After the rain, dawn revealed a cleansed blue sky. Qin Mobai stood under the courtyard of the old house, looking at the bluestone slabs that had been washed bright by the rain, his sleepless eyes tinged with red. Old Wei's proposed deal from last night in the car still echoed in his ears—three million in cash, in exchange for all the artifacts and permanent silence.

"Have you made up your mind?" Old Wei's final words hung like a sword above his head, "This might be your last chance."


Mobai looked down at the wooden box in his hands, containing neatly arranged ancestral diaries, letters, and various artifacts. These yellowed papers and rust-stained objects were both his lifeline and a thousand-pound weight on his conscience.

Five hundred thousand, three million, these numbers tumbled in his mind, each zero like a tempting vortex attempting to devour his soul.

However, Founder Qin Lizhi's words pierced through the fog like a beam of light: "Even in the darkest moment, there are still those who hold onto a glimmer of hope."


Mo Bai took a deep breath, his fingers gently caressing the family seal in the box. The decision had been made; there was no need for further hesitation.

He took out a clean sheet of rice paper, spread it on the table, and meticulously wrote a letter:


"To whom it may concern: The artifacts and documents enclosed with this letter were excavated from the Qin family ancestral tomb in Jiangnan. They contain important historical materials from the early Republic of China period through the Anti-Japanese War, particularly valuable records concerning 'false collaborators' and underground resistance organizations. These artifacts bear witness to human struggles in the gray zones of history and hold significant research value. Due to limited conditions, the excavation process was not sufficiently standardized. I hereby submit detailed records for reference by professionals. From: A remorseful treasure hunter"

After sealing the envelope, Mo Bai packed it together with the cultural relic box into an old wooden chest, then wrapped it tightly with waterproof material. He looked at his watch, four thirty in the morning, the perfect time for action.

On the small path at the village entrance, not even birdsong had begun yet. Mo Bai walked with light steps, as if he had shed some invisible burden. He took the earliest long-distance bus to the provincial capital, using a prepared false name to express-deliver the package to the Cultural Relics Collection Department of the National Museum. The entire process went surprisingly smoothly, as if some force in the universe was guiding him.

When he returned to the village, it was already noon. The sunlight shone down mercilessly, yet Mo Bai felt an unprecedented coolness. In front of the old house, a familiar police car was parked quietly. Captain Li stood leaning against the car door with folded arms, seeming to have been waiting for quite some time.

"You're back?" Captain Li's gaze fell on Mo Bai's empty hands, "Where did you go?"

Mo Bai revealed a tired but calm smile: "I went to do something I should have done long ago."

"We received a confirmed report that you excavated at least three ancestral graves and sold some of the cultural relics," Captain Li's tone was no longer as gentle as when they first met, "Now, we need you to cooperate with our investigation."

Mo Bai nodded, his gaze passing over the police car to the distant mountains. There lay his ancestors, and also the complicated history. Now, these secrets had embarked on a journey back to the river of history.

"I confess," Mo Bai said calmly, "I did excavate the ancestral graves, which is illegal. I am willing to bear the corresponding legal responsibility."

Captain Li's eyebrows raised slightly: "What about the cultural relics?"

"They have been properly placed," Mo Bai's tone was firm, "This is the only compensation I can make."

"You know this might aggravate your offense, right?" Captain Li lowered his voice, "If you could cooperate to recover the relics, your sentence might be reduced."

Mo Bai shook his head, without answering. The sunlight cast subtle shadows across his profile, outlining a silhouette that seemed almost tragic.

The police interrogation room emanated a cold-toned light. Mo Bai sat on a simple wooden chair, facing a tape recorder and a cultural artifact crime investigation specialist. After hours of continuous questioning, his voice had grown hoarse, but his attitude remained consistent: admitting to the excavation, but refusing to reveal the whereabouts of the artifacts.

"I don't understand what you're holding out for," the investigator took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. "If the artifacts have already entered the black market, that's an aggravating circumstance. If you're willing to cooperate, there might still be room for redemption."

Mo Bai's fingers tapped lightly on the table, rhythmic like some ancient ceremonial drumbeat: "Some things don't belong to individuals. I simply did what I believed was right."

Outside the interrogation room, Chen Xiaoyu stood in front of the one-way glass, nervously biting her lower lip. She had originally thought that reporting Mo Bai would set everything back on track, the cultural relics would be recovered, and history would be respected. But looking at that stubborn figure on the other side of the glass, an unprecedented wavering surged within her heart.

"Has he been like this the whole time?" She couldn't help asking the officer beside her.

"He's been like this since he came in." The officer sighed, "His attitude toward admitting guilt is good, but he won't budge an inch on the whereabouts of the cultural relics. Strange fellow, doesn't seem to be doing it for money."

Chen Xiaoyu stared at Mo Bai's tired but determined profile, recalling the documents he had shown her in the old mansion, those traces of the family's complicated history. Back then, she had only seen the illegal actions, but ignored the human struggles behind those papers.

The court set the hearing for this case one month later. Mo Bai was under criminal detention, but his silence like an undercurrent drew media attention. An article titled "Why Did the Antique Appraiser Rob His Ancestral Tomb: Searching for Truth or Wealth?" quickly spread across the internet.

In the village, Qin Zhengde stood in the center of the ancestral hall, staring at the plaque that read "Family of Loyal Heroes," his brows furrowed. He couldn't understand why Mo Bai had refused the five-hundred-thousand deal, nor what he had done with those cultural relics. But one thing was certain—the Qin family's secrets were no longer safe.

On the day of the trial, reporters and onlookers crowded outside the courthouse. This case attracted widespread attention due to its unusual nature—a professional antique appraiser had excavated his own ancestral grave but refused to disclose the whereabouts of the cultural relics. Mo Bai wore a simple white shirt, his face haggard but his gaze clear, like a shadow walking under the blazing sun, both distinct and indistinct. As the trial proceeded to the final statement phase, the judge asked Mo Bai if he had any final defense.

The courtroom was completely silent, with even breathing sounds suppressed to a minimum. Mo Bai stood up, his voice not loud but extraordinarily clear: "Your Honor, I admit that excavating ancestral graves violates the law, and I am willing to take responsibility for this. But I want to explain that I did this not for money, but for a family, a piece of history, and a forgotten truth."

He paused, looking toward Qin Zhengde in the audience: "My great-grandfather was recorded as an anti-Japanese hero, bringing pride to our family. But I discovered different records—he may have collaborated with the Japanese army. This plunged me into a moral dilemma: should I uphold an honor that might be a lie, or pursue a truth that might be cruel?"

The courtroom erupted in commotion, with reporters quickly noting this unexpected turn. "But the deeper I dug, the more blurred the truth became. I discovered that in that war-torn era, moral boundaries were not clearly distinguishable. My great-grandfather and his brothers might have been both traitors and heroes, betrayers and saviors simultaneously. They navigated through darkness, making compromises while holding firm to certain principles."

Mo Bai's voice trembled slightly: "I later understood that history is not simply black and white. It is composed of countless complex choices made by ordinary people in extraordinary times. Our current moral standards may not fully comprehend the decisions made in that era."

The judge interrupted him: "What does this have to do with your refusal to disclose the whereabouts of the cultural relics?"

Mo Bai looked directly into the judge's eyes: "Because those cultural relics and archives are both witnesses to history and the hidden pain of countless families. They should neither be privately traded and lost, nor be used to make simple judgments about good and evil. So I chose what I believed was the most appropriate way to handle them. As for their specific whereabouts, please allow me to remain silent. This is the last respect I can give to that period of history, and to my ancestors."

The courtroom fell silent, even the air seemed to have frozen. Mo Bai's words were like stones thrown into still water, creating ripples that were difficult to calm.

Eventually, the court sentenced Mo Bai to three years in prison with four years of probation for the crime of looting ancient tombs, along with a fine. Considering his voluntary surrender, confession, and display of remorse, the judge granted a relatively lenient sentence.

After the trial, reporters swarmed forward, trying to get more details. Mo Bai silently made his way through the crowd, only slipping a folded note to Chen Xiaoyu as they brushed past each other.

This small gesture didn't escape Chen Xiaoyu's notice. She clutched the note tightly, feeling its warmth in her palm. When the crowd dispersed, she carefully unfolded it—there was only a string of numbers, like some kind of code, and a small line of text: "National Museum collection archives, the truth has returned to the embrace of history."

Chen Xiaoyu's pupils dilated slightly, a complex emotion churning in her heart. She finally understood what Mo Bai had done—he had neither sold the artifacts nor kept them for himself, but had chosen an unexpected path: anonymously donating them to the National Museum.

This means that those cultural relics will receive professional protection and research, and historical truths will be revealed at the appropriate time, rather than becoming topics of casual conversation or bases for moral judgment.

This is a compromise, but also an insistence.

As the sun set, Chen Xiaoyu stood on the courthouse steps, watching Mo Bai's silhouette disappear in the distance, tightly gripping the note in her hand. The wind blew through her hair, also stirring certain perceptions that were quietly changing within her heart. Perhaps history, like human nature, can never be defined by simple black and white. And understanding this might just be the beginning of growing up.

She recalled Mo Bai's final statement at the trial: "We cannot expect everyone to be a hero, but we can respect each individual's effort to seek light in darkness." Chen Xiaoyu took a deep breath, and the world in her eyes seemed to have new colors. At the intersection of the courthouse's shadows and the evening sunlight, she made a decision—she would go to the National Museum to personally understand that piece of buried history.

Not to judge, but to understand. Not to simplify, but to restore those people who once lived and struggled, their choices, their efforts, and the traces they left behind—whether bright or dim, but unmistakably real.