That day, following his usual routine, the doctor finished his night shift and drove to the Mute House for breakfast. Ever since returning from Xi’an, his relationship with the boss had grown even closer. If they were good friends before, they could now be called brothers who had shared life and death together.

After all, they had almost died in the underground palace of Qin Shihuang’s Mausoleum at Mount Li.

Even now, when the doctor recalled that night, he felt it was all too insane. He wasn’t even sure if it had all been a dream, let alone being able to confide in others about it. Anyone who heard would probably say he was suffering from hysteria.

The doctor sat dazedly by the counter of the Mute House, watching the boss skillfully brew the first batch of spring tea from this year. The antique interior of the Mute House was instantly filled with the fragrance of tea.

The boss was no longer wearing his old Zhongshan suit. They had brought back half of a Qin Dynasty robe with black gold and black jade threading from the underground palace of Qin Shihuang’s Mausoleum at Mount Li, which a master tailor had fashioned into a very stylish shirt. This shirt was made from the same fabric as the original Zhongshan suit—completely black, with dark crimson cloud patterns embroidered at the cuffs and hem. That persistent red dragon, having caught them off guard, had secretly moved onto this new shirt. The dragon’s head now rested on the boss’s right shoulder, its body winding around his back. It hadn’t moved since the shirt was completed, as if it had fallen into hibernation. Though this was somewhat reassuring, whenever one saw its ferocious visage, it still sent chills down one’s spine.

The doctor had no interest in this new shirt. What interested him was the boss himself—he wanted to get a strand of his hair and a drop of blood for testing… he wanted to understand his physical structure… he wanted to personally dissect him… his hands were itching… The doctor was tormented by these thoughts, scratching his heart and liver. Ever since learning that the boss was someone who had lived for over two thousand years, he couldn’t control his thirst for knowledge.

But he knew the boss disliked being tested, and if confidentiality wasn’t maintained, there would definitely be no peaceful days ahead. The boss caught sight of the doctor’s envious green gaze and calmly poured the brewed tea into the cup in front of him. Actually, he too wanted to understand the true reason for his immortality. What he had told the doctor before was merely speculation. Precise instrument examinations, if kept confidential, were still acceptable.

It’s just that he wasn’t in a hurry. After experiencing such a long span of years, what he lacked least was time.

The boss concealed a slight smile at the corner of his lips, calculating in his mind how many days the doctor would struggle before finally voicing this request. The doctor leaned leisurely in the Mute House’s yellow rosewood reclining chair, reading the newspaper and sipping spring tea. That dog Apache had been left with his cousin when he accompanied the boss to Xi’an some time ago. Who knew that this arrangement would develop into genuine affection—he had tried to reclaim the dog several times, but she refused to return it. It seemed the dog would never come back.

It was early morning, and the Mute House usually had few customers at the best of times. Now it was even more deserted. So when the doctor saw a refined young man carrying an art tube, wearing a simple clean white shirt and black-framed glasses push through the door, he was greatly startled.

The newcomer nodded arrogantly toward the boss behind the counter in greeting, then walked toward the inner rooms of the Mute House with practiced familiarity.

The doctor’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he watched the man disappear behind the jade screen. He turned back and whispered to the boss: “Who is that? How does he act like he’s in his own home?”

The boss held a delicate cup to his nose, inhaling the tea’s fragrance, then looked up and said casually: “He’s a teacher from the nearby art university who comes here to copy paintings and calligraphy. He often comes here, staying inside for entire days. You rarely see him.”

“Copy paintings and calligraphy?” The doctor repeated doubtfully. When had the boss become so charitable? “You treat him so specially? Could he be some famous artist reincarnated?” One couldn’t blame the doctor for being so suspicious—after all, he had heard of Huo Qubing’s reincarnation, Xiang Yu’s reincarnation… even he himself was supposedly the reincarnation of Fu Su. Perhaps the painter who had just entered was some other extraordinary figure…

The heavy carved wooden door was pushed open again, and the curator walked in, leaning on his cane. The first thing he saw was a tall terracotta warrior that had appeared by the entrance. Pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses, the curator said incredulously: “This is… this is Qin Shihuang’s terracotta warrior? Which company forged this? How could they be so bold? Wow! It even has a real bronze sword…”

The doctor disguised his burst of laughter with a cough. Forged? Good heavens! If the curator knew this terracotta warrior had chased itself out of the underground palace of the Qin Mausoleum, his glasses would definitely shatter from shock. But he also knew that no matter how sharp the curator’s eye was, he would never believe such a vividly colored terracotta warrior was genuine. Generally, the dyes on freshly excavated terracotta warriors would fade rapidly. He didn’t know what method the boss had used to preserve the colors on this warrior. If the curator knew this terracotta warrior could move… The doctor turned his face away, struggling hard to suppress his laughter.

Though the curator found this terracotta warrior somewhat strange, he didn’t think much of it. He glanced at the boss sitting behind the counter and raised an eyebrow with a smile: “Changed your shirt? I thought the original clothes suited you better.”

“That outfit was worn for so long, it was time for a change.” The boss took out a new cup, placed it in front of the curator, and filled it with clear tea.

The curator sat at the counter and looked around the shop, asking in confusion: “I clearly saw someone come in just now. Where did he go?”

The doctor pointed backward: “He went into the inner room.”

“What!” The curator was thunderstruck, his expression mirroring the doctor’s envy, jealousy, and hatred! He naturally knew that the items in the inner room were far superior to those displayed outside, but he had never even had a chance to enter!

The boss repeated the same explanation he had given the doctor. The curator persisted in his questioning: “Which ancient painting is he copying?”

The boss didn’t hide it from him, saying casually: “He’s recently been copying Zhan Ziqian’s ‘Treading in Snow.’ His progress is very slow—probably only one brushstroke per day.”

One brushstroke per day? The doctor clicked his tongue secretly. What turtle-like speed was that!

He turned his head and saw the curator clutching his chest with a twisted expression, which immediately startled him. “Uncle, what’s wrong? Do you have heart disease?” The doctor quickly jumped up to help the curator sit down.

The curator took out a handkerchief to wipe the fine sweat from his forehead, stammering: “I… I don’t have heart disease, but he’d scare me into having one! Zhan Ziqian! How could it be Zhan Ziqian’s ‘Treading in Snow’?”

“Zhan Ziqian? Is he famous?” The doctor had never heard this name and didn’t think much of it.

“Of course he’s famous!” The curator struck the ground heavily with his cane, producing a dull thud. “Among the existing landscape scroll paintings, the Sui Dynasty painter Zhan Ziqian’s ‘Spring Excursion’ is the earliest discovered and best-preserved ancient painting. It’s currently housed in Beijing’s Palace Museum and even bears a personal inscription by Emperor Huizong of Song. According to unofficial records, Zhan Ziqian’s most famous work in his lifetime was the ‘Four Seasons Painting,’ and ‘Spring Excursion’ was just one of the four pieces. The others were ‘Children Playing in Water,’ ‘Falling Leaves,’ and ‘Treading in Snow.’ But the other three paintings don’t even have copies remaining, and many people question whether the other three pieces ever existed… Boss, could you let me take a look?” The curator turned to the boss pleadingly.

Unexpectedly, the boss nodded: “The first room on the right. But those three paintings can only be seen by those with affinity. You should be mentally prepared.”

The curator immediately hobbled toward the inner room with his cane. The doctor followed curiously. The boss didn’t stop them, just lowered his head to focus on polishing the teacup in his hands with a soft cloth. In less than a minute, the doctor emerged from behind the jade screen, muttering resentfully: “You’re lying! What’s hanging in that room is just blank paper! That painter can actually stare at blank paper in a daze!”

“I told you only those with affinity can see them. Didn’t the curator come out with you?” The boss chuckled.

“No, he also saw blank paper, but there was a painting spread on the painter’s desk that was already completed. The curator was studying that painting. Should I call him out?”

“No need. Since the painter didn’t say anything, let him stay.” The boss wasn’t that unreasonable.

“Oh.” The doctor sat back down but no longer had the mood to read the newspaper. “Boss, the curator said that although those three ancient paintings appeared to him as blank paper, the paper itself is indeed very old. Are those really the other three pieces of the legendary ‘Four Seasons Painting’? What kind of person is that painter? How can he see them?”

The boss stopped polishing the teacup and asked with a smile: “Want to hear a story?”

“Yes.” The doctor immediately leaned in—he was bored anyway!

“Hmm… let me think. This story begins in very ancient times…”

Northern Song Period

“Speaking of this young Prince Duan, truly no one in the capital doesn’t know of him! Setting aside his renowned talent in calligraphy and painting for now, today let’s first talk about his romantic adventures in his youth…” On the second floor of a teahouse in Bianliang, the storyteller was spitting as he told the latest gossip, while his audience listened with rapt attention. For common people, these scandalous stories were the perfect dessert for leisure time.

In a corner by the railing sat two young men in fine clothes. One wearing a sapphire blue robe was smiling brilliantly, whispering to the youth beside him in dark purple outer robes: “Your Highness, he’s talking about you! But how come I don’t know about this story?”

The other youth selected a tea cake from the small tea pot handed over by a servant, patiently grinding it into powder with a tea mortar. Once the powder was uniform, he placed it in a tea tray for use, quietly waiting for the water kettle beside the table to boil.

Tea preparation required complete focus. Seeing this, the blue-robed youth stopped talking. Soon, the water in the kettle began to boil. A servant brought over a set of sky-blue lotus-shaped tea bowls. The blue-robed youth couldn’t help but pick one up to examine it closely. The glaze surface was smooth and gentle, pure as jade. It felt like silk to the touch, the glaze like accumulated cream, with hidden crack patterns that sparkled and changed under sunlight—clearly a rare treasure. Turning it over to see the mark on the bottom, he immediately grumbled with jealous indignation: “The Emperor really treats you well! You dare to use these imperial gifts on the street? Aren’t you afraid of breaking them?”

The purple-robed youth glanced at him and said casually: “Things are meant to be used. If it breaks, I’ll just ask Imperial Brother for another.” As he spoke, he took the boiling kettle and elegantly warmed the pot, heated the cups, dried the pot, placed the tea, roasted it, and added water… As the boiling water rushed into the tea bowl, he took up the tea whisk and began beating the tea with even strokes. The tea powder, when hit by the boiling water, released steaming heat and fragrance that immediately filled their nostrils, refreshing their spirits.

Soon, the tea and water in the bowl blended perfectly, creating foam bubbles that rose like accumulated clouds and snow.

“Cousin, your tea preparation skills are getting more and more exquisite!” The blue-robed youth stared at the tea bowl placed before him. In that sky-blue bowl, the foam was pure white, the water clear without dispersing—truly the highest realm of tea preparation.

“Speaking of which, those people from the Eastern Sea came recently to learn our tea ceremony everywhere, making quite a show of it. It looks like they plan to take it back to their country!”

“Drawing a tiger but ending up with a dog—they don’t understand the essence of our dynasty’s tea ceremony culture. Their rigid copying is nothing but green money floating on water.” The purple-robed youth commented lightly, then took another tea bowl and repeated the same process to prepare tea for himself.

These two youths—the one in purple robes was none other than Prince Duan Zhao Ji, who had recently gained great fame in Bianliang, while the one in blue was Zhao Lingrang, fifth-generation descendant of Song Taizu Zhao Kuangyin and a member of the imperial clan. Being of the same generation with similar ages and shared interests, Zhao Lingrang called him “cousin” this and “cousin” that, earning many scoldings from his family for being disrespectful. However, having grown up in the vast imperial clan, Zhao Lingrang naturally knew his limits. But when he and Zhao Ji were together casually, when he called him “Your Highness,” it carried a hint of playful mockery.

Zhao Ji didn’t mind. He had been enfeoffed as a prince at age three and didn’t think this title was anything special. Instead, he loved concealing his identity and wandering among the common people, preferring Zhao Lingrang’s unpretentious attitude.

After Zhao Ji had also prepared his tea and gestured with his hand, Zhao Lingrang picked up his tea bowl, feeling the perfectly appropriate temperature warming his palms. In the sky-blue bowl, the tea and milk had blended, making the liquid thick and rich. Zhao Lingrang admired it for a moment, then tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp. After drinking the tea, the foam in the bowl remained sticky and dry, showing the “bowl-biting” effect that only appeared when tea preparation reached its peak.

Zhao Ji also drained his tea, looking with satisfaction at the residue clinging to the bowl’s sides.

He, Prince Duan Zhao Ji, naturally had to do everything to perfection.

Zhao Lingrang picked up the water kettle and added water to Zhao Ji’s tea bowl. The water stream drew a beautiful arc in the air before pouring into the bowl. The hot water washed away the tea foam stuck to the bowl’s sides. Zhao Ji drank this residual tea, feeling greatly pleased. He wiped his hands with a towel handed over by a servant and asked with a light smile: “Danian, what’s the program for today?”

Zhao Lingrang inwardly complained about the childhood name his father had given him—his younger brother was called Yongnian, which sounded much better than Danian! But he dared not actually have Zhao Ji change how he addressed him, since using his childhood name showed their closeness! Zhao Lingrang also drank his residual tea, smacked his lips a few times to savor the tea’s lingering fragrance, then smiled and said: “There’s a new antique shop on East Street. Let’s go see what treasures they have!”

This suggestion perfectly suited Zhao Ji’s taste. He immediately stood up without even touching the tea snacks and headed outside.

Zhao Lingrang popped two delicate tea sweets into his mouth, instructed the accompanying servants to pack up this set of tribute tea utensils, then chased after Zhao Ji.

In the teahouse, the storyteller continued shaking his head as he fabricated romantic tales about the young Prince Duan. The surrounding audience listened with relish, completely unaware that Prince Duan himself had just been sitting beside them.