Neon lights blurred in the rain, resembling a carelessly smeared cheap watercolor painting.

Qin Mobai stood in the corner of "Daguanzhai" antique shop, like a silent background sculpture. His gaze passed over the purple sandalwood curio shelf, landing on the nearly perfect performance taking place in the center of the store.


The shopkeeper, Mr. Liu, was carefully handing a small blue and white porcelain jar from the late Ming Dynasty's Chongzhen period to a pot-bellied customer. His voice carried a perfectly measured reverence: "Manager Zhou, look at this blue and white coloring, it's the authentic 'emerald-feather blue,' deep, bright and gorgeous—only the imperial kilns of the Chongzhen era could produce such charm. And look at these images of playing children on the jar, the brushwork is spirited, each child with a distinct expression, so lifelike!"

Manager Zhou, wearing white gloves, pretentiously examined it with a magnifying glass, his face showing satisfaction: "Good, good, this is indeed a first-rate piece."

He looked at Boss Liu and tentatively asked, "Old Liu, this price..."


"You're an expert, I wouldn't dare quote falsely." Boss Liu held up eight fingers, his smile filled with calculation-backed sincerity, "Eighty thousand, for good luck. This is a treasure that can be passed down through generations."

"Eighty thousand..." Boss Zhou mused, clearly tempted, his hand already reaching for the checkbook in his pocket.


At that moment, Qin Mobai walked over and calmly spoke up, his voice not loud but like a needle, instantly piercing through the warm atmosphere in the store.

"Boss Liu, this vase is fake."

The air seemed to freeze.

Boss Zhou's movement froze midway, the smile on his face instantly disappearing, replaced by irritation at being fooled. He suddenly turned to look at Qin Mobai, his gaze sharp as a knife.

Boss Liu's face first turned red, then immediately became ashen. He glared fiercely at Qin Mobai, but quickly put on a fawning smile and explained to Boss Zhou: "Boss Zhou, don't listen to his nonsense. He's just an apprentice in our shop, young and inexperienced, likes to talk rubbish."

"Apprentice?" Qin Mobai's voice was completely calm. He extended his finger, pointing at the small blue and white jar, "The clay body has a grayish tint, the handling was too light—it's made from modern kaolin formula. The glaze has an unnatural shine, the firing effects haven't settled—these are signs of chemical artificial aging. Most crucially, the base mark,"

He looked directly at Boss Zhou, his tone leaving no room for argument, "In the inscription 'Made during Ming Dynasty Chongzhen reign', the character 'zhen' has the 'shi' radical on the left, with the final stroke ending in an almost imperceptible hook—this is the personal habit of Master Wang from the antique reproduction workshop in the back streets of Jingdezhen. The imitation is convincing, but it can't fool people."

Each of his words was like a heavy hammer, striking right at the heart of Boss Liu.

Boss Zhou's expression had already reached the peak of ugliness. He placed the jar back on the table with a "bang," pulled off his white gloves, and sneered: "Good, good job, Daguan Studio! Trying to fool me with this junk!" After speaking, he pushed the door open and left without looking back, disappearing into the curtain of rain outside.

Only the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the eaves and Boss Liu's heavy breathing remained in the shop.

"Qin Mobai!" Boss Liu finally exploded, pointing at Qin Mobai's nose with a trembling voice, "Do you know what you just did?! Eighty thousand! You ruined an eighty-thousand-dollar deal with just a few words!"

"My duty is to authenticate," Qin Mobai replied calmly.

"To hell with authenticity!" Boss Liu paced anxiously around the shop like a caged beast. "I didn't hire you to be my disciplinary inspector! Tell the customers what they want to hear! What is business? Business is storytelling! They're happy buying, I'm happy earning, everyone wins! Don't you understand?!"

"A fake is a fake," Qin Mobai repeated, with no anger in his tone, only an almost stubborn calmness.

"Fine, fine, you're so noble! So impressive!" Boss Liu grabbed several bills from the drawer along with an envelope and slammed them down hard on the counter with a dull thud. "Here's this month's salary, plus next month's compensation, two thousand yuan total. From now on, you're fired! We're even!"

Qin Mobai silently stared at the thin stack of money on the counter, which seemed so insignificant under the dim yellow light.

"My contract still has three months left."

"Go sign a contract with the King of Hell!" Boss Liu pointed at the door and roared, "My small temple can't accommodate such a big Buddha like you! Get out!"

Rainwater dripped from the dilapidated eaves, creating ripples in the puddle outside the door. Qin Mobai stared at the envelope for a long while before reaching out to put it and the scattered banknotes into his pocket. The touch of paper against his fingertips felt so thin it made his heart uneasy.

"Thank you," he said softly, seemingly addressing Boss Liu, yet also bidding farewell to the first half of his career.

He turned around without giving Boss Liu another glance and walked out the door of "Daguan Zhai."

The cold rain instantly soaked his hair and shoulders. He looked up at the night sky, strangely colored by neon lights, and took a deep breath of the damp air.

Leaving the antique shop, Qin Mobai stood in the rain, allowing the cold rainwater to soak his hair and shoulders. His phone vibrated in his pocket—a message from the landlord demanding rent. He opened his phone to find only a handful of contacts in his address book, none of whom could lend him money.

His gaze paused when it landed on the words "Hometown."

That old house in his hometown was probably his only remaining asset now.

The train slowly moved through the fields. Through the rain-blurred window, Qin Mobai could see distant low green mountains and scattered villages. This was a route leading deep into his memories, toward the hometown he had deliberately distanced himself from for ten years. When he got off the train, the platform was empty except for a hunched old man waiting for someone while holding an oil-paper umbrella. Qin Mobai glanced at him, surprised to discover that the old man was there to meet him.

"Xiao Bai is back." Old Zhang had a pipe in his mouth, smiling to reveal sparse teeth, "Your great-grandmother isn't well, so she sent me to pick you up." Qin Mobai nodded silently, taking the umbrella Old Zhang handed him. "How is... everyone at home?"

"Your great-grandmother doesn't have much time left." Old Zhang said bluntly, "The doctor says it's late-stage lung cancer, probably just a matter of days."

The rain fell from dusk until deep into the night, making the gray-black brick walls of the Qin family's old house look even more gloomy in the rain.

The stone lions at the entrance had faded, but their stone eyes remained piercing, as if scrutinizing this wanderer who hadn't returned home in ten years.

Old Mrs. Qin lay on the wooden bed in the main hall, blanket pulled up to her chin, cheeks sunken, breathing faintly. Seeing Qin Mobai enter, she struggled to sit up.

"Don't move, Great-grandmother." Qin Mobai quickly stepped forward and gently pressed on her shoulders.

"It's good that you've come back, it's good that you've come back." Old Lady Qin's voice was hoarse, but her gaze was remarkably clear. "The house keys are all in the jar in the kitchen, you can take them yourself."

Qin Mobai nodded, noticing that the "Family of Loyal Heroes" plaque hanging on the wall had faded, but was still kept spotlessly clean. This plaque was the Qin family's most precious heirloom, witnessing five generations of glory and vicissitudes.

"I'm not leaving anymore, I'll stay here to take care of you," Qin Mobai said.

Old Lady Qin shook her head: "My days are numbered, your uncle and the clan members will come to handle the funeral arrangements. I have something to tell you, about our Qin family." She gestured for Qin Mobai to come closer, her withered hand suddenly gripping his wrist with force. "Mobai, listen to your great-grandmother, the Qin family is not any 'Family of Loyal Heroes'." Qin Mobai was stunned: "Great-grandmother, what are you saying?"

"That memorial plaque is fake." Old Mrs. Qin lowered her voice even more, as if afraid the walls might hear, "Your great-grandfather wasn't an anti-Japanese hero, he was... a traitor."

These words were like a sharp knife, piercing through Qin Mobai's heart.

He instinctively looked at the plaque on the wall, which had been his family's symbol of pride since childhood. "That's impossible. The family genealogy clearly records that great-grandfather sacrificed himself during the anti-Japanese war, and it's documented in the county chronicles too."

Old Mrs. Qin's eyes flickered with pain and determination: "It's all fake. Your grandfather paid to forge those records and bribed local officials. The truth is buried in the ancestral grave, in the old cemetery, not in the newly relocated tomb."

"Why are you only telling me now?" Qin Mobai's voice trembled.

Qin Mobai was an upright person, even to the point of being stubborn, and a large part of his character formation came from the teachings of his family's "anti-Japanese hero."

"I have let down your grandfather, let down our ancestors." Tears ran down Old Lady Qin's wrinkles. "But I've let you down most of all. Letting you live in a lie, believing you had an honorable family."

Qin Mobai wanted to say something, but Old Lady Qin began to cough violently. Using her last bit of strength, she clutched Mobai's sleeve: "Go see for yourself, the truth is hidden in the ancestral grave. You have the right to know. You're the only child in the Qin family who went to university, the only one who can understand those things."

Qin Mobai couldn't ask anything more.

At dawn, Old Lady Qin passed away peacefully, taking her secrets and repentance with her, leaving behind only a mystery that upended Qin Mobai's understanding.

The funeral was held three days later. Members of the Qin family arrived one after another from various places, and the entire village was shrouded in a mournful atmosphere. As the only direct grandchild, Qin Mobai stood before the mourning hall receiving condolences.

His uncle Qin Zhengde—the current clan leader, a mid-level cadre working in the county government—stood beside him, wearing an appropriately sorrowful expression on his face.

"Mo Bai, I heard things aren't going well with your work in the city?" After seeing off a group of villagers who had come to pay their respects, Qin Zhengde asked in a low voice.

Qin Mo Bai's expression was cold: "It's fine."

Qin Zhengde sighed: "No need to put on a brave face, the family will take care of you. Your grandfather passed away early, and you have no parents. You should keep this old house, there will be times when you'll return."

Qin Mo Bai didn't respond, his gaze falling on the "Family of Loyal Martyrs" plaque in the center of the memorial hall, which had been specially brought from the old house to be displayed at the funeral.

He suddenly spoke up: "Uncle, Great-grandmother said some things to me before she died."

Qin Zhengde's body tensed slightly: "What things?"

"She said our Qin family's 'loyal martyr' status is fake, and that great-grandfather might have been a traitor."

Qin Zhengde's face instantly turned livid. He pulled Qin Mobai to a secluded spot and lowered his voice: "The old lady was talking nonsense on her deathbed, and you believe it? That plaque was issued by the county government, and the family genealogy records are crystal clear. How could it possibly be fake?"

Qin Mobai looked directly into his uncle's eyes: "Then why would Great-grandma say such things? She valued family honor above all else her entire life."

"Late-stage cancer, unclear consciousness, that's all." Qin Zhengde's voice became stern, "Mobai, don't mention this again, especially not in front of other family members. Family honor is not to be desecrated, understand?"

Qin Mobai caught a glimpse of panic in his uncle's eyes, which made him more certain that Great-grandma's words weren't just deathbed delusions. But he chose not to press further, simply nodding calmly.