The floor of the main hall in the old house was covered with yellowish-brown papers.

Qin Mobai squatted in the center of this sea of papers, like a sailor lost on an ancient map.


For three consecutive days, he had dug out all the documents he could find from the family's old boxes: copies of genealogy records, land deeds, old photographs, ritual records, and fragments of letters. Each item was carefully categorized by him and placed in different areas.

Mo Bai's fingers lightly brushed over the unfamiliar names in the genealogy book. These people were connected to him by blood, yet felt so distant. The revision date showed this was a version recompiled in 1952, newer than he had expected. Upon closer inspection, some pages had noticeably different paper quality, and the handwriting showed variations in age.

Under the light, he examined the record about his great-grandfather Qin Mingzhi with a magnifying glass: "Died heroically in the War of Resistance Against Japan, 1938, at the age of thirty-seven."


However, several pages later in the family chronicles, there was an inconspicuous record: "Autumn of 1941, Qin Guohua, eldest son of Qin Mingzhi, contracted dysentery but was fortunately saved when his father procured special medicine."

Mo Bai's brows furrowed. If his great-grandfather had already died in 1938, how could he possibly have sought medicine for his son in 1941?


He pulled out a yellowed family photo with "Spring Festival 1940" marked on the back. The middle-aged man standing in the center wearing a Zhongshan suit had an unmistakably similar face to the man in the Japanese military officer uniform he had found in the grave.

　"Too many contradictions..." Mo Bai muttered to himself, marking the seventh inconsistent record in his notebook.

Outside the window, the hour was unknown but the night was deep. He stood up, stretching his legs stiff from crouching for too long, and walked to the stove to make himself a bowl of instant noodles. The steaming noodle soup failed to dispel the chill in his heart. He needed to find more evidence; the discovery in that tomb was not enough to solve the mystery.

The family genealogy mentioned that Great-grandfather's second brother, Qin Mingli, also died during the Anti-Japanese War period and was buried "on the east side of the old burial ground." If his great-grandfather was indeed a traitor, did his brother know about it? Was he involved as well?

Chen Xiaoyu's warning echoed in his mind. Indeed, digging up ancestral graves was illegal. But more painful than the legal consequences was the moral condemnation—disturbing the peace of his ancestors might be the greatest filial impiety he could imagine. However, if his family's honor was built on lies, wouldn't revealing the truth be another form of filial piety? As if possessed, he found himself standing once again at the old cemetery on the mountain, shovel in hand.

This time, he brought sufficient tools: a flashlight, canvas gloves, recording equipment, and even a small metal detector—which he had purchased yesterday at the hardware store in town.

Qin Mingli's tomb was smaller than his great-grandfather's, with the inscription on the tombstone already blurred and unclear. Mo Bai took a deep breath and began digging. This time, his movements were more skilled and cautious, trying not to leave obvious traces. The metal detector emitted a signal at about seventy centimeters deep in the grave.

Mo Bai slowed down his movements, using a small brush to clear away the surrounding soil, revealing an iron box—smaller than the one found in his great-grandfather's tomb, but equally showing signs of age. The box had no Japanese emblems on it, only a simple brass lock that had been corroded to fragility by time.

With a nervous heart, he opened the box, and its contents surprised him: a stack of letters wrapped in oilpaper, a small notebook, several copper coins, and a broken seal. Mo Bai carefully unfolded the first letter and read it by the light of his flashlight.

"Brother Mingzhi, things have come to this point, and I no longer blame you. For the family's elderly and young ones, I only ask that you take care of them. If descendants inquire in the future, please make it clear that I acted alone, with no involvement from you. —Mingli, Winter 1943" Mo Bai frowned. The tone of this letter suggested some kind of shared secret.

He hastily flipped through other letters, most of which contained everyday content, but occasionally there were phrases mentioning "people on the other side," "items to be delivered," and "night operations." Most striking were several pages in the notebook recording seemingly random numbers and place names, as well as detailed itineraries noted beside the names of several Japanese individuals.

Ben's heart pounded. These records were likely intelligence, but the question was: was this intelligence provided to the Japanese army or to anti-Japanese resistance forces? The last few pages of the notebook had been torn out, but on the remaining edges of the paper, Ben discovered a line in pencil that had been nearly erased: "If victory comes, my brother is a hero; if defeat, we are all traitors. Heaven knows the truth, but posterity may never understand." A chill spread down his spine. Ben seemed to hear sighs from over seventy years ago, echoes resonating from the depths of history. He carefully put away all the items, quickly filled in the grave, and removed his tools.

On the way back to the old house, a figure suddenly flashed out from the bushes by the roadside. Mo Bai was startled and almost cried out.

"You were indeed grave digging." Chen Xiaoyu stood in the moonlight, her voice filled with disbelief, "I thought it was just my imagination that day."

Mo Bai instinctively hid his backpack behind him: "You followed me?" "I was doing fieldwork and happened to see you sneaking up the mountain."

Chen Xiaoyu looked directly into his eyes, "As an archaeology student, I can understand the desire for historical truth, but digging up ancestral graves? This is not only illegal, but also morally indefensible."

"You don't understand," Mo Bai said wearily.

"Then make me understand." Xiaoyu persisted, "This afternoon you promised to show me the old house, but you stood me up. I waited for two hours, then saw you sneaking up the mountain with tools. If you don't tell me the truth, I'll call the police directly."

This threat made Mo Bai stop in his tracks.

He sized up the stubborn young girl before him, weighing various possibilities. Finally, he made a decision. "Follow me," he said in a low voice. Under the lights of the old mansion, Chen Xiaoyu stared wide-eyed at the evidence spread out on the table: contradictory records in the family genealogy, a metal box dug up from the grave, commendations from the Japanese army, suspicious photographs, letters and notes from Qin Mingli. "This... is unbelievable," she whispered, carefully examining the photograph of her great-grandfather among Japanese officers.

"I need to know the truth," Mo Bai's voice was unusually firm. "If my great-grandfather was truly a traitor, then our family's honor for decades has been built on lies. I cannot accept such hypocrisy."

"But this is not a reason to dig up ancestral graves." Chen Xiaoyu put down the photo and said seriously, "These are precious historical artifacts that should be kept and studied by professional institutions. What you're doing is not only disrespectful to your ancestors but also a desecration of history."

"Professional institutions?" Mo Bai sneered, "Like your university museum? And then what, turn my family's disgrace into an exhibition so everyone knows how the Qin family's 'honor' was obtained?"

"This isn't a disgrace, it's history!" Xiaoyu raised her voice, "The complexity of the Japanese occupation period far exceeds our imagination. Some people who appeared to be collaborators were actually working as double agents. Have you noticed? These pieces of evidence themselves are contradictory—the commendation order suggests your great-grandfather may have collaborated with the Japanese army, but those coded notes and letters hint that he might have also been passing intelligence to anti-Japanese forces." Mo Bai was stunned: "How did you figure that out?"

"My mentor specializes in researching underground secret organizations during the Anti-Japanese War period." Xiaoyu pointed at the numbers in the notebook, "This recording method looks very similar to the simple codes used by intelligence personnel. If he was truly just a traitor, he wouldn't risk keeping something like this."

Mo Bai fell into deep thought. He had to admit that Xiaoyu's analysis gave him a completely new perspective. But this didn't lessen the confusion and pain in his heart.

"Then what do you suggest I do?" he asked, with less hostility in his tone, "Hand these things over to a museum and let experts spend years researching them, only to reach an ambiguous conclusion in the end? Meanwhile, how am I supposed to face that 'Family of Martyrs' memorial plaque? How do I face my clan members?"

"The right thing is often not the easy thing," Chen Xiaoyu said softly, "But wrong methods won't bring just results. Digging up ancestral graves is illegal, and so is selling cultural relics."

Mo Bai's blood seemed to freeze: "Who said I was selling cultural relics?"

Chen Xiaoyu's eyes flickered: "I... I was just guessing. Your financial situation isn't good, and these things have market value..."

"You're investigating me?" Mo Bai's voice suddenly rose.

"No." Xiaoyu stepped back, "But I saw you talking with a middle-aged man at the restaurant last night, and it seemed like you were exchanging something under the table. Villagers say that man specializes in collecting antiques."

Mo Bai felt a mixture of anger and shame. He had indeed sold several Japanese coins and a military badge found in his great-grandfather's tomb to Old Wei, in exchange for three thousand yuan. At the time, he saw it as a necessary compromise—he needed money to maintain basic living expenses while continuing to investigate the truth. But having Chen Xiaoyu point it out directly made him feel as if he were standing naked before the public gaze.

"I'm just doing what I have to do." Ben turned his back to Xiaoyu, his voice deep. "Do you think I want to be like this? I could have been like everyone else, returned to the city with a diploma, found a decent job, or inherited the family business. But the truth is, my major has no job prospects anymore, my license has been revoked, and I can't even afford rent. And now, I'm not even sure who I am anymore."

Chen Xiaoyu was silent for a moment, then said softly: "I understand your predicament, but that can't be a justification for breaking the law."

"You don't understand," Ben smiled bitterly. "You're just a student, standing at the top of your ivory tower judging people who are stuck in the mud. When you truly face the dilemma between survival and morality, then come talk to me about idealism."

An awkward silence fell over the room. Ben knew his words were too sharp, but he couldn't suppress the bitterness in his heart.

In his view, Xiaoyu represented everything he once had but had lost: pure ideals, academic passion, and confidence in the future.

"At least let me help you," Chen Xiaoyu suddenly said, breaking the silence. "I can ask my advisor to privately review these materials. He's an expert in this field and can provide professional opinions, and he's very discreet, he won't carelessly disclose information."

Mo Bai hesitated. On one hand, he indeed needed help from professionals to interpret these complex historical materials;

On the other hand, he feared his actions would be exposed, and even more, he feared the truth would fall into others' control.

"Why do you want to help me?" he asked cautiously.

Xiaoyu blinked: "Because this is history. Because truth matters. And..." she hesitated for a moment, "I think you're actually a good person, just trapped."

Mo Bai felt something inside his heart being gently struck. How long had it been since someone believed he was a "good person"? Since becoming unemployed, he seemed to be a failure in his family's eyes, a trouble in his friends' eyes, and a redundant person in society's eyes. Yet this girl he had just met could so easily see the conscience still struggling deep inside him.

"I need time to think about it," he finally said, his tone much softer.

When Xiaoyu left the old house, it was already close to midnight. Mo Bai stood at the doorway, watching her silhouette disappear at the end of the village path, his heart filled with mixed emotions. Should he trust her or not? Should he make these discoveries public or not? Should he continue investigating alone or seek professional help? Each choice was like a small path leading into the mist, with no visible end.

The next morning, Mo Bai was organizing his discoveries from the previous night when sudden commotion came from outside his door. He opened the door to see a group of villagers gathered outside his yard, with varying expressions—some curious, some worried, and some with a barely perceptible hostility. In the center of the crowd stood Qin Zhengde, whose face, usually wearing a kind smile, was now filled with concern.

Seeing Mo Bai come out, he immediately stepped forward and said in a lowered voice, "Mo Bai, have you been under too much pressure lately? Some villagers say they saw you wandering around the ancestral graves at midnight, carrying a shovel..."

Mo Bai's heart tightened. Someone had seen him. Who had been so attentive to notice his actions? Was it coincidence, or was someone deliberately monitoring him?

"Uncle, I was just walking in the mountains to help with my insomnia," he replied, feigning calmness. "Walking with a shovel?" a sharp voice rose from the crowd. Mo Bai recognized it as Aunt Liu, notorious in the village for meddling in others' affairs.

"That was... I found some wild Poria cocos on the back mountain and wanted to dig some to bring back." Mobai's explanation didn't sound convincing even to himself. Qin Zhengde put on an understanding expression and patted Mobai's shoulder affectionately: "Child, I understand. You can't find a job, and you're not used to being back home - you must be under a lot of pressure. If you have any difficulties, talk to uncle, don't keep them bottled up." He turned to the villagers and raised his voice: "Everyone, don't crowd around. Mobai is just having some emotional issues temporarily. He'll be fine soon."

These words felt like a sharp knife piercing Mobai's chest.

"Emotional issues"? Was the clan chief implying that he was mentally unstable? From the complex looks in the villagers' eyes, Mobai realized that Qin Zhengde's "concern" was more lethal than direct accusation—it provided an explanatory framework for the villagers: Mobai was a frustrated young man with an unstable mental state, and any unusual behavior of his could be attributed to psychological problems.

"I don't have emotional issues," Ben said calmly, but his voice was almost drowned out by the whispers of the crowd.

Qin Zhengde affectionately put his arm around his shoulder, led him back into the house, and after closing the door, his kindly expression quickly disappeared: "Ben, what exactly are you doing? Someone saw you digging up the family graves."

Ben took a step back: "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb." Qin Zhengde's gaze turned sharp, "The Qin family has been loyal and heroic for generations, it's the pride of the entire village. If you have any dissatisfaction with our family history, you can talk to me directly, but don't do anything that would damage the family's reputation." Ben retorted, "What if the family history itself is a lie?" Qin Zhengde's eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam flashing through them: "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Ben avoided his gaze, "I was just saying."

Qin Zhengde stared at him for a moment, then said in an even tone: "Listen, I understand you're in a difficult situation right now. With your education and specialty, you should have a good job by all accounts. But life has its ups and downs, and temporary setbacks shouldn't lead you to do irrational things."

Mo Bai didn't respond. Qin Zhengde sighed and continued: "The village is planning to renovate the ancestral hall, and they need someone with knowledge of cultural relics to supervise. I'd like to recommend you. The pay isn't much, but it would at least solve your livelihood problems for a while. Think about it."

This sudden proposal confused Mo Bai. Was it kindness, or a bribe? Was it concern, or surveillance? He couldn't tell, but he knew he needed time and space to continue his investigation. "Thank you, Uncle. I'll consider it," he said reluctantly.

Qin Zhengde nodded with satisfaction and stood up to leave. Before departing, he seemed to casually ask: "By the way, I heard you've been getting quite close with a girl from another village?"

Mo Bai was startled: "Are you referring to Xiao Yu? She's just a student, here to conduct field research."

"Oh, that's good." Qin Zhengde smiled meaningfully, "Young people should be careful when making friends, especially with outsiders. Not everyone has good intentions."

This remark was clearly a warning against Chen Xiao Yu.

Mo Bai remained composed, but alarm bells were ringing in his mind. Why was the chief so concerned about Xiao Yu? Did he know something?