Wang Guan was stunned, not doubting the middle-aged official's identity; judging by his demeanor, he certainly had the air of a bureaucrat.

What surprised Wang Guan was that Old Man Cao, despite his age, knew the man was an official yet deliberately quoted an exorbitant price to make things difficult—a display that held a whiff of the overly zealous youth.

"Though I am old, I am not yet muddled," Old Man Cao sneered. "For him, an official, to spend hundreds of thousands on my things—that money is either from public funds or from embezzled people's wealth. What I hate most in my life are bastards like that. If striking people weren't against the law, I would have already chased them out with my hoe."

"Uncle, you are the man," Wang Guan gave an emphatic thumbs-up.

Still, admiration aside, he hadn't forgotten his main purpose. Smiling, he said, "Uncle, I can't afford the inkstone. Earlier, while watching the commotion, I unintentionally discovered this..."

As he spoke, Wang Guan reached under the table and brought up an object, entirely black, that resembled a stone.

"A rock for propping up a table leg, what are you bringing that up for?" Old Man Cao was taken aback.

"This isn't a stone."

Wang Guan paused, deciding to be forthright. "This is an ink stick."

"An ink stick?"

Old Man Cao frowned, unsure if he hadn't heard clearly or simply didn't grasp the meaning.

"To be precise, it’s an moding (ink ingot)."

Wang Guan held up the piece of ink, examining it closely as he explained, "Uncle, you must have watched TV, right? In the past, people didn't have our convenience with fountain pens, ballpoints, or pencils... where words just appear as you write. They used brushes, so they needed a special kind of ink..."

"I remember now, isn't this the thing you rub back and forth on the inkstone?" Old Man Cao realized with a flash of understanding.

"Exactly!"

Wang Guan nodded and smiled. "I imagine you also know, Uncle, that prepared ink wouldn't keep for long; it would quickly turn foul. So, people back then simply made the ink into ingots, solid like stone, so it could be preserved. When they needed it, they'd put a little water on the inkstone and grind continuously to produce liquid ink."

"I know, I know,"

Old Man Cao nodded repeatedly. "Back in the day, when my boy started school, he was learning calligraphy, so I bought him a few bottles of ink. But not long after, they all spoiled, smelling like rotten mud."

"Indeed, the quality of things nowadays is quite poor," Wang Guan said with deep feeling.

Just then, Old Man Cao suddenly asked, "Is this thing valuable?"

"Hard to say,"

Wang Guan hesitated. "If it’s very old and a complete piece, it would certainly be valuable. But this ink ingot of yours is broken, only half remains, so it might be hard to sell."

"Oh," Old Man Cao seemed thoughtful, his interest suddenly waning. He abruptly stood up, picked up the inkstone, and walked toward the inner room.

Seeing this, Wang Guan rejoiced inwardly and quickly seized the opportunity, activating his special ability. Focusing his gaze, he saw a faint yellow glow emanating from the broken ink stick in his hand.

It contained a slight aura; though not as much as the Kuixing inkstone, every little bit counted. Wang Guan absorbed it all without leaving a trace.

As the aura flowed, it carried a distinct coolness that made Wang Guan feel incredibly comfortable, as if he were suspended in the clouds. Simultaneously, the wispy golden thread between his brows expanded just a fraction.

"Cough, cough... Come here and give me a hand."

At that moment, in the passageway to the inner room, Old Man Cao, covered in dust, was struggling to move a large trunk entangled with cobwebs.

"Uncle, what are you doing?"

Wang Guan was slightly surprised, then something clicked in his mind, filling him with a sudden burst of delight as he rushed forward to help.

When he placed his hands on the trunk, Wang Guan immediately felt its immense weight—at least a hundred pounds.

After exerting some effort to lift the trunk into the main hall, Old Man Cao didn't say much, directly pulling the lid open. Instantly, a faint scent of ink wafted out from the box, lingering for a long time.

Wang Guan peered down. Inside the trunk, roughly a foot high, were irregularly stacked ink ingots, all pitch black with a dense, substantial appearance. These ingots came in all shapes—cubes, rectangular prisms, ovals, polygons... the list was endless.

"What do you think of these things?"

Old Man Cao then smiled smugly. "I wouldn't claim they are all perfect, but most of them don't have any chips or significant damage."

"Yes, these are all fine items,"

Wang Guan nodded, forcing down the surge of excitement. He picked up an ink ingot at random to examine it. The ink quality felt hard as jade; subtle striations on the surface suggested a profound, rich character. Weighing it lightly, it felt solid in his hand. Judging by the color and texture, this must be a superior grade ink.

Along with his excitement, Wang Guan felt a flicker of curiosity and asked cautiously, "Uncle, where did you obtain all these ink ingots?"

"Inherited from my ancestors, of course,"

Old Man Cao’s eyes flickered. He then bent down to roll some tobacco leaves, saying casually, "My ancestors were scholars; it seems one of them even held an official position. Later, the family fell on hard times, but they did leave behind quite a few good things."

"I see,"

Wang Guan nodded, feeling half-convinced.

"Don't bring up such mundane, rotten-sesame-seed history,"

A moment later, Old Man Cao puffed smoke, waving a hand dismissively. "Tell me, are these things worth anything?"

"This..."

Wang Guan hesitated, glancing at Old Man Cao. Seeing his blank expression, an idea struck him, and he smiled faintly, "This is genuinely hard to say. After all, these items aren't as common as gold, silver, jewelry, or porcelain; not many people are passionate collectors willing to spend heavily on them."

"Uncle should understand that times have changed; very few people use brushes to write anymore."

Wang Guan continued with feeling, "These ink ingots don't serve much practical use today. If they meet someone who likes collecting these things, they might pay a high price. If not, they probably won't even touch them, lest they soil their hands."

"You are an honest man, you aren't flattering me with empty words..."

Old Man Cao took a drag of smoke, fell silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "For some time now, many people found out I had treasures and came looking for me. But they always told me this one wasn't worth much, that one wasn't worth much, hoping I’d sell them cheap."

"Hmph!"

Old Man Cao snorted in disdain. "They all wanted to pull a fast one, really thinking I’m senile and don't know the value of my own treasures."

Wang Guan smiled, letting out a silent sigh of relief.

Indeed, the saying that old age brings wisdom was absolutely true. This wasn't the era of the 80s or 90s, when a Huanghuali antique could be bought for five yuan—that time was long gone.

Don't assume that a farmer in the countryside is the epitome of ignorance. Under the barrage of modern information flow, no one is inherently stupider than anyone else. Sometimes, the cunning of a peasant can repeatedly cause supposedly clever people to suffer great losses.

"You seem like a decent person,"

Old Man Cao said contentedly. "Judging by how you look, you seem to know a bit about these things. What do you do for a living?"

"I work part-time in an antique shop, so I've picked up some knowledge," Wang Guan replied with a smile, patiently waiting for an opportunity to use his special ability to check if the ancient inks held any treasure light.

................... There will be one more update before dawn for the ranking push, please pay attention and support; seeking collection and recommendation votes.