Zhuo Yu Feng Yang Chapter 18

Chapter 18 Butterfly Hairpin’s Hidden Markings, New Threads in an Old Case

The moment Jiang Zhuo’s fingertip touched the jade hairpin, the system prompt sounded clearly:

[Ding—Item detected: Qing Dynasty Qianlong period Hetian jade butterfly hairpin]

[Material: Xinjiang Hetian river seed jade, warm and moist texture, natural color penetration]

[Features: The butterfly wings on the hairpin head have faintly incised continuous vine patterns, a technique used by the Imperial Workshop; the inner side of the hairpin shaft is inscribed with the three characters “Yangxin Hall” in fine script, severely worn]

[Associated Clue: This item was part of Elder Zhou Jingshan’s grandmother’s dowry. It was accidentally lost three years ago during the cleanup of the Zhou family’s old residence]

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes narrowed instantly.

Zhou Jingshan again.

This jade hairpin was actually related to the Zhou family, and the time it was lost coincided exactly with the period when Zhou Jingshan was framed and suffered a stroke. This was no coincidence. He picked up the jade hairpin and examined it closely against the light. The incised continuous vine patterns between the butterfly wing veins were as fine as hair. Without deep knowledge of imperial craftsmanship, it would be easily mistaken for ordinary relief carving. Although the “Yangxin Hall” inscription on the inner side of the shaft was heavily worn, the direction of the cuts perfectly matched the style used by the Imperial Workshop during the Qianlong period.

“How is it?” Lu Jingyang leaned in, his eyes bright as if holding two stars. He didn’t rashly reach out, only lightly tapped the edge of the brocade box, his tone carrying a joyful certainty. “I knew this hairpin wasn’t ordinary! Look at the color penetration on the butterfly wings—deep at the edges and shallow in the middle. That’s a mature penetration from long-term, close-to-body wear, something faked aging can’t replicate.”

Jiang Zhuo looked up at him, his expression subtly shifting. This young man seemed flighty, but his eye was sharp, hitting the key point in a single sentence.

“An item from the Qing Dynasty Qianlong Imperial Workshop,” Jiang Zhuo said, his fingertip tracing the inscription on the shaft. “The incised continuous vine pattern is the ‘hidden craft’ technique unique to the Workshop. Civilian imitations cannot reproduce the turning points of this knife work. The fine ‘Yangxin Hall’ inscription is further ironclad proof of its use within the palace.”

“I knew it!” Lu Jingyang clapped his hands, his eyes curving into crescents. He immediately sobered, however, frowning slightly, his tone becoming serious. “But how could a jade hairpin of this caliber end up on a street stall on Antique Street? When my grandmother bought it, the stall owner only said it was collected from the countryside. Now that I think about it, there must be something fishy.”

As he spoke, he suddenly remembered something, his eyes lighting up. “Boss Jiang, aren’t you investigating Elder Zhou’s case? I previously read Elder Zhou’s work, A Study of Qing Dynasty Imperial Women’s Head Ornaments, which mentioned an identical butterfly hairpin, saying it was his grandmother’s dowry! Could it be…”

Jiang Zhuo praised him inwardly. Lu Jingyang was not only keenly observant but also able to apply the information he had read flexibly. He was quick-witted yet not reckless, which suited Jiang Zhuo’s taste.

“It is indeed from Elder Zhou’s family,” Jiang Zhuo stated frankly, placing the jade hairpin back into the brocade box. “After the Zhou family incident three years ago, the old residence was hastily cleaned out, and many old items were lost. This jade hairpin must have flowed out at that time.”

“Three years ago…” Lu Jingyang repeated softly, unconsciously rubbing his chin, his gaze deepening. “That’s exactly when Elder Zhou was framed and suffered a stroke. Cleaning out the old residence and selling off old items—could someone have deliberately destroyed clues?”

This question hit the nail on the head. Jiang Zhuo glanced at him and nodded. “We can’t rule out that possibility. When your grandmother bought it, did the stall owner say anything else? For example, what other items were in the same batch, or the identity of the seller?”

“My grandmother said the stall owner was vague, only mentioning that it was ‘transferred by a descendant surnamed Zhou,’” Lu Jingyang recalled, his tone firm. “Now that I think about it, they weren’t descendants at all, but likely thieves taking advantage of the situation.”

He picked up the brocade box, his fingertips lightly brushing the surface, and looked up at Jiang Zhuo, his eyes clear and candid. “Since this jade hairpin belongs to the Zhou family, it should definitely be returned. But Elder Zhou doesn’t see many people now, and if we approach him rashly, it might alert the wrong people. If Boss Jiang needs it for the investigation, I’ll keep it for you for now and cooperate anytime! I study cultural relic restoration, so I’m more familiar with comparing object details. Maybe I can discover the little secrets hidden in the faint markings.”

Jiang Zhuo looked at him, the corner of his mouth curving almost imperceptibly. Quick-witted, transparent, and understanding of boundaries—much more pleasing than those cunning old collectors.

“It’s best if you keep it for now,” Jiang Zhuo said. “The hidden markings on the hairpin’s wings might conceal a mark related to the Imperial Workshop. Go back and examine it with a high-magnification lens. Contact me immediately if you find anything.”

“No problem!” Lu Jingyang immediately agreed, carefully fastening the brocade box. Just as he tucked it into his jacket, a deliberately loud commotion erupted from the center of the venue.

Old Ghost Chen stood on the appraisal stage holding a microphone, spouting exaggerated boasts. He was flanked by Brother Hu and a slick, plump man. The zitan wood box was opened, revealing a vividly colored Sancai horse, drawing gasps of admiration from the audience below.

Lu Jingyang stood on his toes for a look, scoffing with the sharp edge of youth in his voice. “Tch, that Sancai horse looks off. The glaze is shiny like it’s been painted with oil, and the clay body is loose. A typical high-quality fake. Brother Hu and Old Ghost Chen must be targeting that fatty, right?”

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes darkened. The system had already provided the appraisal result: [Modern imitation of a Tang Dynasty Sancai horse, colored with chemical glaze, the bottom inscription is computer-engraved]. The fact that Brother Hu and Old Ghost Chen dared to pull a stunt with Municipal Cultural Relics Bureau officials present suggested they were planning something much bigger and worse.

“Let’s go take a look,” Jiang Zhuo said, rising with steady steps.

Lu Jingyang immediately followed, his steps light but not panicked. He didn’t forget to lean close to Jiang Zhuo and whisper, “I bet this scam isn’t just about swindling money; maybe there’s some big conspiracy! Old Ghost Chen was in cahoots with Brother Hu back then. They might be trying to use the appraisal as an excuse to move something.”

The two walked through the bustling crowd toward the appraisal stage. Sunlight streamed through the glass windows, falling upon them—one with a cold expression and piercing gaze, the other with bright eyes and a transparent mind.

The farce on the appraisal stage had begun, and the secret carried by the Hetian jade butterfly hairpin was slowly surfacing as the two approached.