Gray, this was Qin Mo Bai's first impression of prison. Cold cement walls, faded blue and white striped prison uniforms, even the metal trays in the cafeteria gave off a kind of dull grayness.

The expressions of the prison guards also seemed to be cut from the same lead-gray paper, devoid of any warmth.


In his first days in prison, Mo Bai barely spoke to anyone. During the day, he folded cardboard boxes in the factory area with other inmates; at night, he would lie alone on his narrow bunk, staring at the concrete ceiling above, letting his thoughts wander in the darkness.

Initially, anger and resentment were his only companions. Against the injustice of fate, his circumstances, and those who judged him easily—he had built a fortress of bitterness in his heart. However, as time passed, this fortress began to show cracks.

"Qin Mo Bai, you have a visitor." In his third month of imprisonment, these words broke his routine.


Walking into the visiting room, through the glass partition, he saw Chen Xiaoyu sitting opposite him, her hands nervously clasped together. She was thinner than he remembered, with faint shadows under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well for a long time.

The two of them, separated by the phone, felt as strange as if they were meeting for the first time. "I went to the National Museum," Chen Xiaoyu got straight to the point, her voice slightly hoarse, "I found those artifacts according to the numbers you gave me."


Mo Bai didn't respond, just calmly looked at her.

"They're undergoing protective restoration," Chen Xiaoyu paused, "I didn't tell anyone that you were the donor."

"What are you trying to say?" Mo Bai finally spoke, his voice calmer than expected.

Chen Xiaoyu took a deep breath: "I want to say that I was wrong. Not wrong in my decision to report you, but in my understanding of the whole matter being too simplistic." Her eyes flickered with some complex emotion, "I thought the world could be simply divided into right and wrong, but now I'm not so sure."

Mo Bai listened, his expression not changing in the slightest. "The museum researchers said that the materials you provided might rewrite some historical understandings."

She bit her lip and added, "I applied for an internship opportunity to participate in this research project. I want... I want to understand that truth for myself."

At the end of the meeting, Mo Bai didn't say much. But upon returning to his cell, he found himself starting to pay attention to the solitary poplar tree in the yard—this was the first time since his imprisonment that he truly "saw" the world outside his window.

Managing the prison library became Mo Bai's new task. Those yellowed pages and the congealed smell of ink reminded him of the old documents in the ancient mansion. He began to read, from philosophy to history, from literature to science, as if trying to make up for all the knowledge he had missed.

Every two weeks, Chen Xiaoyu would come to visit, bringing news from the outside world. At first, Mo Bai was indifferent to her visits, but gradually, he found himself beginning to look forward to these meetings.

"The professor from the museum said that among the cultural relics you donated, there's a particularly important letter," Chen Xiaoyu said during a visit. "It's a private correspondence from a Japanese official to Qin Mingyuan, confirming that he was indeed passing intelligence to anti-Japanese resistance forces."

Mo Bai's eyes flickered: "What about Qin Mingzhi?"

"More complicated." Chen Xiaoyu's voice trembled slightly. "Evidence shows he did collaborate with the Japanese army, but he also secretly protected many villagers. This has caused endless debates in the research group—how should we evaluate such a historical figure?"

Mo Bai said softly: "A gray area. The ancestor once said, it's difficult to be a human, but even more difficult to be someone caught in a dilemma."

This was their first real conversation, without accusations, without defensiveness, just two people trying to understand the complexity of history exchanging ideas.

The next spring, an announcement for a prison cultural relics restoration training program was posted on the bulletin board. This was a collaborative project between the cultural department and the judicial system, offering professional skills training for inmates with potential. Mobai signed up without hesitation.

"Why did you choose this?" a fellow inmate from the same cell block asked curiously.

Mobai gazed into the distance, his long-uncut hair slightly covering his eyes: "Because restoration is much harder than destruction."

The training class met twice a week, with an instructor from the local museum's restoration department. Mobai's professional background helped him quickly master the basic techniques. His hands were steady and precise, as if he was born for this kind of work.

"What did you do before?" the instructor asked after class one day. "Antique appraisal," Mobai answered briefly.

The instructor nodded with understanding: "No wonder you have such a discerning eye. You know, our field is most in need of people who understand both appraisal and restoration."

This casual remark planted a seed for Ben's future.

In the early summer of the third year, Chen Xiaoyu brought surprising news: "Ben, Professor Xu and his team have completed their preliminary research and are preparing to publish a monograph on 'grey zone' figures in North China during the Japanese occupation. Your family history will be featured as one of the core case studies."

Ben's fingers tapped lightly on the table: "How will they handle the question of honor and shame?"

"That's the most complex part," Chen Xiaoyu's eyes sparkled with scholarly enthusiasm. "The research group believes that the traditional binary evaluation system cannot be applied to this period of history. They've proposed the concept of 'survival strategies' to understand the logic behind choices made under extreme pressure."

Ben remained silent for a long time: "Great-grandmother was right, the Qin family isn't some lineage of loyal martyrs... but it's not all shame either. It's just... complex people making complex choices."

That winter, representatives from the Provincial Cultural Relics Bureau came to the prison and had a long talk with Mo Bai. A week later, he received a notice of early parole, on the condition that he would work at the Provincial Cultural Relics Restoration Center, utilizing his professional expertise.

The day he left prison was exceptionally clear. Mo Bai stood outside the iron gate, the sunlight so bright it made him squint. Three years of imprisonment had carved deep lines on his face, but also taken away the confusion and anger in his eyes. Chen Xiaoyu stood a short distance away, holding a bouquet of simple white flowers. "Welcome back," she said softly.

The Jiangling City Cultural Relics Restoration Center in the south was situated among a cluster of ancient buildings, far from the city's hustle and bustle. Mo Bai's studio was in a side courtyard on the west, with abundant but not harsh light, ideal for detailed restoration work.

At first, colleagues were quite wary of this newcomer with a "criminal record." Mo Bai didn't mind; he simply focused on the work at hand. Bronze artifacts, ceramics, paper documents—he poured all his energy into restoring each cultural relic, as if by repairing these fragments of history, he could also repair his own shattered soul.

"Mo Bai, take a look at this Shang Dynasty bronze artifact." The director placed a rust-covered bronze ritual vessel on his desk. "It was reportedly recovered after being trafficked through illegal channels. It's severely damaged and needs an experienced hand like yours."

Mo Bai carefully examined the bronze vessel, his fingers gently tracing every pattern. He was so focused that it seemed as if only he and this artifact, which carried three thousand years of history, existed in the world.

"It can be restored, but it will take time," he finally said.

For the next half year, Mo Bai practically lived in the workshop.

Colleagues gradually discovered that this silent man possessed astonishing restoration skills and a profound reverence for history. His reputation slowly spread, and he was no longer "that prisoner who dug up his own family's grave," but rather "Foster Qin from the cultural relics restoration center."

Mo Bai's life gradually fell into a routine. In the early morning, he would practice tai chi in the nearby small park; during the day, he would immerse himself completely in restoration work; in the evening, he would pore over various historical materials and restoration technique documents. Occasionally, he would receive emails from Chen Xiaoyu, updating him on her research progress. The two maintained a subtle connection, neither close nor distant.

"Mo Bai, I have good news," the director called excitedly one weekend. "The National Museum is organizing a special exhibition called 'Gray Zone—Civilian Resistance During the Japanese Occupation Period,' and they want to invite our center to participate in the restoration and display of some cultural relics. I recommended you."

Mo Bai's teacup froze midair: "What kind of relics?"

"Mainly a batch of archives and artifacts from the Japanese occupation period, said to have great research value... Wait, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Mo Bai put down his cup, his voice unusually calm, "I'm good."

After hanging up the phone, he stood by the window, gazing into the distance for a long time.

Outside the window, a light rain was quietly falling, wetting the stone path in the courtyard. Raindrops bloomed on the stone surface, then quickly disappeared without a trace, like those small but crucial choices in time.

The special exhibition at the National Museum had been in preparation for half a year. As a technical consultant, Mo Bai participated in the restoration and display design of multiple artifacts. He rarely interacted with the research team, just quietly completing his work, as if he were merely an outsider. Two weeks before the exhibition opened, Mo Bai received a special email.

Chen Xiaoyu wrote in the email: "Professor Xu has found the descendants of Meiko, the Japanese woman mentioned in Qin Mingyuan's notes. She has brought some new materials confirming the complex relationship between your great-grandfather and Qin Mingyuan—they were not opponents, but complementary to each other. One worked in the open, the other in secret, jointly protecting that village."

Attached to the end of the email was a photo, a restored old photograph: two young men standing side by side, with the silhouette of a blurry village in the background. Mo Bai recognized them at once—they were Qin Mingzhi and Qin Mingyuan, both with serious yet determined expressions, as if facing an inescapable destiny.

On the opening day of the exhibition, the rain cleared and the sky brightened. The National Museum was crowded with people, and various media outlets competed to report on this highly anticipated academic event. Mo Bai chose to enter through the side door, avoiding the main crowd. The exhibition hall design was simple yet profound, with gray as the main color tone, accented by dim light sources, creating an atmosphere that was oppressive yet not without hope. Mo Bai slowly walked through the various exhibition areas, looking at the cultural relics and archives that had once passed through his hands and had now been organized and researched.

"Mr. Qin." Mo Bai turned around and saw Chen Xiaoyu standing behind him. Five years had passed, and she had grown from an impulsive graduate student into a composed scholar. Her gaze no longer held the simple justice from textbooks, replaced instead by a profound understanding of complexity.

"Xiaoyu," Mo Bai nodded in greeting, his voice gentle.

"This way, please." She made a gesture, leading him toward a special exhibition area deep within the hall.

Turning around the corner, Mo Bai stopped in his tracks. Under the dim light, a plaque inscribed with "Family of Loyal Martyrs" hung quietly on the wall. The description plate below detailed the complex history behind this plaque—there was honor and deception; sacrifice and compromise; light and shadow.

"Professor Xu believes this is the most valuable exhibit in the entire exhibition," Chen Xiaoyu said softly, "because it is itself a perfect symbol of the contradictions of history."

Mo Bai stood before the plaque, lost in thought. This tablet, once hung in the Qin family ancestral hall, had witnessed the rise and fall, glory and disgrace of several generations of the family, and had now become evidence of the complexity of an era.

"The Qin Village agreed to donate this plaque?" he asked. "Qin Zhengde personally delivered it," Chen Xiaoyu replied, "He said that rather than letting it continue to carry a vague myth, it would be better to let it tell a complex but true story."

Mo Bai nodded gently, a sense of indescribable tranquility welling up in his heart. Perhaps this was the outcome he had truly yearned for deep inside when excavating ancestral graves and searching for truth—not a simple judgment of right or wrong, but a calm acceptance of the complexity of history and human nature.

"I would like to ask for your help," Mo Bai said to Chen Xiaoyu after the exhibition ended. "I'm restoring a Shang Dynasty bronze artifact with some special patterns that require historical reference materials. Your research foundation is solid—could you assist me?"

It was a simple request, yet also an attempt at reconciliation. Chen Xiaoyu smiled slightly and nodded in agreement.

The evening sunlight streamed through the glass windows, casting long shadows at their feet. Light and dark, just like those lives in history that cannot be simply defined.