Uncle Ming grumbled, "Are you kidding me? Your uncle and these three friends of mine have seen every kind of immortal elixir out there. These amateur pieces don't even catch our eye. Do you have anything decent or not? If not, don't waste our time."

Bāiwǔ looked troubled. "There are indeed fine items on Coral Temple Island, but it depends on luck. You’ve arrived at a terrible time. A few days ago, a group of Frenchmen found a completely intact Ming Dynasty treasure ship in the deep trench. All the qīngtóu inside were like new. By the time others heard the news and rushed over, only the skeleton of the treasure ship remained. I have one last crate of my prized qīngtóu—the kind I only bring out for true connoisseurs. Take a look, brothers…"

Saying this, Bāiwǔ hobbled over and dragged out another dilapidated wooden crate, which exuded a pungent fishy odor. He lifted the lid to reveal several layers of grimy, soft cloth. As he slowly peeled them back, Da Jīnyá, I, and the others casually glanced into the box. But that single glance was electric; it felt as if our bodies had been jolted by a current. Our eyes seemed utterly captivated by these qīngtóu, unable to look away. Except for Fatty, the rest of us—Uncle Ming, Da Jīnyá, and I—all shot up from our seats with a gasp, urgently demanding of Bāiwǔ, "Where did you get these qīngtóu?"

The final wooden crate Bāiwǔ produced contained a heap of bizarrely shaped ancient jades. Some resembled porcelain shards, others skeletal fragments, and some looked like animal horns or teeth. Not only were their shapes strange and eerie, but their colors were also mottled and fantastical. Since they were all qīngtóu goods, naturally eroded by the marine environment, they were predominantly dark gray. However, certain areas retained their original hue—some the color of fresh ginger, others like spoiled paste, and some bore vivid streaks like dried red dates. (Hand-typed by Sunfeng of Wénxīn Gé.)

Da Jīnyá, an expert in jade, had both his gold tooth and eyes gleaming instantly upon seeing this crate of qīngtóu. It was rare for any ancient jade recovered from the sea to be perfect. The ancients had three taboos regarding jade storage: aversion to oil, filth, and stench. Oily substances clog the minute pores within the jade, preventing it from achieving crystalline luster and robbing it of its inherent qīngguāng (spiritual sheen). Ancient sea-recovered jades, having been submerged for so long, are saturated with the brine and saline components of seawater. Filth blocks the tǔmén (earthy portals) of the jade body, thus damaging most of these specimens.

Uncle Ming was also a knowledgeable man, but his expertise lay in judging the authenticity of an object's form and style. Seeing that these qīngtóu artifacts were all of archaic and rare designs, he was certain of their great age. He quietly consulted with Da Jīnyá about the potential value of this crate.

Da Jīnyá gnashed his teeth slightly and said, "These qīngtóu have likely been underwater for millennia; they are definitely not from sunken ships. Some show a semi-exposed texture, some not at all, and some only slightly. Their preservation varies greatly, yet their styles all point to the Shang and Zhou dynasties. Finding such genuine articles on this isolated island is truly baffling. Look, some spots even retain a glassy sheen—they are truly diverse. But ancient jade is like this: the older, the stranger. Common folk can never grasp its mystery! In my view, this batch is either immensely valuable or worthless; it all depends on how you frame the discussion."

While Da Jīnyá, Fatty, and Uncle Ming whispered about haggling with Bāiwǔ, I stared at the jades in the box, lost in thought, for a long time. At the Tomb of the Xian King in Yunnan, I had seen countless rare treasures, including many Qin and Han dynasty jades. Yet, these qīngtóu recovered from the sea genuinely surprised even me. They were all ancient jades from the late Shang period, and their forms were exceptionally rare. Especially notable was a jade female head—the features startlingly lifelike. She wore a fishbone crown, her neck long and densely covered with scale patterns. Since it was only the head, the lower body was missing, so we couldn't tell if she was originally a human-headed serpent or some other monstrous form. This jade head was something none of us had ever seen, or even heard rumored to exist.

These bizarre ancient jade artifacts were relatively easy to authenticate. Since the Song Dynasty, people had been forging them using methods like soaking them in chicken blood to simulate immersion in corpse blood, or boiling them in oil, or burying them in cesspits. But an expert can tell the difference just by warming the object in their palm and gripping it—authenticity is immediately revealed. After a brief inspection, we knew that the batch Bāiwǔ held were indeed relics from antiquity. Could this jade female head be one of the artifacts from the "Hentian Kingdom" that Professor Chen mentioned? It seemed this Coral Spiral Sea region was truly extraordinary. I immediately asked the tavern keeper, Bāiwǔ, where he obtained all these qīngtóu.

Bāiwǔ replied, "Brothers, you are all people who understand the market, so I dare not deceive you. To tell you the truth, a few months ago during a tsunami, the corpse of a giant sea beast floated to the surface. When the tide receded, it died on the shore. Because of the heat, it rotted quickly. Nobody could identify exactly what kind of sea beast it was, but judging by its size, it was larger than a humpback whale—perhaps some deep-sea monster. Inside the belly of this rare behemoth was the wreckage of a small boat, and that boat’s hold contained these qīngtóu. That’s why they smell a bit foul, isn't it? No method could remove the odor. I suspect some unlucky soul retrieving qīngtóu met with disaster at sea, was dragged underwater, and swallowed by that thing. I acquired this crate from the fishermen afterward."

Bāiwǔ believed the rare items held high value and naturally set the price very steep. There were indeed many ancient sites in the underwater coral forests, but few artifacts were being found. Never mind that the jades were damaged or their color diminished by prolonged submersion, the age was undeniable. Such qīngtóu appeared only once every few decades, and many people were eager to buy them.

I was half-convinced and half-skeptical of Bāiwǔ’s story. Who knew if these qīngtóu truly came from a sea monster's stomach or were contraband salvaged from sea bandits selling off stolen goods? But that wasn't the critical point; the crucial thing was that we desired this collection. If we failed to find the Qin King’s Bone-Observing Mirror, acquiring a few ancient jades from the Hentian Kingdom would at least provide an explanation for Professor Chen.

At this point, Da Jīnyá and the others had finished their private discussion. I subtly signaled Da Jīnyá to begin haggling with Bāiwǔ. Da Jīnyá immediately flashed a grin at Bāiwǔ: "Old Master Wu, you might specialize in receiving qīngtóu, but you don't necessarily understand the way of jade. To be frank, these pieces of yours are quite hot to handle."

Whether dealing in qīngtóu or funerary artifacts, transactions between knowledgeable parties differ significantly from ordinary buying and selling. First, there is the matter of long-term relationships; in this trade, one cannot aim for a one-off deal with a peer. Second, the antique business is one that demands sharp eyesight, courage, and financial power. Insufficient knowledge is fatal. When principals negotiate prices, they don't fight over fractions of an ounce; they persuade through reason. If you claim your item is valuable or worthless, you must articulate a convincing argument. Therefore, antiques are also called "cultural objects" (wénwán); they cannot be treated crudely like trading livestock. Once an antique deal is concluded, both buyer and seller gain wisdom. Transactions between peers emphasize enhancing one's own knowledge; in such cases, the price becomes secondary, because some profound understanding cannot be bought with money.