After the funeral, the clan members gradually departed, and Lu Mobai returned to the old house alone. The house was filled with the smell of mildew and dust, with decades of history hanging like an invisible veil over every piece of furniture and every inch of wall. He stood in the main hall, his gaze once again falling on the plaque that read "Family of Loyal Martyrs."

If what great-grandmother said was true, this plaque was no longer a symbol of honor, but a carefully woven lie, a family disgrace.


Footsteps from outside interrupted Lu Mobai's thoughts. He turned to see a burly middle-aged man in fine clothes standing at the doorway. "Mr. Lu? I'm Old Wei, we've met at the auction before, do you remember?" The man smiled and extended his hand.

Lu Mobai vaguely recalled this generous businessman from an antique auction a few years ago. "I remember, Boss Wei."

"Ah, I heard your grandmother passed away. I wanted to come pay my respects but didn't expect to arrive too late." Old Wei showed a regretful expression and looked around. "This old house is built wonderfully—a wooden structure from the Qing Dynasty, preserved quite well."


Qin Mobai remained composed: "Is Manager Wei here to see the ancient architecture?" Old Wei smiled: "Not entirely. I heard that the Qin family has an old residence in this area, built between late Qing Dynasty and early Republic of China. There are rumors that there are some historically valuable items in the ancestral graves behind the house."

Qin Mobai's heartbeat suddenly accelerated: "What items?"


"Well, I've only heard rumors." Old Wei gave him a meaningful look. "But I am indeed interested in cultural relics, especially items from the Republic of China period. If you're willing, I can fund a private archaeological excavation for you."

Qin Mobai frowned: "Those are my family's ancestral graves."

"I know this sounds somewhat disrespectful, but you're also a professional who understands the value of cultural relics. If there really are historical artifacts, rather than letting them rot underground, it's better to dig them up and put them to good use." Old Wei took a check from his suit's inner pocket, wrote down a figure, and pushed it in front of Qin Mobai. "This is the deposit. If there are any discoveries, there will be profit-sharing afterward."

Qin Mobai looked at the figure on the check, enough to clear all his debts and support his life for more than half a year. He recalled his great-grandmother's final words, his uncle's evasive gaze, and that possibly forged "Family of Martyrs" plaque.

His fingers lightly touched the uneven characters on the plaque. The wood had begun to decay, but those characters still stubbornly proclaimed an honor that might not have existed. The air in the room was stagnant and heavy, and the sound of rain outside seemed like an echo from a distant world.

The check on the table emitted an enticing glow, like a key that could unlock Pandora's box.

The moon hid behind the clouds, providing Qin Mobai with the perfect cover.

The village was silent in the dead of night, with only occasional dog barks echoing from afar, like warnings against the darkness.

Qin Mobai stood in the backyard of the old house, gripping a garden trowel—he had no professional digging tools, only this rusty iron shovel he found in the old house.

He had been tossing and turning in bed for three consecutive nights, his grandmother's dying words branded into his heart like hot iron: "The Qin family is not a family of loyal heroes... your great-grandfather was a traitor... the truth is buried in the ancestral grave..." Whenever he closed his eyes, those words echoed in the darkness, while bills, rent, and hunger simultaneously pressed down on him.

Tonight, he finally made a decision.

It wasn't that he hadn't hesitated.

During the day, he had stood in front of the ancestral grave for a full hour, feeling as if the ancestral tablets were silently condemning him. There has always been a folk saying that "digging up ancestral graves ruins descendants," and the education he received since childhood gave him an instinctive reverence for ancestral graves. But another voice in his mind grew increasingly stronger: if the foundation of his life was a lie, if his renowned great-grandfather was actually a traitor who collaborated with Japanese invaders, then what meaning did this reverence still hold?

Mo Bai pulled up his hood, secured the shovel on his backpack, and quietly left the old house. The dirt roads in the village were covered with a thin layer of dew, making his footsteps almost silent. He avoided the few households that still had lights on and walked along the outskirts of the village toward the mountain.

The Qin family's ancestral graves were located on a small hill behind the village, occupying a spot with excellent feng shui. Great-grandmother had mentioned while she was alive that the old cemetery and the newly relocated graves were separated. According to the family genealogy, his great-grandfather Qin Mingzhi had died in 1938 and was buried in the "old cemetery."

The mountain path was winding and overgrown with weeds. Qin Mobai turned on his phone's flashlight function, the weak beam piercing through the darkness to illuminate the narrow path ahead. The rustling sound of leaves stirred by the wind made him stop every few steps to look around, making sure no one was following him.

The old cemetery was more desolate than he had imagined. Dense wild grass had nearly buried all the tombstones, and some ancient graves were so weathered that their shapes were barely recognizable. Qin Mobai fumbled his way through the undergrowth until finally stopping before a broken stone tablet.

Moonlight penetrated through the clouds, making the characters on the stone tablet faintly visible: The Tomb of Qin Mingzhi.

"I'm sorry, great-grandfather." Mo Bai said in a low voice, not sure who he was apologizing to—whether to the ancestor who might be a hero, or to the ancestor who might be a traitor. Perhaps both.

He took out a garden shovel from his backpack and began to clear the weeds around the tombstone. With each scoop, the torment of his conscience increased, but the desire for knowledge and economic pressure drove him to continue. This was not only about truth, but also about survival.

The moment the shovel first touched the grave soil, a cold wind suddenly blew through, accompanied by the rustling sound of withered leaves. Qin Mo Bai shuddered, almost letting go of the shovel. Was it an illusion? He seemed to hear a long sigh.

"Calm down, it's just the wind." He told himself, forcing himself to concentrate.

The early autumn soil was relatively soft, but after starting work, he discovered that this job was far more difficult than he had imagined. He wasn't a professional grave robber, nor did he have suitable tools. After digging for less than half an hour, blisters had already formed on his hands, and sweat had soaked through his shirt.

The shovel suddenly hit something hard, making a dull sound. Qin Mobai's heart raced as he slowed his digging pace. He carefully cleared away the surrounding soil, revealing a wooden coffin lid buried underneath. The wood had already decayed, showing a dark brown color, with simple patterns carved on its surface.

Time and moisture had softened the wooden boards of the coffin. Qin Mobai gently pried up one corner of the coffin lid with his shovel, surprisingly finding almost no resistance. The decaying wooden boards made subtle cracking sounds at the breaking points, and a mixture of soil and decay odor rushed toward his face.

Qin Mobai suppressed his nausea and fear as he opened his phone's flashlight and shone it into the coffin. There was no horrifying sight as he had imagined—time had already dissolved the flesh, leaving only yellowed bones and some burial objects.

Beside the skeletal remains, a metal box caught his attention. Unlike the surrounding decayed environment, this box was relatively well-preserved, with only some verdigris on its surface. Qin Mobai reached out and gently picked up the box, which was unexpectedly heavy.

He moved his phone light closer to see the pattern on the box clearly—a chrysanthemum emblem, surrounded by some foreign text that looked like Japanese. His heart sank. The chrysanthemum was the symbol of the Japanese imperial family, and this box was likely an item from the Japanese occupation period.

With trembling hands, he opened the lid of the box to reveal a stack of yellowed documents and several small items. In the dim light, Qin Mobai recognized that one of the documents bore the seal of the "Empire of Japan," dated 1941. Although he couldn't immediately read all the contents, he could clearly see the words "Commendation Order" on the document.

Inside the box, there was also a bronze badge, a small seal, and an old photograph protected by plastic film. In the photo, a Chinese man wearing a Japanese military officer's uniform stood among several Japanese officers, his face bearing a humble yet proud smile.

With his professional eye as an antique appraiser, Qin Mobai recognized the era of the photograph—early 1940s. And the face of the Chinese man in the photo bore a terrifying resemblance to the picture of his great-grandfather that he had once seen in the family genealogy. "No..." he murmured, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the edges of the photograph.

Grandmother's words, the clan leader's unusual behavior, that contradictory plaque—all the puzzling points seemed to find their explanation in this moment.

The world seemed to spin. Qin Mobai collapsed sitting at the edge of the grave pit, his mind flashing back to the clan genealogy he had memorized as a child: "Our ancestor Ming Zhi, heroic martyr in the anti-Japanese war, sacrificed himself for the country, bringing glory to our family name..." But now, the evidence before his eyes mercilessly shredded this proud memory.

He didn't know how long he had sat by the grave until the eastern sky began to pale, and he suddenly realized dawn was approaching. He quickly packed the metal box and its contents into his backpack, restored the gravesite as much as possible, then hurriedly left.

Returning to the old house, Qin Mobai carefully laid out the discovered items on the table. In the morning light, these pieces of evidence appeared more clear and cruel. Through a preliminary translation of the documents, he confirmed the most terrible truth—his great-grandfather Qin Mingzhi was not only not an anti-Japanese hero, but had been a translator and informant for the Japanese army, repeatedly assisting in "clearing out" anti-Japanese guerrilla forces. The documents recorded rewards he had received for his "special contributions."

Qin Mobai's hands were shaking, his stomach churning. At this very moment, his phone rang. It was a text message—the landlord urging him again about the rent, threatening to have the room cleared out if payment wasn't made within five days. The glaring numbers on the screen seemed to mock him.

He put all his belongings into an iron box, hid it under a loose floorboard beneath his bed, then collapsed onto the bed exhausted, falling into an uneasy sleep. In his dream, he was a little boy, standing under the big tree at the entrance of the village, looking at the hanging plaque that read "Family of Loyal Heroes," his heart filled with pride. His father—that vague figure who had left this world too early—gently patted his shoulder and said: "Be an honorable man of the Qin family." The dream suddenly distorted, the golden characters on the plaque turned into dripping blood, and those droplets of blood formed Japanese symbols under his gaze.

What interrupted his nightmare was a knocking sound at the door. Qin Mobai sat up abruptly, discovering that it was already evening outside the window; he had slept the entire day. He rubbed his swollen eyes and dragged his exhausted body to open the door.

Outside the door stood a young woman, carrying a bulging backpack, dressed in casual outdoor clothing, looking to be in her early twenties, with a delicate face showing the characteristic inexperience and curiosity of a student.

"Hello, are you Mr. Qin?" the girl asked politely.

Qin Mobai frowned: "And you are?"

"My name is Chen Xiaoyu, I'm a graduate student from the Archaeology Department at Provincial University," she introduced herself. "I'm conducting field research on rural architectural culture during the Republic of China era. Villagers told me you're a descendant of the Qin family, and I'd like to ask you some questions about the old residence."

Qin Mobai looked at her vigilantly, uncertain whether this was merely a coincidence. "It's not very convenient right now. Could you come back tomorrow?"

"I'm really sorry to disturb your rest." Chen Xiaoyu looked somewhat disappointed, but quickly added, "By the way, today while I was exploring the mountain behind the village, I discovered some interesting traces. There's an old grave that seems to have been recently disturbed. Do you know anything about this? The villagers all say no one has been there lately."

Qin Mobai felt a chill spreading from his spine. "I don't know, perhaps it was wild animals."

Chen Xiaoyu tilted her head, her expression becoming investigative: "Wild animals don't use shovels. I saw clear shovel marks, and they're very fresh. As archaeology students, we're very sensitive to these kinds of traces." She hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice and said, "If someone is excavating ancient tombs, that's illegal."

The air between them suddenly became tense. Qin Mobai could feel his heart rate accelerating, but he tried hard to maintain his composure.

"You suspect I dug up a grave?" Chen Xiaoyu looked directly into his eyes: "I didn't say that. But that grave belongs to the Qin family, and as far as I know, you are the only direct descendant of the Qin family in town."

"Then what do you plan to do? Call the police?" Qin Mobai asked coldly.

To his surprise, Chen Xiaoyu shook her head: "I'm here to do research, not to cause trouble. It's just... if you are indeed conducting some kind of archaeological activity, I hope to participate. As a professional, I can ensure everything is done according to standards, avoiding damage to historical artifacts."

Qin Mobai didn't know how to respond. This girl who suddenly appeared was both a threat and potentially a helper. But what he needed most now was time—time to organize those findings, time to think about the next step. "Where are you staying?" he asked.

"At Grandma Li's house at the village entrance."

"Come find me tomorrow afternoon, I can show you the architecture of the old house. As for other matters, I don't know what you're talking about." After saying this, Qin Mobai closed the door.

He leaned against the door, listening to Chen Xiaoyu's departing footsteps, feeling a touch of unease. Just a student, or someone with other motives? A student from the archaeology department suddenly appearing in the village, coincidentally on the second day after he excavated his ancestral tomb—this seemed too convenient to be mere chance.

In the evening, Qin Mobai took out some small artifacts discovered in the tomb—things that wouldn't immediately reveal the whole truth but were sufficient to prove their historical value. He contacted Old Wei and arranged to meet at the small restaurant at the village entrance.

The restaurant was filled with swirling smoke, with several drunken villagers making loud noises. Old Wei was already waiting in a corner seat with a bottle of white liquor and several plates of side dishes in front of him. Seeing Qin Mobai enter, he waved his hand.

"Mo Bai, come, sit down." Old Wei's face was full of smiles as he poured him a glass of wine. "Do you have any good news?" Qin Mo Bai looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them, then took a small cloth package from his pocket and pushed it to the center of the table. Old Wei quickly took the package and opened it under the table.

It was a bronze badge and a small seal, both with obvious characteristics from the Japanese colonial period. Old Wei's eyes immediately lit up as he carefully examined every detail under the light, his professional gaze flickering with greedy radiance.

"Good stuff, really good stuff." Old Wei lowered his voice, but his eyes never left the items in his hand. "Preserved so perfectly, and as a matching set too. Do you know what these two items meant during the Japanese occupation?"

"I can probably guess." Qin Mobai's voice was muffled. "This is the identity symbol of a 'Collaborator.'" Old Wei stroked the surface of the badge, "At that time, for a Chinese person to possess this level of badge, they were either a high-ranking traitor, or..."

"Or what?"

　"A spy." Old Wei narrowed his eyes, "The high-level kind. An insider within enemy lines."

Qin Mobai felt dizzy.

A spy? This was a possibility he had never considered. If his great-grandfather was truly a spy, then how did they earn the title of a "Family of Loyalty and Martyrdom"? This new piece of information made the mystery even more complex.

Old Wei seemed to notice his shock and consoled him: "Don't overthink it, history is always complicated. These days, whose family doesn't have a few complex figures in their ancestry? What matters is that these items are quite valuable now." He pulled out a stack of cash from his wallet and pushed it in front of Qin Mobai, "This is the deposit. If you can find more related items—especially documents, photos, diaries and such—the reward will be even more generous."

Qin Mobai stared at the stack of money. For a moment he wanted to push it back, but thoughts of rent, bills, and his empty refrigerator flashed through his mind. He finally reached out to take the cash, feeling the weight in his palm like some invisible shackle.

"There's more, but I need time to sort through it," he said in a low voice.

Old Wei showed a satisfied smile: "Good, take your time, there's no rush. This kind of thing requires caution." He paused, then thoughtfully added, "Of course, if you're willing, I can introduce some professionals to help. Better equipment, higher efficiency."

Qin Mobai immediately became alert: "Not necessary. I will handle my own family affairs."

"Suit yourself." Old Wei shrugged, raising his glass, "To our cooperation."

Outside the window, raindrops began to tap against the glass, making crisp sounds as they collided.

Mobai drank the strong liquor, feeling its burning pain in his throat.