Bianliang in Eastern Capital was an extremely prosperous city. Many merchants and travelers came and went through Bianliang, all declaring that no other city in the world could match its prosperity and beauty.

Even someone as arrogant as Zhao Ji deeply agreed with this sentiment. The layout of Bianjing no longer followed the Tang Dynasty capital’s closed ward system. As long as merchants paid their taxes, they could open shops anywhere. These new districts lined up in rows with houses standing in forests. The shops on both sides of the streets had uniform eaves and awnings, filled with precious artifacts and goods from various regions. People and carriages moved back and forth on the roads in a scene of peaceful prosperity.

Before the Song Dynasty, the opening of markets had strict curfew restrictions, with city gates and ward gates closing after nightfall. But after the Song Dynasty, these restrictions were broken. The previous emperor, Song Shenzong, had even developed many night markets, further promoting the prosperity of the streets. Although opening shops had become easier, the East Street lined with long-established shops rarely had openings for new stores to join. So when Zhao Lingrang mentioned that the antique shop had opened on East Street, Zhao Ji immediately knew this antique shop must have significant backing.

Without real strength, how could one possibly open a shop on East Street?

“Cousin, we’re here.” Hearing Zhao Lingrang’s voice, Zhao Ji looked up and saw two seal script characters on the ancient shop front. He nodded in approval: “Mute House—this name has real taste. Compared to names like ‘Xuande Pavilion’ or ‘Three Treasures Hall,’ it’s much more elegant.” Zhao Lingrang knew this antique shop would definitely suit Zhao Ji’s taste and smiled proudly: “I knew cousin would like it. But I only heard about this Mute House from others—I’ve never been inside. If cousin finds it all show and no substance, don’t blame me!”

Before Zhao Ji could respond, they saw the antique shop’s main door creak open just a crack, and a two-year-old boy squeezed out through the gap.

Zhao Ji found the child adorable and fair, wondering whose little young master he might be, when his attention was completely captured by the bronze sword the boy was holding.

To say “holding” wasn’t quite accurate, because the sword’s length almost matched the little boy’s height. Given his age, he couldn’t actually lift such a heavy bronze sword, so he gripped the sword’s hilt with both hands while the scabbard’s tip dragged on the ground. Though it was an undrawn bronze sword, with Zhao Ji’s discerning eye, he could already tell this bronze sword was at least a famous artifact from the Spring and Autumn or Warring States period.

Zhao Lingrang had also grown up playing with antiques. Seeing the little boy dragging the bronze sword outside like that, his heart ached as he quickly bent down to help lift the sword tip. With this brief contact, Zhao Lingrang clearly saw the bird seal script carved on the scabbard and immediately shuddered, exclaiming: “Cousin, this is a genuine King of Yue sword!”

Zhao Ji raised an eyebrow. The Song Dynasty favored literature over martial arts, so he wasn’t particularly interested in the famous King of Yue sword. But this antique shop actually gave such a precious artifact to a two-year-old child as a toy—one could imagine what other treasures lay within. Zhao Ji’s eyes lit up as he stepped toward the shop.

Compared to the brilliant sunshine outside, the antique shop’s interior was much darker. Behind the heavy carved wooden door, two Changxin Palace lamps burned quietly, while the shop was filled with pleasant incense. Following the fragrance to its source, on a red sandalwood carved counter sat a gilded flying dragon Boshan incense burner, with wisps of incense smoke slowly emerging from the dragon’s mouth. The shop’s arrangement was elegant and pleasant, lacking the mercenary atmosphere of ordinary shops waiting to sell their wares. Instead, it felt like entering a wealthy family’s main hall, where every antique was priceless. Even Zhao Ji, who had grown up in the imperial household, couldn’t help but secretly admire it all, naturally developing feelings of respect and desire to befriend the shop’s owner.

Though the shop was large, with one sweep of his gaze, Zhao Ji knew there was no one inside. He wasn’t anxious, looking up to observe two hanging scrolls in the hall. If he wasn’t mistaken, these should be the imperial calligraphy of Tang Taizong Li Shimin.

“Who are you? This shop isn’t open yet!” A crisp childish voice suddenly rang out. Zhao Ji turned to see the little boy who had been dragging the King of Yue sword had squeezed back through the door crack, his bright black eyes staring at him intently.

Zhao Lingrang, who was helping carry the King of Yue sword, touched his nose and chuckled: “If it’s not open, won’t it open eventually? Hey, kid, does your family’s shop have any rare calligraphy or paintings?”

The little boy had initially been very reluctant to let these two people enter randomly, but Zhao Lingrang’s words clearly treated him as the shop owner. He immediately puffed out his little chest proudly and said boastfully: “Of course we do! Follow me!” With that, he dragged the King of Yue sword and ran toward the inner rooms with thumping steps.

Zhao Ji frowned, clearly disapproving of Zhao Lingrang’s trick of deceiving a child. But Zhao Lingrang knew his cousin’s weakness and smiled: “Cousin, even this child knows which painting is most precious—it can’t be wrong. Besides, while this shop isn’t officially open yet, we should reserve anything good we see to prevent others from snatching it away later.” Without waiting for Zhao Ji’s agreement, he lifted his feet and chased after the little boy.

Zhao Ji also knew Zhao Lingrang was right. Many antique shops had treasures that served as their centerpieces, rarely shown to others. In this Mute House, Spring and Autumn period King of Yue swords could be given to children as toys, and Tang Taizong’s imperial calligraphy used as couplets—so the calligraphy and paintings serving as the shop’s treasures would be even more unimaginable.

After struggling briefly, Zhao Ji walked toward the inner rooms. Just as he turned around a huge mica glass screen, he heard Zhao Lingrang’s angry voice: “You little brat! How dare you deceive this young master?”

“I didn’t deceive you! The boss said this place had the best things. I’ve never been inside either!” The little boy’s aggrieved voice came through. Unable to explain much with his limited vocabulary, he stamped his foot and ran out. The King of Yue sword in his hands dragged its tip on the ground, making “scraping” sounds. As he ran past Zhao Ji, he didn’t forget to lift his head and make a big face at him.

“What happened?” Zhao Ji asked Zhao Lingrang, who chased out after him, with confusion.

“What’s hanging in that room are clearly four pieces of blank paper! That kid even took the opportunity to snatch my sachet. That was specially embroidered for me by Yingying!” Zhao Lingrang explained frantically, then hurried off to chase the little boy.

Zhao Ji was greatly surprised. He didn’t believe what hung there were just four pieces of blank paper, but Zhao Lingrang had no reason to deceive him either. Having come this far, an inexplicable impulse drove him toward the doorless room.

The room had no windows or other furnishings, only a Changxin Palace lamp burning on a round table in the center. When Zhao Ji looked toward the four walls of the room, wild joy flooded his heart.

Hanging on these four walls were clearly four exquisitely painted landscape scrolls! The four paintings depicted completely identical scenery, differing only in the seasons portrayed—one each for spring, summer, autumn, and winter. When Zhao Ji saw the signature in the corner of the paintings, even with all his worldly experience, he couldn’t help but tremble slightly. These were actually the legendary “Four Seasons Paintings” by Zhan Ziqian!

The four paintings had magnificent and serene compositions with ancient, vibrant colors. Standing in the center of the room, Zhao Ji slowly turned in circles, changing his perspective. Suddenly it was as if the four seasons were cycling through his vision. Scholars and ladies enjoying spring outings, children playing in midsummer streams, old men melancholy among falling leaves, travelers racing through snow… Zhao Ji was deeply captivated, completely forgetting to wonder why Zhao Lingrang had said these were blank papers, until a voice suddenly spoke.

“You can see these four paintings?”

Zhao Ji seemed to awaken from a dream, suddenly discovering he was no longer alone in the room. At some point, a young man had appeared at the doorway. He wore ancient clothing from the Qin-Han period—a wide-sleeved, close-fitting wraparound deep robe with its black straight hem elegantly hanging beside his feet, making his face appear like polished jade, exactly like a figure stepped out of an ancient painting. Realizing his behavior of staring intently at the other person was extremely rude, Zhao Ji quickly covered with a light cough: “You are…”

“The owner of this shop.” The other person smiled slightly, giving an answer that surprised Zhao Ji.

Zhao Ji hadn’t expected the antique shop’s owner to be so young, though looking at his bearing, he might be some wealthy young master from a declining family. Knowing he was in the wrong, Zhao Ji bowed with genuine sincerity: “I was presumptuous, entering without permission. Please forgive me.”

“No matter. Le’er must have brought you in—he’s always been mischievous.” The boss chuckled lightly, clearly helpless with that child.

“Your son is lively and adorable—he’ll surely become a great talent in the future.” Zhao Ji also smiled, thinking of the tricked Zhao Lingrang who still hadn’t returned, probably being thoroughly tormented by that little devil.

“He’s not my son, just… a relative’s child.” The boss raised his eyebrows slightly, explaining coolly. As if not wanting to continue this topic, he turned toward the painted scrolls hanging on the wall and asked: “You can see these four paintings?”

“Of course I can.” Zhao Ji nodded in confusion. Though the lamplight in the room was dim, it was sufficient for him to see the scenery in these four paintings, even the fine details of tree branches were crystal clear. “These ‘Four Seasons Paintings’ by Zhan Ziqian—boss, how much would you charge to let me have them?”

The boss didn’t speak, but stared at him with an unfathomable gaze. Zhao Ji openly let him look, thinking the other was considering what price would be appropriate. After a long while, the boss spoke quietly: “You can’t afford them.”

Zhao Ji frowned. As a prince of the Great Song, there were few things he couldn’t afford. He secretly thought this must be the other’s bargaining tactic, but still couldn’t control his mouth, snorting coldly: “As long as you can name a price, I can afford it!” He rarely acted so impulsively, but upon seeing these four paintings, he couldn’t suppress the desire in his heart, feeling incomparably fond of them. A thousand gold pieces couldn’t buy what the heart loved—he decided to obtain these four paintings at any cost.

The boss then looked at him with a somewhat more serious expression, saying calmly: “To own these four paintings, you must maintain your original heart.”

“Original heart?” Zhao Ji absolutely hadn’t expected the boss to say such an unrelated term and couldn’t help but be stunned.

“If one accepts ten thousand zhong without distinguishing propriety and righteousness, what do ten thousand zhong add to me? For the beauty of palaces and halls, the service of wives and concubines, or that the poor and needy I know might be grateful to me…” The boss spoke slowly, his clear voice echoing throughout the room, leisurely and magnanimous.

“…Can this too not be stopped? This is called losing one’s original heart.” Zhao Ji continued where he left off. This passage came from “Mencius: Gaozi,” and the concept of “original heart” also originated there, referring to the heart of integrity and shame. In the text, Mencius gave examples of people who, faced with life and death, could prefer death to surrender or even sacrifice their lives for righteousness, but in peaceful times could shamelessly pursue fame and profit by any means, losing their original principles and virtue.

“Yes. If you want to own these four paintings, you must maintain your original heart.” The boss’s tone was very calm, as if he deeply distrusted that Zhao Ji could achieve this.

Zhao Ji laughed coldly in anger: “Oh? Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that.” The boss still smiled lightly. “Since you’ve decided you want these four paintings, then touch the paper of these four paintings with your hand. These four paintings will bring you infinite power and wealth, but if you cannot maintain your original heart, they will ruthlessly take it back and collect payment several times over.”

Zhao Ji noncommittally reached out and casually touched these four pieces of paper. His good impression of this antique shop completely dissipated during these few exchanges. If not for the fact that these four paintings were authentic works, he would have turned and left long ago.

Zhao Ji secretly laughed in his heart. He was already a prince—what position could possess more infinite power and wealth than this?

Just as his fingers withdrew from the paper of the last “Treading in Snow” painting, chaotic footsteps echoed from the corridor. Zhao Lingrang burst in with an expression of shock and uncertainty, saying frantically: “Cou-cousin! Something terrible has happened! The palace… people from the palace brought news saying… saying…”

An ominous premonition rose in Zhao Ji’s heart as he shouted sternly: “Saying what?”

Zhao Lingrang gritted his teeth and dropped to his knees with a thud: “They say the Emperor is critically ill!” These words exploded like thunder beside Zhao Ji’s ears. After a brief moment of blankness, Zhao Ji subconsciously thought that his imperial brother still had no heir, so this imperial throne… And what possessed even more infinite power and wealth than a prince’s position was…

These four paintings would bring him infinite power and wealth?

Zhao Ji subconsciously looked toward the boss beside him. When their eyes met the subtle smile at the corner of his lips, he couldn’t help but feel dazed.

The boss stood alone in the room, contemplating the “Four Seasons Paintings” hanging on the four walls, not speaking for a long time. He couldn’t understand why the “Four Seasons Paintings” would choose Zhao Ji as the destined person.

“Have they left?” The crisp childish voice rang out again, interrupting the boss’s contemplation.

“Le’er, give me the King of Yue sword.” The boss’s face darkened as he extended his hand toward the little boy at the doorway.

Le’er struggled for a moment, glanced up at the boss’s expression, then reluctantly handed over the King of Yue sword in his hands, complaining dejectedly: “Le’er can’t draw it out, and others can’t draw it out either!”

The boss took the King of Yue sword in hand, reached out to touch Le’er’s soft hair, and smiled gently: “You’re not this sword’s master, so naturally you can’t draw it out.”

Le’er pouted, but with a child’s nature, after making a fuss, he quickly forgot about it. Only then did he notice the difference in the room, crying out in surprise: “Eh? Paintings!” He had clearly seen four pieces of blank paper just now—how had they suddenly become four ink paintings? Le’er looked at the boss with disdain, thinking that the uncle from earlier had scolded the wrong person. He hadn’t deceived anyone—it was the boss who deceived people!

“The ‘Four Seasons Paintings’ have recognized their master, so naturally they reveal themselves.” The boss sighed. “I just don’t know how long they can be maintained this time.”

Le’er tilted his head, listening with partial understanding, but tactfully didn’t interrupt.

“Though one may have the qualities of clear perception and aspirations of benevolence and righteousness, once wealthy and noble, one abandons relatives and old friends, losing one’s original heart…” The boss’s faint voice flowed through the quiet room like an ineffable warning…

Zhao Lingrang straightened his robes and walked into the side hall of Yanfu Palace.