Chapter 3: First Deal at the Ghost Market

The first light of dawn broke, painting the sky a scrubbed, pale blue as a thin veil of mist clung to the city. Chen Su walked along the bluestone path toward Antique City, his footsteps making a faint, rhythmic creak against the rain-slicked gaps in the stone.

Tucked inside his coat, a porcelain shard wrapped tightly in old newspaper felt warm to the touch. It pulsed like a living heart, radiating an unsettling heat through his clothes.

A Mao perched on his shoulder, black-bean eyes scanning the coarse ceramic bowls displayed by the roadside vendors. The cat flicked its tail in disdain, whiskers twitching, before turning its head away entirely, utterly ignoring the cheap, shimmering glaze of the wares.

A self-deprecating smile touched Chen Su’s lips. "Old pal, if even you can't stand this pile of junk, I guess I've come to the right place."

Along the street, shops began rolling up their shutters. The screech of metal tore through the morning silence, blending with the shush-shush of brooms sweeping the pavement. The air smelled of faint sandalwood and dust, laced with a subtle, barely perceptible scent of gunpowder. He quickened his pace, weaving through the growing crowd until he stopped in front of a shop bearing a plaque that read "Qingci Pavilion."

The bronze ring on the door gleamed with a cold light, exuding an air of aloofness that kept the world at arm's length—a sharp contrast to the noisy bustle of the marketplace.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the crisp chime of a windbell echoed through the hall. Su Qingci stood behind the counter, peering through a magnifying glass at a small blue-and-white vase, the morning light filtering through the carved windows to illuminate her pale fingers. She didn't look up at the sound of his entry, her voice flat and distant. "I'm only buying today, not selling. If you're just browsing, try next door."

Chen Su didn't answer. He walked straight up to her and lightly touched the bottom of the vase. In an instant, the Time Patina layer unfolded within his pupils; countless fragments of history swirled across his retina like a flickering zoetrope.

He looked at the kiln marks that had been deliberately sanded away and spoke in a low voice. "This vase... when it hit the south city second-hand market three years ago, the 'Great Ming' mark on the bottom was still there. Later, someone sanded it down three layers deep just to swap it for a 'Qianlong' attribution mark, right?"

Su Qingci froze. She looked up, a sharp glint flashing in her cold eyes as she sized up the dust-covered Scrap Station worker. Her gaze was like a blade.

Chen Su continued, "Sanded that aggressively... they must have been terrified someone would realize it was a fake. Boss Su, your sourcing channels haven't been very clean lately."

Su Qingci narrowed her eyes, the rhythm of her fingers tapping on the table accelerating. The sharp clicks sounded jarringly loud in the quiet hall. "Stop playing word games," she said coldly. "I don't have time for your stories. Either bring me something to appraise, or get out."

Chen Su chuckled and pulled the newspaper-wrapped Ru Ware shard from his coat, placing it carefully on the red sandalwood table. The cool scent of the wood immediately enveloped the earthy smell of the fragment. Su Qingci glanced at it, her brow furrowing. "A broken piece of porcelain from the Scrap Station? I don't sell sympathy here."

Chen Su didn't flinch. He picked up the shard, his vision focusing as the Patina Value data materialized before him like flowing light. Pointing to a faint, ghostly celadon glow at the break, he said, "The break was eroded by acid, but the agate glaze in the bone is still there."

"Look beneath this dusty surface. The kiln worker's fingerprint is blurred, but the iron oxide deposits within the ridges have a Patina Value of at least a hundred years. This isn't just some scrap; this is the lost sky-blue glaze of Ru Ware. Back in the day, Tang Baichuan used acid to artificially age it, forging it as a Song Dynasty piece to fleece unsuspecting collectors."

Su Qingci’s pupils contracted. The indifference on her face wavered. She quickly donned white gloves and grabbed her magnifying glass for a closer look, her fingers trembling slightly, her breathing quickening.

After a moment, she set the glass down. Her voice remained cold, but the distance had vanished. "What's the Patina Value?"

Chen Su held up two fingers. "Eight hundred and twenty. For a genuine piece from the last century, that number crushes every fake on the market."

Su Qingci took a deep breath and turned toward her private office, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor. She retrieved a yellowed ledger from a safe, flipped to a specific page, and pointed to a line of small print. "Three years ago, a Ru Ware fragment entered the black market. The buyer was anonymous; the seller was one of Tang Baichuan's informants."

"This piece is the key evidence to dismantling his entire forgery chain."

Chen Su felt a jolt in his chest. He hadn't expected this unremarkable shard to be such a powder keg; a chill crept up his spine.

Su Qingci pulled a check from a drawer, tore it off, signed a figure, and tossed it on the table. "One million. Cashier's check. Take it."

Chen Su looked at the thin slip of paper and let out a soft laugh. "Boss Su, is this million enough to buy my silence so I don't go bothering Tang Baichuan?"

Su Qingci shot him a frigid look. "I don't need to buy your silence. I need you to stay alive, and I need this shard to stay with me for three days. Tang Baichuan has been making big moves lately. You can't seize all his stock, but you can tear down his game. If you do, I'll cover your back."

Chen Su took the check and tucked it into his inner pocket; the warmth against his skin provided a small comfort. A Mao immediately rubbed against his chest, those black eyes staring at the check as if confirming the aura of real wealth within. Satisfied, the cat let out a purr.

Chen Su didn't leave immediately. "Boss Su, can you teach me how to do a rubbing of the ancient script on this piece?"

Su Qingci arched an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I want to keep some of the Patina Value to unlock Restoration and Ancient Script Fluency," Chen Su replied. "With the rubbing technique, I can fully extract the information from the kiln worker's fingerprint. That's evidence Tang Baichuan can't deny."

Su Qingci remained silent for a moment, then turned and retrieved a set of rubbing tools from a shelf, handing them to him. "The method is crude, but the principle is sound. Watch the humidity of the paper—too dry and it cracks, too wet and it smudges."

Chen Su took the tools, his fingers touching the rough xuan paper as the Time Patina layer activated in his mind once more. He carefully pressed down on the fingerprint traces of the shard. The scent of ink filled the air as clear ridges gradually emerged on the paper. Looking at those prints, he felt as if he could see the focused gaze of the craftsman from a century ago, and a wave of warmth surged through him.

Suddenly, a commotion of footsteps erupted downstairs, followed by the sound of shattering glass, shattering the silence of the room. Su Qingci’s expression shifted instantly. She hurried to the window and peered through the blinds. Several figures in black were prowling toward the Scrap Station, one of them speaking rapidly into a walkie-talkie.

Su Qingci turned, her eyes fierce. "Tang Baichuan's people are here. They've targeted your Scrap Station. This is the final warning. Leave. Now."

Chen Su pocketed the check and straightened his collar. "Don't worry, I know the back ways."

Su Qingci pointed to the door. "Don't be a hero. Tang Baichuan prizes his reputation more than his life, but he never leaves a trace when he kills for profit. Holding that shard makes you his natural enemy."

Chen Su gave a wry smile and patted her shoulder. "Boss Su, drinks are on me next time. I owe you one."

"Don't thank me," she replied coldly. "It's just business."

The moment Chen Su pushed open the back door, a blast of cold wind whipped his clothes. He vanished quickly into the shadows of a narrow alley. The surrounding brick walls were cold and damp, smelling of moss. Suddenly, two bodyguards in black suits lunged from a street corner, blocking his path.

The leader held a contract, his face twisted with malice. "Chen Su, be smart and hand it over. Mr. Tang said as long as the fragment is in hand, he'll double the price."

Chen Su narrowed his eyes, the Patina Value data dancing wildly in his vision. He looked at the ink on the contract and sneered. "Double? Is your boss braindead? He can't afford this thing."

The bodyguard blinked, stunned by the blatant contempt. His expression darkened, and the collapsible baton in his hand trembled. "You're turning down a polite offer."

Chen Su didn't waste another word. He blurred into motion, smashing through a flimsy fence beside him. The sound of snapping iron rang out in the silence as he vanished into the labyrinth of alleys. In the distance, A Mao let out a piercing shriek, startling a flock of sparrows into the air, their feathers drifting down like snowflakes.

Leaning against a cold wall, Chen Su gasped for air, rainwater and cold sweat dripping from his skin. He gripped the check tightly, his knuckles white. He knew that from this moment on, he was no longer just a worker at the Scrap Station; he was standing in the center of the storm.

Tang Baichuan's shadow had fallen over him, heavy and oppressive. He had to find the crack that led to the truth before that shadow swallowed him whole, even if it meant staring into a bottomless abyss.

As night fell like ink, Chen Su didn't go home. Instead, he turned into the "Ghost Market" in the south of the city. A melting pot of the desperate and the dangerous, it was the most secretive trading hub in town. The moment he stepped into the narrow lane, a heavy silence descended. Every vendor stopped shouting their wares, their wary eyes scanning him.

"Move." A raspy voice drifted from the shadows.

Chen Su didn't stop, walking straight through the crowd. Ahead sat a battered bamboo table, and behind it sat a gaunt man with gold-rimmed glasses—the legendary appraisal genius whom even Tang Baichuan feared: Lao Gui Shen.

Lao Gui Shen didn't look up. Using an antique magnifying glass, he aimed from a distance at Chen Su’s fingers, which were still clutching the check. "The fact that Su Qingci dared to take it means you have the goods. But my offer is three times hers, plus something you'd never imagine—the key to the Bronze Tomb."

Chen Su’s pupils shrank, alarm bells screaming in his head. Lao Gui Shen slowly looked up, a cold glint flashing behind his lenses. "Tang Baichuan's men are hunting you through every street. You think you can escape? Now, either give me the complete Patina map of the Ru Ware shard, or tonight is the night you're buried in the Ghost Market. Remember, I never give second chances."

Chen Su gripped the check, his knuckles popping. The wind swept dead leaves against his face, biting and cold. He looked up at Lao Gui Shen, a streak of resolve in his eyes. "The map isn't on me—it's in my head. If you want to buy it, use your own life to buy the time."