Once again submitting to the little white snake’s oppression, Tang Yuan put on the appearance of a curious baby, standing on tiptoe to peek from a safe distance. After all, he was a child, and children’s curiosity was permissible—no one really came to make him leave. The curator also didn’t notice that a few steps away, one person and one snake were eyeing this shadow blue figurine with predatory intent. What he was thinking was that if the media found out this shadow blue figurine was made from human ashes, it would probably cause another uproar. Actually, in his view, whether it was made from human ashes or animal ashes made no difference. The custom of burying living people as sacrifices still existed during the Ming Dynasty, so bone china was relatively more subtle in comparison. Moreover, proving this shadow blue figurine was bone china would make its research value even greater, and it might truly be a burial object from that ancient tomb—it would be better to suspend the exhibition for further authentication.

However, the curator still hesitated slightly, because before organizing this exhibition, due to not knowing what was wrong with the shadow blue figurine, he had specifically arranged the display cases according to the feng shui trigram patterns the boss had once mentioned. Moreover, those two threads binding the shadow blue figurine weren’t ordinary threads, but special threads wound with talismans, which he had requested from the boss long ago. The boss had also said that once such talisman threads were used, they shouldn’t be moved carelessly—it would be best to wait for him to personally remove the threads.

But now that the reason was known, there was no need to be so heavily guarded, right? And the boss was currently nowhere to be found—even if they wanted him to come remove the threads, they couldn’t find him. Although the curator preferred to believe rather than disbelieve, he mostly still felt he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Seeing the glass case had been opened, he rolled up his sleeves, put on gloves, and personally untied the threads, planning to retrieve this shadow blue figurine.

The moment the taut threads went slack, the curator watched with his own eyes as those two threads flickered weakly once before dissolving into the air like melting ice and snow. Before he could react, he felt his vision blur, and when he came to his senses again, he found himself standing in a void, with that shadow blue figurine across from him continuously growing larger, expanding until it reached roughly normal human proportions before stopping.

The curator was dumbstruck and wanted to look more closely when he saw this shadow blue figurine suddenly emit brilliant white light before disappearing from in front of him.

His vision blurred again, and the curator found himself still standing in the museum, with his assistant carefully calling “Curator” beside him, while he held that shadow blue figurine in his hands, as if he had maintained this posture for a long time.

After being dazed for a moment, the curator placed the shadow blue figurine into the brocade box. Whether it was psychological or not, the curator always felt the glaze color on this shadow blue figurine had dimmed considerably, as if it had suddenly lost some kind of spiritual energy.

The curator sighed softly. Perhaps in that moment just now, what had dissipated was Gao Taixiang’s resentment.

But that was good too—everything had vanished into thin air.

The boss looked down at the compass in his hands. The needle on the compass was restlessly trembling, and the boss’s expression was also uncertain in the flickering candlelight.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Fu Su entered carrying freshly brewed tea, asking with concern. He wore a plain white Han-style robe that made his upright figure appear even more like bamboo. Overly long bangs covered the scars on half his face, while the exposed portion looked incomparably handsome. He deliberately used his left hand to set down the teapot, hiding his right hand deep in his sleeve.

The boss didn’t notice Fu Su’s abnormality. He lowered his eyelids and flicked the needle on the compass with his hand, watching it spin several circles before quietly settling on one of the trigram symbols.

“It seems… something has awakened…” The boss sighed slightly, reaching for a cup of hot tea. “Does the Young Master know about figurines?”

“Confucius said: ‘May those who first made figurines have no descendants,’ because they are made in human likeness for use. Confucius considered those who made straw effigies virtuous, but called those who made figurines inhumane, as they approached using actual people.” Fu Su quite missed this atmosphere of discussion with the boss. After sitting down, he clasped his hands to his chest, gathering his sleeves, and smiled: “Figurines are actually straw effigies—burial objects used to replace living human sacrifices. Why do you suddenly bring this up?”

“I was reminded of something I encountered before.” The boss sipped his tea, then held the cup in his hands, caressing it. They were in a quiet mountain villa surrounded by rolling hills. His gaze looked toward the verdant forest outside the window, as if returning to several hundred years ago. “There was a puppet-like emperor and a chancellor who held all power in court. When the imperial city was breached by foreign tribes, they separately led troops to break out and flee.”

“Oh? There was such an incident?” Fu Su had slept for over two thousand years. Although he had caught up on history after awakening, he couldn’t possibly know every historical detail comprehensively. Hearing this, he became very interested and began pondering. “They fled separately, surely wanting to divide the foreign pursuit forces, but if they were forced to the point where even the imperial city was breached, they couldn’t have run far.”

“Correct, they couldn’t be captured simultaneously, so they escaped separately.”

“Oh? Couldn’t be captured simultaneously… this probably means the foreign tribes actually needed a proxy to manage this country, right? So…”

“Yes, so between the emperor and chancellor, only one could survive in the end.”

“What happened later? Who actually survived? Well, speaking of it, the person captured first would actually have the greatest chance of survival, because he could surrender first.”

“Before ascending the throne, that emperor had made an agreement with the chancellor who assisted him, promising he would die before the other.”

“There was actually such a useless emperor? Well, the one who died in the end must have been that emperor.”

“The chancellor was captured first, but he refused to surrender. The foreign tribe had no choice but to behead him in front of his subjects.”

“…He did this so the emperor could survive, which is why he left himself no way out…” Upon hearing this, Fu Su’s emotions became extremely complex. In his view, it was impossible for a chancellor who held all court power to sacrifice himself to such an extent for a puppet emperor. But after thinking briefly, he could understand that chancellor’s intentions. A chancellor with overwhelming power would definitely prefer to break rather than bend, absolutely unable to endure submission to foreign tribes. So he would rather die and leave the opportunity to the emperor, hoping the other could lead their people to continue their country, even if there was only a glimmer of hope.

“Yes.” The boss sighed melancholically. “Only that emperor didn’t live many more years either, because the foreign tribe eventually found him too rigid and difficult to control, so they assassinated him and installed his brother as proxy administrator…”

Now Fu Su didn’t know what to say either. His eyes fixed on the already cooling tea, he fell into silence.

The boss thought of long ago, that youth who begged bitterly, wanting to atone for his sins.

He had his own ashes refined into a shadow blue figurine, forever kneeling in darkness, guarding his dear friend’s tomb.

That resentment was probably more than any tomb robber could bear…