? In a fit of pique, he resigned from the Municipal Cultural Relics Bureau. That remnant scroll was also sealed there, and there’s been no conclusion to this day.”

Jiang Zhuo’s brow furrowed slightly.

The System suddenly popped up a notification: [Associated clue detected: The remnant scroll of Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains is a genuine piece that flowed out of the Qing Palace. It was swapped back then, originally belonging to Zhou Jingshan…]

The notification sound abruptly cut off, as if something had blocked it.

Jiang Zhuo’s heart sank.

The water behind this was deeper than he had imagined.

“Elder,” Jiang Zhuo looked up, his gaze sharp, “Was Old Hei involved in that incident back then?”

The old man suddenly looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes: “You know Old Hei?”

“He’s been causing trouble for me on Antique Street recently,” Jiang Zhuo stated frankly.

The old man was silent for a moment, then sighed: “Old Hei’s real name is Heizi. He’s a habitual trafficker of cultural relics, ruthless and vicious. He was the middleman in Zhou Jingshan’s case. But that kid is too clean in his work; he never left any evidence.”

He paused, then pulled a brown paper envelope from a drawer beneath the desk and handed it to Jiang Zhuo: “Inside are some notes Zhou Jingshan left behind, and a few photos. Take them. Maybe you can find some clues. Remember, Old Hei has people backing him. Don’t confront him head-on.”

Jiang Zhuo took the envelope, his fingertips feeling the stiff paper inside. He already had a sense of what was going on.

“Thank you, Elder.”

“Don’t thank me,” the old man waved his hand. “Zhou Jingshan helped me greatly back then; I owe him. If you can help clear his name, it will settle a matter for me. By the way, what is your name?”

“Jiang Zhuo.”

“Jiang Zhuo…” The old man murmured the name and nodded. “A good name. The owner of Xianyun Zhai. You’ve been quite prominent on Antique Street lately. I’ve heard about you.”

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes narrowed slightly. It seemed this old man had been keeping an eye on the happenings on Antique Street.

By the time he left Jubao Pavilion, the sun was high overhead. Jiang Zhuo clutched the brown paper envelope, his heart heavy. Zhou Jingshan’s old case, Old Hei’s harassment, and the System’s abruptly interrupted notification—all of it felt like a net slowly tightening around him.

He didn’t return directly to Xianyun Zhai but instead turned toward Wang Youde’s shop.

When Jiang Zhuo pushed the door open, Wang Youde was having tea with a man in a black trench coat. The man had his back to the door, his figure tall and straight. He was playing with a string of agarwood prayer beads, his demeanor cold.

“Jiang Zhuo, you’re here?” Wang Youde smiled and stood up, pointing to the man. “Come, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Lu. He has wide connections. In this area of West City, everyone gives him face.”

The man turned around, expressionless. His eyes were deep as a pool. He glanced at Jiang Zhuo and spoke flatly: “Lu Chen.”

Jiang Zhuo was slightly startled.

He had heard the name Lu Chen. The head of the Lu family, an old established clan in West City, and the chairman of Lu Group. It was said that besides running legitimate businesses, he also dabbled in collecting and had many capable people under him. Even someone like Old Hei had to show him respect.

“Mr. Lu.” Jiang Zhuo extended his hand and shook his. The other man’s palm was warm but held an undeniable strength.

“I heard Old Hei is targeting you?” Lu Chen got straight to the point, his voice low. “That kid Old Hei has been getting bolder lately. He even dared to touch my people.”

Wang Youde added from the side: “One of Mr. Lu’s collection warehouses was broken into by Old Hei’s men a few days ago, and a few items were stolen. He was just looking to settle the score with Old Hei. Your matter fits right in.”

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes brightened.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

“How does Mr. Lu plan to proceed?” Jiang Zhuo asked directly.

Lu Chen set down the agarwood beads and lightly tapped the tabletop with his finger: “Old Hei is planning to trade a batch of counterfeits at the Abandoned Warehouse in the suburbs the day after tomorrow, scamming collectors from out of town. We’ll go and crash his party.”

His tone was calm, yet it carried a convincing power.

Jiang Zhuo looked at him, silent for a few seconds, then a cold, sharp curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window lattice, falling onto the tea table between the three men, where the tea steam curled upward.

A scheme targeting Old Hei was quietly being laid out.

Meanwhile, behind the counter at Xianyun Zhai, Jiang Zhuo hid the brown paper envelope in the most secret place. The notes and photos inside held the key to Zhou Jingshan’s old case, and also the deeper secrets of the antique world.

The wind, it seemed, was about to rise again.