Zhuo Yu Feng Yang Chapter 10

Chapter 10 The Secret in the Manila Envelope

When Jiang Zhuo returned to Xianyun Studio, the night was already thick and impenetrable.

He locked the shop door and pulled the rolling shutter halfway down, leaving only a dim yellow desk lamp lit. He pulled the manila envelope from his inner pocket and placed it on the glass counter, his fingertips tracing the rough paper as his eyes darkened.

Hidden within this envelope was half of Zhou Jingshan’s reputation, and the key to exposing Scarface Qi’s dark dealings.

He tore open the envelope. Inside was a stack of yellowed notebooks and several old photos with worn edges. The paper of the notebooks was brittle, as if it would crumble at a touch, yet the handwriting remained clear—it was Zhou Jingshan’s vigorous small regular script.

Jiang Zhuo sat under the desk lamp, turning the pages one by one.

The initial content was mostly Zhou Jingshan’s daily appraisal notes, recording the characteristics of various cultural relics, and techniques for distinguishing authenticity. The reverence of an old craftsman for antiques was evident in every line. But turning to the latter half of the book, the handwriting gradually became messy, and the ink color deepened, clearly written when Zhou Jingshan was emotionally agitated.

In the autumn of the Jia-yin year, I encountered the remnant scroll of the Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains. The paper is ancient, the ink naturally imbued with rhythm. It is certainly the authentic Ziming scroll. The collector said this scroll was obtained from the former Qing Palace collection and circulated among the people…

There seems to be a hidden layer at the tail end of the remnant scroll. A shadow is visible when held up to the light, but the collector insists there is none…

Li Hu sent people to relay a message, forcing me to declare this scroll a fake, so he could acquire it at a low price…

Old Hei appeared, tempting me with a large sum of money. I refused. Li Hu grew angry, threatening to destroy my reputation…

Jiang Zhuo’s finger stopped on the words “hidden layer,” and his eyes narrowed instantly.

He immediately got up, retrieved a powerful flashlight from the storage cabinet, and shone it onto a photo of the remnant scroll tucked inside the notebook. The photo of the Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains remnant scroll only showed a corner of the tail end, and at first glance, there was nothing unusual. But as the strong light penetrated the photo, Jiang Zhuo clearly saw a faint, extremely thin dark shadow between the layers of the scroll’s paper, as if something was sandwiched inside.

The system prompt sounded in due time:

Ding—Associated clue detected: The Ziming remnant scroll of the Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains has a hidden layer at the tail end containing a fragmented page from a secret Qing Dynasty Imperial Household Department archive, which records a list of cultural relics lost overseas.

Risk Warning: This item is widely implicated, and Li Hu has coveted it for a long time.

Jiang Zhuo turned off the flashlight, his fingertips lightly tapping the counter.

So that was it.

What Scarface Qi wanted was not the remnant scroll itself, but the list of cultural relics hidden in the interlayer. With that list, he could follow the clues to find the lost relics, which would sell for astronomical prices. Zhou Jingshan refused to cooperate, which is why Scarface Qi framed him, pinning the label of “forging and defrauding” on him.

Old Hei was merely a knife in Scarface Qi’s hand, to be discarded after use. Now that Old Hei was arrested, Scarface Qi would certainly not let the matter rest.

As he pondered, a faint sound suddenly came from outside the window, like something dropping onto the bluestone road.

Jiang Zhuo’s gaze instantly turned cold.

He calmly slipped the notebook and photos back into the manila envelope, hid it in the secret compartment beneath the counter, and then slowly rose. He walked to the window and looked out, using the residual light of the desk lamp.

In the shadow of the alley entrance, a blurry figure stood, peering toward Xianyun Studio. The figure stood in the shadow for a moment, seemed to notice the movement inside the shop, and then turned and left. The footsteps were light and quick, and the figure soon vanished into the night.

Jiang Zhuo frowned.

It was one of Scarface Qi’s men.

Old Hei had just been arrested, and the other party was already coming to probe. It seemed Scarface Qi had set his sights on him.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Lu Chen: Scarface Qi’s men have scouted Xianyun Studio.

Before long, Lu Chen’s reply popped up: I’ve already assigned people to watch Antique Street. Keep Elder Zhou’s things safe. Scarface Qi has no bottom line.

Jiang Zhuo replied “Got it,” put away his phone, walked to the door, and peered out through the crack.

The night was deep, and the bluestone road was empty, with only the streetlights casting mottled light and shadow on the ground. But Jiang Zhuo knew that the eyes in the dark had never left.

He turned back to the counter and reopened the manila envelope, flipping to the last page of the notebook.

On that page, there was only one line of text. The handwriting was so messy it was almost distorted, yet it conveyed a sense of determination:

Cultural relics must return to the nation. I would rather sacrifice myself than bend my knee.

Jiang Zhuo’s heart trembled violently.

He finally understood that Zhou Jingshan’s adherence back then was never for fame, but for that single phrase: “Cultural relics must return to the nation.”

People like Scarface Qi, whose eyes only saw profit, could never understand this obsession.

Jiang Zhuo closed the notebook and locked the envelope back into the secret compartment. He walked to the window and pushed it open slightly. The evening breeze brought a chill, stirring the stray hairs on his forehead.

He looked at the deep night sky, his eyes devoid of fear, filled only with cold determination.

What Elder Zhou failed to finish, he would complete.

That list of cultural relics must not fall into Scarface Qi’s hands.

The wind outside the window seemed to pick up speed.

In the shadow of the alley entrance, another figure had appeared at some point, like a lurking viper, secretly watching its prey.

Jiang Zhuo slowly closed the window, shutting the figure outside.

He walked to the counter, picked up a brush from the desk, dipped it in ink, and wrote four characters on the rice paper:

Maintain integrity, act unexpectedly.

These were the words he had seen at Jubao Pavilion, and they reflected his current state of mind.

Scarface Qi wanted to play, and he would see it through to the end.

The game on Antique Street had just begun.