“Welcome.” The owner looked up, and when he saw who had entered, his hand stopped wiping the porcelain pillow.

The person who entered was a middle-aged man over forty with well-defined features and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his high nose bridge. Years had carved several wrinkles on his forehead, adding to his scholarly temperament. He was leaning on a cane, apparently having some difficulty with his legs.

“Director, long time no see.” Although somewhat surprised, the owner still wore his trademark smile.

This visitor was the newly appointed director of the city’s museum. The owner had seen many interview reports about him in newspapers.

The director looked at the owner in shock by the dim light in the shop. After a very long time, he murmured in disbelief: “We haven’t seen each other for over twenty years, yet you haven’t changed at all…”

The owner’s smile deepened.

The director was 45 years old, a graduate of a prestigious university’s history department. He had worked at the local museum for over ten years and finally took over the former director’s position at the beginning of this year to become the new museum director. Actually, the director had no interest in these cold ancient objects when he was young, but in his teens, he met a very special person and experienced a life-changing event, which made him fall hopelessly in love with antiques.

But he hadn’t expected that after all these years, when they met again, that person’s appearance hadn’t changed at all – still as young as over twenty years ago.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

After the initial surprise passed, the director laughed self-mockingly: “I might have mistaken you for someone else. I have a friend I haven’t seen for a long time who looked very much like you twenty years ago.”

The young owner maintained his formulaic smile. He noticed the director hadn’t caught his earlier “long time no see,” so he pretended he had never said it. Following the director’s lead, he continued: “The person the director mentioned might be my father.”

The director’s eyes lit up: “Where is your esteemed father?”

“My father is traveling abroad, recently he might have gone to Egypt. He probably won’t be back for some time.” The young owner smiled, speaking honestly and truthfully, leaving no room for doubt.

“Oh, that’s really a pity.” The director regretfully pushed his glasses up his nose bridge. “Is this shop newly opened? I haven’t heard of it before.”

As the museum director, he naturally knew all the antique shops, large and small, in the city. Although nowadays antique shops rarely had truly priceless antiques, nothing was absolute. Tonight he was visiting a friend and happened to pass this commercial street when he discovered this oddly named antique shop.

—Mute House.

Ancient objects cannot speak; they all carry stories of thousands of years with no one to listen… This sounded very much like something that person used to say.

“It’s been open for some time.” The owner smiled. He had been running this shop for at least two or three years, but due to its strange name, many people didn’t realize it was an antique shop. Very few people would push the door open, let alone regular customers.

However, he didn’t open this antique shop to make money. People destined for antiques would appear sooner or later.

He just hadn’t expected the director to push open Mute House’s door tonight, which made the owner slightly furrow his brow.

The director looked around with his head raised, dissatisfied with the dim lighting here. Using the tone of an elder educating a junior, he said: “How can an antique shop stay open at night? Don’t you know the saying ‘don’t judge colors under lamplight’?”

“Don’t judge colors under lamplight” was an unwritten rule of antique shops. It meant that antique shops should close after dark. Looking at antiques under artificial light, rather than natural light, could easily lead to mistaking fish eyes for pearls, buying or selling fakes.

This was one of the reasons he had pushed the door open without hesitation upon seeing this antique shop open at night. Moreover, seeing such a young owner made him frown even more.

After all, he still felt that antiques required years of accumulation to truly understand. This young person in front of him looked to be only in his early twenties – no matter how you looked at it, he seemed unreliable.

However, back then, the person he knew was about this age too…

Looking at that familiar face under the lamplight, the director was momentarily dazed, then shook his head.

He told himself: That person was different, truly exceptional.

The owner still smiled quietly. His antique shop wasn’t for selling things anyway – opening and closing were entirely up to his preferences. He just never stayed in the same place for many years. Seeing someone he hadn’t seen for years suddenly appear before him, aged with only vague traces of his former self, yet speaking to him like a stranger, was still a novel experience for him.

The director surveyed the shop’s artifacts with extremely critical eyes. Naturally, the first thing he noticed was the porcelain pillow the owner was polishing on the counter.

“This is… a celadon pillow from Yue kiln,” the director’s eyes lit up as he carefully picked it up.

The body was gray, fine and solid. The glaze was celadon, crystal clear and lustrous, like jade and ice. It had leaf vein patterns and felt cool to the touch. Based on the director’s experience, this porcelain pillow dated to at least the Tang Dynasty to Five Dynasties period, and from its color, it might even be the legendary “secret color porcelain”!

The so-called “secret color porcelain” – when people mentioned it in the past, they followed Song Dynasty documents, saying this type of porcelain was specially fired for the palace by the Qian family’s Wuyue Kingdom in Hangzhou during the Five Dynasties period, forbidden for use by subjects. As for its glaze color, like its name, it was kept secret, and later generations could only appreciate its extraordinary elegance through poetry. It wasn’t until the 1980s, when a batch of secret color porcelain bowls and plates were excavated from the pagoda of Famen Temple in Fufeng, Shaanxi, that the world learned what true secret color porcelain was.

And what he held now was premium Yue kiln celadon.

The director felt his throat somewhat dry.

He didn’t find it strange that such national-level antiques appeared in this antique shop. From what he knew of that person, it wouldn’t be surprising if this shop contained even more precious antiques.

Because it was that person’s shop.

The owner watched the director’s rapidly changing expressions with interest and sat back down. He took the boiling water from the small charcoal stove and brewed two bowls of Longjing tea, quietly placing them in front of each of them.

The director had calmed down by now and put the porcelain pillow down with a stern face. He picked up the tea bowl, smelled the rich tea fragrance, and with great difficulty shifted his gaze from the porcelain pillow, only to discover that the cup in his hands was actually a doucai bell cup! The director almost couldn’t resist flipping the cup over to see the mark on the bottom. But the tea was too hot, so he could only tremblingly raise the cup high and look up.

Indeed! It was doucai porcelain from the Chenghua period!

Good heavens! Was he dreaming? Otherwise, how could he possibly be drinking tea from a cup that should be lying in a museum display case for people to admire?

The director’s face reddened as he barely managed to steady the cup and put it back on the counter. Some tea spilled out, but he didn’t notice it was hot. He didn’t even dare look around, just lowered his head in thought.

“It’s just a cup.” The owner picked up his own teacup, brought it to his lips and leisurely blew away the tea foam, then took a refined sip.

“No! It’s not just a cup!” The director suddenly flew into a rage, glaring angrily: “Young man! What do you understand? This cup, from the moment it was formed, has already crystallized the life and spirit of that era! On its body, the elegance and life of an entire era continues! It has life!”

The director had always had a very good temper – at least in recent years. When he was young, his temper was quite volatile. Only after immersing himself in studying antiques did this volatile temper gradually settle down. But tonight, less than ten minutes after entering this antique shop, he suddenly couldn’t control his temper.

Like a powder keg – just a tiny spark could ignite him.

“Yes, they all have life.” The young owner seemed not to mind being pointed at and scolded. Actually, he quite missed the director’s volatile temper – he had seen plenty of such scolding back then. “Very good, you can comprehend this point. Very good.”

The director froze on the spot. At his age, very few people spoke to him in such a lecturing tone. So hearing it suddenly, he could hardly believe his ears.

Especially from such a young person.

The owner slowly finished the tea in his cup, turned the bowl upside down on the small charcoal stove to extinguish the charcoal fire inside. “Sorry, if you want to look at antiques, please come another day. I’m closing the shop today.”

The director completely ignored the owner’s hint to leave and said seriously: “Young man, these antiques in your shop don’t deserve to be left in this dark place gathering dust.”

The owner raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He stood up, wiped the celadon pillow on the counter, and carefully put it back in the brocade box.

“They should be in a museum for the world to admire! Let people know how magnificent our ancestors’ civilization was!” The director spoke with great persuasion. “You should donate them all to the country – that’s the ultimate destination for these antiques!”

The owner smiled but still said nothing, carrying the brocade box into the inner room.

The director frowned, his tone becoming more serious: “Since you won’t donate them, then let’s calculate the market value. I’ll apply for national and provincial cultural relic funds, or I have some savings myself…” The director’s voice suddenly dropped because he only now noticed the various antiques displayed on the shop’s shelves. With just this glance, even with his poor eyesight, he had already spotted Song qingbai glazed plates and what appeared to be sacrificial red plates from the Xuande period of the Ming Dynasty.

The director suddenly felt his heart wasn’t doing well. He didn’t dare look further, afraid of more shocks, but his eyes couldn’t help darting around.

Under the dim light of the Changxin Palace Lamps, the director even lightened his breathing, afraid that breathing too hard might blow away the fragile antiques here.

The owner had already put away the porcelain pillow and emerged eerily from behind the screen, showing a smile: “Sorry, I’m not interested. Please leave, Director.”

The director was immediately furious! Did this young man know or not? Many of the antiques here could be considered national-level cultural relics! Cultural relics were forbidden from being bought and sold. He only needed to authenticate them and report them to have him arrested for trafficking cultural relics! The director opened his mouth but made no sound, angrily swallowing back his words.

“I’ll be back!” The director stamped his cane hard and left with difficulty.

The owner stood in the shadows, watching the director’s uneven steps through the window gap, not moving his gaze for a long time.

“By the way, has there been a middle-aged man with a cane and gold-rimmed glasses hanging around your shop these past few days?” The doctor had recently become obsessed with the three-fresh dumpling filling from the restaurant next door. Every evening after work, he would buy two plates of dumplings to take away and bring them directly to Mute House to eat. Having someone to eat with was always better than eating alone.

The owner raised an eyebrow and put down his chopsticks, asking with great surprise: “You’ve seen him? You haven’t run into him when you’ve come these past few days, have you?” The director had been reporting daily these past few days, saying nothing more than those same few sentences from that day.

The doctor looked at him strangely: “That’s because he stopped me outside the antique shop and asked me in great detail whether I had bought anything here, and about this shop.”

The owner narrowed his eyes and elegantly wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

The doctor didn’t notice the owner’s worsening mood and continued with his mouth full of dumpling: “That man is very strange, asking weird questions too. Where exactly did you meet such a strange man?”

The owner was thinking about other matters and answered absentmindedly: “Oh, I met him when I was tomb raiding.”

The doctor almost choked, unable to tell if the owner was joking. He quickly poured a cup of tea and drank it, then suddenly remembered something and asked hesitantly: “Then… that porcelain pillow you lent me last time…”

“Of course it was also excavated. Otherwise, how do you think it came about?” The owner smiled.

“Clatter!” The doctor’s chopsticks fell on the table, but he had no intention of picking them up.

Ex-excavated? That… that meant… the porcelain pillow was originally for dead people to sleep on… The doctor fell silent, looking at the remaining half plate of dumplings, completely losing his appetite.

The director carried a brocade box and almost ran all the way back to the museum.

The museum staff all smiled knowingly when they saw him, guessing that this director had probably acquired some rare antique again.

The director didn’t even return to his office, going directly to the artifact authentication room. He had been sitting in the tea house across from Mute House these past days. Since that young owner wouldn’t sell him anything, he could only approach from the customer angle.

At first, he had hired many people to pretend to be customers and go to Mute House to buy things, but that owner was very strange and refused to sell anything. With no other options, he could only wait and watch. After waiting several days, Mute House hadn’t sold anything – this wasn’t strange, as antique shops generally went three years without opening, then lived off one opening for three years. He had prepared for a long-term campaign.

However, today finally paid off. He saw a young student come out of Mute House carrying a medium-sized brocade box. He spent considerable effort talking, even revealing his identity as museum director, to buy this item from him.

What surprised him most was that the student said the contents of this brocade box had only cost him fifty yuan. The director almost couldn’t believe it when paying. But he didn’t want to waste such a good opportunity. He didn’t even open the brocade box to see what was inside on the spot, but directly carried it back to the museum.

It was almost closing time, and the authentication room staff had long returned to their offices preparing to go home. The director carefully washed his hands, held his breath, and opened the brocade box lid.

A piercing cold light met his eyes. When the director saw clearly what was in the box, he almost forgot to breathe.

On magnificent yellow silk cloth lay quietly a bronze sword.

This sword emitted dazzling green light, radiating cold air. The blade was about thirty centimeters long, dark brown in color, with thick patina throughout and little rust. The blade was bright and smooth, with faint diamond-shaped dark patterns visible. The edge showed fine grinding marks and was extremely sharp. The guard had beast-face decorations, one side inlaid with lapis lazuli, the other with turquoise. Near the guard were eight gold-inlaid bird seal script inscriptions: “King of Yue Goujian’s self-made sword.”

The director never expected that what was in the brocade box would be a bronze sword of King Goujian of Yue! Years ago, Hubei had excavated a world-famous King of Yue sword. When unearthed, it could easily cut through sixteen layers of white paper with slight force, as sharp as ever.

The director had also closely observed that King of Yue sword. In style and appearance, it was very similar to the one before him. If not for the size difference, he would have almost thought this was a replica.

But he knew that when King Goujian of Yue advanced north to the Central Plains and met with various feudal lords, he was temporarily called the hegemon. According to the “Wuyue Chunqiu” and “Yuejue Shu” records, King Goujian of Yue had specifically requested the Longquan sword-smith Ou Yezi to forge five precious swords. The seven swords were named Zhanlu, Chunjun, Shengxie, Yuchang, and Juque – all were rare treasures that could cut iron like mud. Because among the five swords were three long swords and two short swords, they were called “three long and two short,” and later this idiom became synonymous with unexpected disasters.

Since five swords were forged back then, who could say that only the sword excavated in Hubei existed in the world?

The director felt his blood boiling throughout his body. Whether it was real or fake, he only needed to authenticate it and the truth would emerge.

X-ray photographs, metallographic analysis, fluorescence energy spectrometer diffraction… The director carefully conducted various tests. The more he looked at the precise data from the analysis, the more shocked he became – because no matter how he analyzed it, everything proved that this sword was indeed manufactured over two thousand years ago!

How was this possible?

The director believed in the test results from the precise instruments before him, but couldn’t believe that such a first-class national cultural relic had been sold by that owner for fifty yuan!

This… was this a joke?

The director picked up the King of Yue sword and reached out to touch the exquisite patterns on it. Carelessly, his finger was cut by the sharp blade. Blood drops slowly slid down the green-glowing blade, creating an indescribable beauty that was impossible to look away from.

Although injured, the director still couldn’t bear to put down the precious sword. This bronze sword didn’t know how many years it had been since it tasted human blood. The current scene looked indescribably eerie.

At this moment, he suddenly remembered what the student had said earlier: “The only thing the owner said when giving me this item was that it couldn’t be allowed to touch human blood.”

The director first scoffed at this, then suddenly became very angry.

The collection and maintenance of bronze swords was so complex, yet that owner had only given this one instruction!

After admiring it alone in the authentication room for a long time, seeing the wall clock pointing to nine o’clock, the director reluctantly had to put the King of Yue sword back in the brocade box.

Next to the authentication room was a temporary artifact storage room.

The director carefully placed the brocade box in the safe, while calculating in his mind that tomorrow he would invite several experts to authenticate it again. After everything was confirmed, he would announce this news to the media.

It would certainly cause a huge sensation and definitely invite many questioning voices. No one would doubt the authenticity of the King of Yue sword from Hubei because it was definitely an excavated artifact, but the sword he obtained… he would have to think carefully about how to explain its origins.

The director knew that person’s antique shop absolutely could not be exposed. Although it was now his son running the shop while he himself was far away in Egypt, if angered, he might directly close the shop and leave. Then those precious antiques in the shop wouldn’t know when they could see the light of day again.

The director locked the authentication room door. Instead of going straight home as he should have, he couldn’t help but turn and walk toward the museum’s exhibition halls.

It was already nine o’clock at night. The museum closed at five, and all staff had gone home by five-thirty, leaving only security personnel. But even the night security didn’t patrol each floor with flashlights as before, because high-tech cameras installed in every corner of the museum would faithfully record everything. The security only needed to sit in the monitoring room and watch the surveillance screens.

This museum used the most advanced domestic technology. Each cultural relic display case made of tempered glass was equipped with automatic sensor lights. Originally, the display cases had dim lighting, but as soon as someone approached, they would automatically brighten.

The director slowly walked along the visitor route while thinking. As he moved, the glass display cases beside him lit up one by one, then dimmed one by one as he left.

In the pitch-black, spacious museum, in deathly silence, the director could only hear the tapping sound of his cane striking the marble floor.

Anyone else would probably dislike being alone in the museum at night, but for the director, this was his most enjoyable moment.

The museum was large, but the director knew every exhibition hall and every exhibit like the back of his hand. He looked at each artifact in the glass display cases with loving eyes, as if looking at his own children. By the time he walked from the first floor to the second-floor ceramics exhibition hall, he had already thought of how to announce the origins of that King of Yue sword to the public. His thoughts had turned entirely to those antiques in Mute House, thinking about how to get them all into the museum one by one, even starting to consider where to place that Song qingbai glazed porcelain plate.

The director’s ambitions were great. From the day he fell in love with antiques, he had hungrily collected these antiques that embodied the cultural life of predecessors. He himself loved them and wanted others to love them too.

So whenever he saw damaged antiques, his heart ached.

Nowadays, when these antiques broke, there was one less in the world.

The director stopped in front of a Yuan blue and white porcelain jar in the center of the ceramics exhibition hall. This jar was so large it could hold a five or six-year-old child. Its complete preservation was already remarkable. Although there was an obvious chip at the mouth, it didn’t diminish its valuable worth. Currently, only about four hundred pieces of Yuan blue and white existed in the world, and such large jars were even rarer.

This porcelain jar was what he had obtained when he met that person years ago… So beautiful that even though he had triggered a trap in that tomb to protect the jar, causing his right leg to have walking difficulties ever since, he had no regrets.

Thinking of this, the director couldn’t help but reach out to touch the porcelain glaze that looked like white jade under the lights, but his left hand first touched a layer of glass.

He came to his senses, realizing he had forgotten again that this porcelain jar was no longer placed in his home but was isolated by glass and displayed in the museum.

The director felt a wave of loss, but immediately adjusted his mood. These antiques in the museum, although they couldn’t be directly handled, received the best protection and restoration, rather than being irresponsibly piled up like in Mute House, casually used – truly wasteful.

So what he was doing was the right thing.

The director smiled, seeing the wrinkles on his face reflected in the glass case, couldn’t help thinking that years later, these antiques would still be well-displayed in the museum for everyone to admire, while he would have long since turned to bones…

But that seemed fine too.

The director stood dazed for a while before withdrawing his hand from the glass case. A sharp pain came from his finger. Only then did he notice that the wound on his hand cut by the King of Yue sword had never stopped bleeding. His left hand was already covered with blood marks, and he had left a bloody handprint on the glass case, looking very frightening in the night.

The director quickly leaned his cane against the wall and took out his handkerchief. Instead of tending to his left hand’s wound, he carefully wiped the bloody handprint on the glass case. As he wiped, he thought with amusement that if he didn’t clean this handprint and left it until tomorrow morning, it would probably scare all the museum staff silly. Their seven great museum ghost stories would probably become eight great ghost stories.

The director thought cheerfully, but unexpectedly discovered that the bloody handprint on the glass case couldn’t be wiped off no matter what. He frowned, adjusted his glasses, and leaned closer to observe. When he saw clearly, his eyes widened in shock.

Because that bloody handprint was actually inside the glass case! The blood hadn’t even dried yet, and under the light inside the glass case, it eerily, slowly flowed down along the glass.

How was this possible!

The director was so frightened he stepped back. The display case light dimmed as he moved away, but that bloody handprint remained clearly visible – this was definitely not his hallucination.

“Screech—”

Just as he was still in shock, a piercing sound suddenly came from downstairs. Though the sound was light, in the empty, silent museum, it was clearly audible.

It sounded like a sharp instrument scraping across the floor.

The director was so scared his heart nearly jumped out. He hurriedly took out his phone, only to find no signal.

The museum’s phone signal was always intermittent. Some said it was due to electromagnetic effects from the ancient objects themselves, others said it was caused by the museum’s own security equipment.

But there was no signal at this crucial moment. The director cursed under his breath.

The strange sound from the first floor started again. This time the sound was drawn out, moving from far to near, just like… like someone dragging a sword, slowly walking across the floor.

The director pressed the emergency call button on the wall, but there was no response.

What was going on? The director knew these buttons were located throughout the museum – pressing one should trigger alarms throughout the entire building. But this emergency button had never been used since the museum opened. Could it be broken from years of disuse?

The director shouldn’t have been so panicked, but the bloody handprint appearing so eerily inside the glass case had already thrown him into confusion. Combined with that strange sound from downstairs, the director finally lost his ability to maintain normal judgment. The sound seemed like a bronze sword! Could it be… could it be the King of Yue sword he had just placed in the brocade box?

But he had clearly put it in the safe, and only he knew the password. How could a sword possibly open the safe and walk out by itself? However, he didn’t dare rush over to investigate – the sound didn’t seem to have good intentions.

Something was wrong – everything felt wrong! At a time like this, the security guards from the monitoring room should have come out long ago, but the museum remained quiet without any sign of people.

The urgent priority should be going to the monitoring room to check the surveillance screens.

The director reached for his cane but grasped empty air. By now that strange sound had climbed the stairs from the central hall to the second floor, step by step.

“Clang, clang…”

The director had no time to fumble for his cane in the darkness and stumbled along the wall. From this exhibition hall to the elevator should take less than a minute, but walking in the darkness for a while, with sensor lights turning on and off along the way, after running for a long time, the director found he couldn’t locate the elevator button and had instead arrived at another exhibition hall.

The director thought he had walked too fast and reached the next jade exhibition hall, but just as he was about to turn back to find the elevator, something he glimpsed from the corner of his eye made him shudder violently.

The exhibition hall before him was still the ceramics hall! In the center of the hall, the bloody handprint on the Yuan blue and white porcelain jar’s glass case was clearly visible.

The director opened his mouth, but his parched throat could make no sound.

“Screech—”

That sound had successfully reached the second floor. After pausing briefly, as if determining his location, it headed accurately toward him.

The director stood dazed for a moment, then gritted his teeth and continued forward. Everything was a hallucination! he told himself.

But when he passed the Yuan blue and white jar and saw his cane lying on the ground that he hadn’t had time to pick up earlier, he didn’t dare go over to retrieve it.

“Screech—”

The sound behind him seemed to have drawn a bit closer.

Cold sweat broke out on the director’s back. A chilling wind arose from nowhere in the normally sealed museum, making his back feel cold. His originally impaired legs moved even faster.

This time the director felt along the wall as he advanced, but instead of touching the expected elevator door, he rushed into another exhibition hall.

The Yuan blue and white jar stood quietly there under the dim light.

“Screech—”

The director was stunned, then continued forward like a madman. How was this possible? Even if the museum was circular, this floor had four exhibition halls – he couldn’t possibly enter the ceramics hall every time!

“Screech—”

That persistent sound behind him was like a death charm, terrifying the director. He had nowhere to hide and could only desperately drag his right leg forward. Soon, he once again stood before the Yuan blue and white jar.

The director’s mind went blank.

“Screech—”

This time, the sound came from not far behind him. The director reflexively turned around – behind him was only darkness. He wanted to take a step but had no strength at all, finally able only to stand rigidly in place. Throughout his body, only his eyeballs could still move. He really wanted to close his eyes, but his eyes defied his consciousness and stayed wide open.

The cultural relics on the surrounding glass display cases, under the faint light, looked more like offerings placed on an altar.

The director’s heart skipped a beat as an unprecedented feeling of horror rose from within. He had clearly encountered “ghost hitting the wall,” but why here? Was this a museum? It was more like a tomb.

“Screech—”

The sound came from the exhibition hall entrance. The glass display cases seemed to sense something and suddenly lit up. Then one by one, they brightened and dimmed again, as if someone had really walked in. But the director saw nothing.

Then he gasped – on the marble floor, a bronze sword appeared from the darkness, its cold light piercing to the eyes.

The director breathed heavily, staring intently at this sword. It stood suspended in the air as if held by someone, its tip dragging on the ground, approaching him neither hurriedly nor slowly. Fresh blood continuously flowed down that thin, sharp blade, leaving a deep red trail on the marble floor.

The young student’s words suddenly echoed in the director’s mind: “The only thing the owner said when selling me this item was that it couldn’t be allowed to touch human blood.”

Suddenly the sword’s cold light blazed intensely. The director felt a surge of energy strike his face, pressing him down until he nearly knelt, while crisp sounds came from all around.

The director’s face changed dramatically – he knew what this sound meant.

This was the sound of glass cases shattering.

The museum’s glass used the most advanced materials – even bullets might not penetrate it. Yet now it seemed to have been simultaneously struck by heavy objects, instantly shattering completely. But due to good toughness, all the glass cases turned into snowflake frosted patterns without falling. However, being shattered like this made it impossible to see clearly what was inside the glass cases.

The director first looked helplessly at the glass cases around him that had turned white, then was greatly alarmed. If even high-strength glass had become like this, what about the porcelain inside?

The director gritted his teeth and laboriously raised his hand toward the glass case of the Yuan blue and white jar beside him.

Like an illusion being shattered, the glass case instantly crumbled at the director’s fingertips. Countless fragments clamored and danced as they scattered onto the marble floor, producing an extremely beautiful collision sound.

In this song celebrating freedom, the clean white rounded body of the Yuan blue and white jar was quietly exposed to the air again.

The director gasped, then breathed a long sigh of relief. Although the glass case was shattered terribly, the Yuan blue and white jar inside was completely undamaged.

He looked at the Yuan blue and white jar glowing enticingly under the lights and couldn’t help reaching out to touch it. When he felt that familiar sensation at his fingertips again, the director couldn’t help forgetting where he was and actually smiled with closed eyes.

“Screech—”

That sound rang out once more. The director suddenly opened his eyes and found that his hand wasn’t touching the Yuan blue and white jar, but the hilt of the King of Yue sword!

The director felt dazed for a moment, then felt his body become much lighter, actually floating up.

He looked down in amazement to find his body still standing properly there. Beside him was the Yuan blue and white jar, and before him was that eerie King of Yue sword.

Could this be an out-of-body experience?

What was he doing? The director found he no longer had the power to control his own body. What was happening? He thought confusedly, his chaotic mind unable to think clearly, because he clearly saw his body pick up that King of Yue sword, turn the blade around, and without any hesitation draw it across his own neck!

The movement was slow but very determined.

All of this was actually what the director saw from above. That sense of unreality made him think he was dreaming, but deep in his heart, he was lucidly aware that all of this… was real!

He desperately tried to rush back into his own body. After several attempts, the sharp pain from his left hand’s wound returned first, making him overjoyed – he had succeeded.

But when he opened his eyes, what he saw was a cold, gleaming blade! His right hand was not yet fully under his control, and that sharp sword edge was about to cut his throat—

Just as the director was about to despair, a slender white hand emerged from the darkness, deftly catching the thin blade of the King of Yue sword between the index and middle fingers.

The director finally regained control of his body at this moment, collapsing to the ground drenched in sweat, gasping continuously.

“I knew something had gone wrong.” An emotionless voice drifted faintly from the darkness.

The director wiped the sweat from his forehead. The King of Yue sword in his hand was taken by the newcomer, but he had no desire to retrieve it.

What a joke – he didn’t want to experience killing himself a second time.

The director calmed his breathing before looking up at the newcomer. Although he wanted to thank them for saving his life, he was more curious about how they had entered the museum that was sealed at night. But when he looked up, he froze completely.

The newcomer was looking down at the sword, examining it carefully. In the dim, weak light of the exhibition hall, the director could only see half of the other person’s face.

“You… it’s you… you… aren’t you in Egypt?” the director stammered. When he spoke, he discovered his voice had become hoarse beyond recognition.

The newcomer slightly raised his eyelids without answering his question, instead examining the King of Yue sword in his hands even more carefully, as if extremely concerned about any damage to the sword.

The director had now completely calmed down and realized that the man standing before him holding the King of Yue sword was surprisingly young – he couldn’t possibly be the person he knew.

It was the owner of Mute House.

The director breathed a sigh of relief and wanted to stand up again, but found that his legs had gone weak from fright and he didn’t yet have the strength to stand. The director didn’t ask for help – he didn’t want to show weakness before this young man.

Sitting was fine too – he could rest more. Though this experience was extremely dangerous, he had dealt with antiques for many years and knew that some things couldn’t be explained even by science. He didn’t expect to understand everything in this lifetime. So when the other party remained silent, he wisely didn’t pursue questions. Seeing the owner had no intention of speaking, the director simply sat cross-legged, planning to rest with closed eyes. He had recently learned some qi cultivation techniques from a Taoist priest, originally intending to cultivate his temperament in his old age, but unexpectedly the first use was for calming his nerves.

“This King of Yue sword was originally for Goujian’s self-defense.” Just as the director closed his eyes, he suddenly heard the young owner speak unprompted.

The director hadn’t expected him to initiate conversation and opened his eyes in surprise, looking up at him. He saw the young owner manipulating that eerie King of Yue sword, examining it from all angles. The occasional reflection of light from the blade on his face added to his murderous aura.

“Actually, the King of Yue’s defensive sword didn’t have many opportunities to be used.” The owner looked toward the director. His gaze was originally very cold, but when it caught sight of the Yuan blue and white jar beside him, memories from years ago flooded his mind, and his expression involuntarily softened.

The director nodded. During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, the swords of kings and nobles were to some extent more symbolic. For example, symbolizing hegemony and commanding the world, or symbolizing status and rewarding subordinates. If a ruler’s defensive sword needed to be used, it was either because his guards weren’t protecting him well, or…

“Could this sword be the one the King of Yue used for suicide?” the director couldn’t help but interject. Combined with the situation where he had nearly killed himself with the sword, he couldn’t help thinking this way. But he immediately shook his head: “No, Goujian didn’t die by suicide.”

The owner curled his lips in a slight smile: “Goujian of course didn’t, but Wen Zhong did.”

The director was stunned as information immediately surfaced in his mind.

Wen Zhong, a famous strategist of the late Spring and Autumn period. A counselor to King Goujian of Yue, who together with Fan Li helped Goujian finally defeat King Fuchai of Wu. After destroying Wu, feeling proud of his achievements, Fan Li had secretly sent a letter to Wen Zhong saying: “When birds are gone, good bows are stored away; when cunning rabbits die, hunting dogs are cooked. The King of Yue has a long neck and bird-like beak – he can share hardships but not happiness. Why don’t you leave?” Wen Zhong failed to heed this advice and was soon given a sword by Goujian to commit suicide.

Given a sword to commit suicide… given a sword to commit suicide! The director blurted out: “Could this be that very sword?”

The owner narrowed his eyes mysteriously without directly answering his question. “You also said that every antique has its own life, and that’s correct. Actually, I’m not holding onto these antiques stubbornly – it’s just that each antique in Mute House has a soul.”

The director supported himself against the wall and stood up, listening silently.

“Didn’t you also say that antiques have life?” The owner raised his eyebrows and slightly elevated his tone.

The director smiled bitterly – when he said those words, he hadn’t imagined these things could truly have life!

The owner said lightly: “Of course, I know our words mean completely different things. Although antiques are just objects, having existed for hundreds or thousands of years, each item embodies the craftsman’s effort and the user’s emotions. While some may lack consciousness, many have developed obsessions or wishes, like this King of Yue sword. Its wish is to protect each generation of masters. Anyone injured by it will surely die miserably. In a sense, this could be called a curse.”

The director opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. Could it be that the young student was this generation’s master of the King of Yue sword? But how did he recognize this? What confirmed it?

The owner knew the director’s doubts but felt no need to explain so much. He changed the subject: “I also know that for antiques without consciousness, museums are probably their ultimate destination, but placing antiques that haven’t fulfilled their obsessions or wishes simply in museums can be very dangerous. No one knows what consequences might result, especially when two conflicting objects are placed in inappropriate positions. Remember, some things need not only the protection of glass cases but also the care of hands. So I’m taking this sword back.”

The director was dejected. Whether what the owner said was true or false, he knew that after tonight’s incident, he would have to think very carefully before trying to obtain anything from Mute House.

The owner sighed lightly and said no more. The antiques in his shop were all such objects with obsessions. For example, that Han Dynasty mirror had lain quietly in a box for two thousand years just so its master could meet his beloved woman. Though it finally cracked, it still allowed lovers to meet and know each other, fulfilling its wish. As for that Fragrant Concubine’s bracelet, it still hadn’t completed its wish. And that candle that had burned for hundreds of years was still quietly shedding wax tears…

Of course, when these antiques completed their wishes while retaining their complete form, he would naturally donate them to museums. In fact, over the years, he had anonymously donated many pieces.

The owner felt no need to explain these things to anyone. He had always acted according to his nature. Tonight’s lengthy conversation with this person was already extremely rare, done only for the sake of past connections.

Seeing the owner turn to leave, the director suddenly felt uneasy and hurriedly asked: “You can take this sword, but what about the future? Will this sword still…” He wanted to ask if it would still come for his life, but this question was too absurd. Even having lived so many years and seen so much, the director still couldn’t bring himself to ask such a thing.

During his hesitation, the owner had already turned to leave. The red dragon coiled on the back of his clothes suddenly appeared in the director’s vision, making him pause in shock.

Years ago, that person had also worn this deep red dragon.

The director’s head buzzed. Somehow, he suddenly remembered that when he pushed open Mute House’s door that day, that person seemed to have said something with a smile.

What exactly had he said? Why couldn’t he remember?

The red dragon gradually disappeared into the darkness, baring fangs and claws like a living creature. At this moment, a light laugh came from the darkness: “Don’t worry, this King of Yue sword has a scabbard.”

The director naturally didn’t know that if this King of Yue sword returned to its scabbard, it would sleep for hundreds more years.

He only knew that he remembered.

That day, after he pushed open the heavy carved door, after that person was stunned for a moment, the words he said with a smile were “long time no see”…

The director stood in the darkness for a very long time before finally having the strength to move his body and find his cane in the corner.

When he looked up again, he found there were no shattered glass cases in the exhibition hall, no bloody handprint on the Yuan blue and white jar’s glass case, no blood traces on the marble floor, and even the brocade box containing the King of Yue sword had disappeared from the authentication room’s safe.

The director still wouldn’t give up. He went to the monitoring room and found the duty security guards unusually sound asleep. He wasn’t in a hurry to wake them but pulled up tonight’s surveillance recordings alone, only to find that none of his experiences had been recorded.

No bloody handprint, no King of Yue sword, and no owner appearing from nowhere.

On the entire soundless screen, only he alone was performing a mad pantomime.

But the director knew that all of this had truly happened.

Because on his left hand, that untreated wound was still slowly seeping blood…