[[[CP|W:210|H:140|A:C|U:http://file1.qidian.com/chapters/201211/29/2510132634897774338842176862912.jpg]]]A cool essence flowed straight up through Wang Guan’s hand, settling in his pineal gland, granting him a feeling of utter refreshment, his pores opening wide, his entire body resting in peace.
Wang Guan noticed with surprise that this essence was far more potent than the combined aura of all the other inkstones. Yet, once it merged with his brow, it dissolved like a drop into the vast ocean, causing no ripple whatsoever.
“Wang Guan, hurry up and open it! See what it is!”
Just then, Yu Feibai urged him again, unable to contain his impatience.
“Alright.”
Having secured the essence of the treasure, Wang Guan hesitated no longer and carefully peeled away the dark yellow silk cloth wrapped around it. Soon, a rectangular ink ingot, completely black, was revealed.
On one side of the ingot, at the top, two coiling dragons detailed in gold paint clawed and stretched, possessing an extraordinary presence. Between the two dragons were the characters Yumo (Imperial Ink) rendered in lacquer gold, proclaiming opulence.
Furthermore, beneath the dragons’ tails was a square seal stamp marked in vermilion seal script. However, likely due to its extreme age, the seal script characters had blurred into near illegibility.
The other side of the ingot was inscribed with a line of standard script (Kaishu).
Wang Guan examined it closely, managing to decipher the characters, and murmured softly, “The sixth year of Xiande, Mid-Autumn, Gui.”
“Xiande, that sounds like an era name,” Yu Feibai speculated, leaning in to examine the ingot carefully, a touch of astonishment in his voice. “The texture of the ink... it looks peculiar. Could this be the lacquer-cracked pattern that Uncle De mentioned?”
“Let me see that.” Gao Dequan reached out and took the ingot. His first impression was of its hardness and density.
He gently stroked the body of the ink and repeatedly scrutinized the gilded dragons and the lettering. After a moment of observation, his expression shifted dramatically, his brows furrowing with a mixture of bewilderment, delight, and sheer disbelief…
After a long silence, as if unsure of what he was seeing, Gao Dequan retrieved a high-powered magnifying glass and meticulously examined the ingot, piece by piece, occasionally tapping the block lightly to listen to the sound.
Seeing Gao Dequan’s grave seriousness, Yu Feibai realized this ink ingot was likely no ordinary item, and he couldn't help but ask, “Uncle De, what is the provenance of this ingot? By the look of it, it must be Imperial Court ink.”
In truth, that was stating the obvious. After all, the ingot was decorated with gilded coiling dragons and the words Yumo.
In ancient times, only royalty could use such items. Commoners, even high officials, would never dare to offend the imperial authority by using them privately; such a transgression meant not only losing one’s head but also the extermination of the entire family.
Still, this was only a preliminary judgment; there was always the possibility of a later forgery. However, judging by Gao Dequan’s reaction, that possibility seemed remote.
After another moment, Yu Feibai couldn't resist calling out again, “Uncle De…”
“Quiet, I’m looking,” Gao Dequan waved him off, returning to his intense study.
More than ten minutes passed. Yu Feibai sighed in defeat, spreading his hands and whispering to Wang Guan, “It looks like you’ve stumbled upon another astonishing treasure.”
“Luck, this time it was pure luck,” Wang Guan replied with a humble smile.
“Yes, pure luck,” Yu Feibai admitted without masking his envy, sighing deeply. “Why don’t I ever get such luck? It’s all destiny, it’s all fate…”
Finally, Yu Feibai began humming a tune, though he dared not sing loudly for fear of disturbing Gao Dequan’s appraisal.
“Hoo…”
At that moment, Gao Dequan let out a long breath, slowly setting the ingot down. His brow remained tightly furrowed, his expression shifting constantly, as if he were grappling with a profound difficulty.
“Uncle De, how is it?” Wang Guan immediately stepped forward to ask.
He was eager not just to know the ingot’s origin, but also desperately wanted to stop hearing Yu Feibai’s miserable singing. Frankly, his singing was akin to a wolf howling; tolerable for a moment, but torturous in excess.
Simultaneously, Yu Feibai stopped his caterwauling and quickly moved closer.
Under their focused gaze, Gao Dequan rubbed his tired eyes and said hesitantly, “This ink ingot... I cannot quite place it.”
“What?”
Both men froze.
Wang Guan was confused, but Yu Feibai knew that Gao Dequan was a famously renowned appraiser in the Porcelain Capital; there might be a handful of people whose eyes were sharper, but certainly no more than a single digit.
Although antique ink appraisal wasn't Gao Dequan’s primary specialization, the collecting of cultural relics demanded horizontal connections rather than strictly vertical depth. With sufficient accumulated experience, cross-disciplinary insight was common. Otherwise, he wouldn't have spoken with such authority when appraising the box of antique inks earlier. For him to now admit uncertainty over this ingot was baffling.
Considering one possibility, Yu Feibai pondered thoughtfully and tentatively suggested, “Uncle De, is this thing... perhaps not quite right?”
After all, in the world of antique collecting, some truths were best delivered delicately to avoid offending the owner. Yu Feibai figured Gao Dequan was trying to be considerate, perhaps sparing Wang Guan the blow, and was speaking in riddles.
“Not right?” Wang Guan frowned. The problem was the vibrant purple treasure light emanating from the ingot, rising and shining like a flame; he couldn't be mistaken. How could it be fake?
Wang Guan trusted his unique abilities. If Gao Dequan said the item was false, he would assume he himself had misjudged.
“Not that it’s wrong; this thing is definitely old.”
However, Gao Dequan’s reputation wasn't built on empty praise but genuine skill. He immediately shook his head, contradicting Yu Feibai, yet his brow remained knit in uncertainty. “But, just how old it is, I genuinely struggle to determine.”
“Hehe, it’s good that the item is real,” Yu Feibai chuckled. “As for the date, you don’t need to pinpoint the exact year, Uncle De; a general estimate is fine. Doesn't the ink block have lacquer-cracked patterns? Surely the density of the lines should offer some clue?”
“Feibai, this ink has no lacquer-cracked pattern.”
Gao Dequan exhaled, stating gravely, “Furthermore, the markings on this ingot are not cracks, but formed while the ink was being molded. Look closely—what do these textures resemble?”
Wang Guan and Yu Feibai scrutinized the ingot again, both shaking their heads. Without a certain reference point, they truly could not conceive what the patterns resembled.
Seeing that they were at a loss, Gao Dequan didn't seem bothered. Supporting the ink in his palm, he recited slowly, “In ancient times, there was an ink praised as being hard as jade, its grain like rhinoceros horn, and its color like lacquer! It was hailed as the finest under heaven. Do you know what ink that was?”
“The finest under heaven!” Yu Feibai’s eyes lit up at the mention, and he cried out excitedly, “Could this be the Li Tinggui ink that old man always raves about?”
“That is why I say it is difficult to determine,” Gao Dequan sighed. “Our country has a very long history of ink use; some estimate it goes back at least four or five thousand years. Early inks were made from natural graphite, which easily flaked off when writing. Artificial ink production likely began in the Western Zhou Dynasty. Large-scale ink manufacturing only took off after the Han Dynasty. By the Tang Dynasty, ink-making technology had reached perfection.”
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