Some men always dream of marrying into a wealthy family, taking a beautiful, rich heiress, and thus gaining both fortune and pleasure, living a life of glory...

But they never consider that the son-in-law of a powerful family is much like the fuma (imperial son-in-law) of an ancient princess. They might appear outwardly splendid and triumphant, but who truly knows the hidden bitterness and hardship they endure?

Of course, the situation now is slightly better, but not significantly so. Even when the families are well-matched—a son from one powerful family marrying a daughter from another—happiness is not guaranteed. After all, if both sides come from similar wealth, their personalities might be equally strong-willed; neither willing to yield to the other. Such marriages often become nominal unions, existing in name only, with no true happiness to be found.

Then there is the classic Cinderella myth. Such unions, arguably, have a higher chance of success because one party is significantly dominant, and the other is considerably weaker. If the weaker party turns a blind eye and simply goes along with the dominant one’s wishes, the marriage might indeed last.

However, the story of a poor boy and a rich young lady seems different. The treatment of a male Cinderella might be revealed in the words of Old Master Qiao. A preliminary tribunal, where they probably scrutinize his ancestry back eighteen generations, would likely be the mildest test; after that, he would surely have to pass numerous arduous trials, like slaying monsters and conquering hostile tribes.

So, whether the person arriving soon for Wang Guan was from a well-matched background or the "poor boy" type, securing the beauty’s hand would certainly be extremely difficult, painful, and miserable. Naturally, one could only offer silent condolences for him.

“Old Master, you sent for me.” Just then, the person arrived, his voice preceding him—a warm, deep timbre that gave an impression of solid stability.

“Han Lang, quickly, come in.” Following Old Master Qiao’s greeting, a young man, not strikingly handsome but radiating healthy, vibrant energy, stepped briskly into the hall.

Han Lang, living up to his name, bore a cheerful smile and possessed a naturally steady and gentle demeanor. Upon entering, he noticed Wang Guan and the others, especially Qiao Yu sitting beside Old Master Qiao, and he somewhat understood the situation.

“Old Master…”

At this moment, Han Lang made no effort to feign ignorance. Instead, he smiled and said, “This must be Miss Qiao Yu.”

“Indeed, this is my granddaughter, Xiao Yu,” Old Master Qiao introduced solemnly, then added with a knowing smile, “I’ve kept you company talking to an old man for the past two days, and I’m sure you’ve been bored. Xiao Yu has just returned and plans to take her friends out sightseeing. You wouldn't mind accompanying them to carry bags and hold things, would you?”

“How could I mind? It is my honor.” Han Lang naturally did not refuse. He had come prepared for this expectation, having already consented to his family’s arrangement, which was why he made the trip and had waited several days.

“He might not mind, but I certainly do.”

There is rarely such a thing as love at first sight, and due to the preconceptions already formed, Qiao Yu found Han Lang disagreeable no matter how she looked at him. So, there was no point expecting him to receive a pleasant expression from her.

Unfortunately, both Old Master Qiao and Han Lang seemed not to have heard Qiao Yu’s protest. They settled the matter as if it were a foregone conclusion, acting as if she had no grounds to refuse—or perhaps, even if she refused, the arrangements would proceed as planned regardless.

Annoyed by this, Qiao Yu immediately stood up and declared, “Xiao Ye, let’s go, come see my room.”

It was a devastating move. Even if a woman’s chambers today weren't as strictly guarded as ancient boudoirs, a man was expected to know his place and not follow without an explicit invitation.

However, Qiao Yu’s tactic was too potent. Not only was Han Lang helpless, but Wang Guan was also caught in the crossfire, forced to watch as Qiao Yu pulled Beiye away, leaving him awkwardly sipping tea alone in the hall.

Yet, after Qiao Yu and Beiye departed, the atmosphere in the hall did not cool down. Han Lang glanced curiously at Wang Guan and asked with a smile, “What is your esteemed name, brother?”

“Wang Guan.”

As he introduced himself, Wang Guan smoothly handed over a business card. His card had a slight modification, however, as it included the address and contact information for the Shí Yí Gé in the capital. Driven by the instinct of a major patron, he also offered a cordial smile meant to foster wealth: “Please take care of us. If you ever need anything in the future, don't hesitate to call.”

Of course, if the phone rang, it was unlikely to be him answering; the head manager, Cao Xiang, would handle it.

“Certainly, certainly…” Han Lang carefully examined the details on the card, his smile unwavering. Whatever thoughts he harbored internally, he certainly wouldn't show them at this moment.

Old Master Qiao took the opportunity to glance at the card and smiled: “In the antique business? Opening a shop in the capital at such a young age. You are truly a talented young man.”

“Just messing around a bit, barely making enough to support myself,” Wang Guan replied with a smile, his innate disposition preventing him from being overly boastful.

“You are too modest.” Old Master Qiao waved a hand, turning over the long opium pipe in his grasp, and suddenly offered it over with a smile: “Help me see what you make of this thing? The person who gifted it to me claimed it was used by Ji Xiaolan. I wonder if that's true.”

“Uh…”

Upon hearing this, Wang Guan felt a surge of suppressed amusement. After all, the image of Ji Xiaolan as ‘Ji Da Yandai’ (Ji Big Pipe) was merely dramatic license from television, not historical fact. Ji Xiaolan was, after all, held up as a model for scholarly officials; he would certainly have been concerned with propriety, and since historical records made no mention of such habits, the pipe certainly couldn't be his relic.

At this moment, Wang Guan understood some of the exasperation felt by genuine connoisseurs. Modern people often took fictionalized accounts from television as truth, leading to the creation of all sorts of bizarre artifacts. Some people even enshrined these items as treasures, bringing them to experts for appraisal, sometimes adamantly claiming they were genuine family heirlooms—a truly bewildering situation.

However, since the pipe had been presented, Wang Guan couldn't very well refuse, so he naturally took it. His first impression upon holding it was that the pipe was heavy, mainly because the bowl was quite large and constructed of metal, making it somewhat weighty.

Wang Guan lightly tested the balance and felt the pipe resembled a strange weapon mentioned in wuxia novels. Even if it contained no hidden poison, simply swinging it to strike someone would likely crush their skull.

“Han Lang.”

As Wang Guan was examining the pipe, Old Master Qiao turned back with a smile and asked Han Lang, “What do you think of my long pipe?”

“Hmm?”

At this instant, Han Lang hesitated. This was undoubtedly a test. How to answer required careful consideration. Should he be honest? Witty? Evasive? Blunt? Different answers would yield different impressions.

Of course, Han Lang dared not hesitate for long. After a brief blink, he smiled and said, “Old Master, I don’t know much about these things. Moreover, we have an expert present, so I shouldn't presume to show off my meager skills. Furthermore, smoking is bad for one's health; I hope you will moderate it in the future.”

That single statement contained several layers of meaning and was flawlessly executed. It was a difficult situation, and Wang Guan wondered if Old Master Qiao was satisfied.

Han Lang pondered inwardly, only to see Old Master Qiao still smiling amiably, his tone unchanged: “Hehe, don't worry, this old man knows what he’s doing. I only take one puff a day to satisfy the craving. I intend to live to one hundred and twenty, valuing my health more than anyone, and I certainly won’t let the poison of tobacco ruin me.”

“The Old Master will surely get his wish,” Han Lang quickly agreed.

“It is inevitable.”

As they spoke, Old Master Qiao turned back to smile at Wang Guan: “So, what do you think? Isn't my long pipe excellent?”

“More than excellent, it is a rare and treasured object!” Wang Guan exclaimed in admiration.

Han Lang blinked internally for a moment. Although his expression remained neutral, he felt a hint of contempt, sensing Wang Guan was too opportunistic, his flattery base and utterly shameless.

Old Master Qiao, however, seemed quite pleased, chuckling: “Is it really that good?”

“Exceedingly good, impossibly good.”

Wang Guan sighed: “Let’s not even mention the bowl; it seems to have been repeatedly smelted from fine copper, perhaps even alloyed with precious metals like gold and silver. It appears to have been forged using the same methods as those used for Xuande censers. That’s why the surface possesses a gentle, lustrous sheen and is heat-resistant, so even when the tobacco is lit, you can touch it directly without feeling heat.”

“As for the stem…”

Wang Guan paused, his fingers tracing the length of the pipe, his expression full of appreciation: “This is also an extremely precious item.”

“Hmm?”

At that moment, a hint of surprise flickered in Old Master Qiao’s eyes, which quickly turned back into a smile: “Young man, you truly have some skill. Tell me then, why is the stem so precious?”

“If I am not mistaken, the stem is made of bamboo,” Wang Guan smiled. This was hardly a novel observation, as the stem had clearly been handled often, developing a thick patina that looked like ancient bronze with its golden hue.

Although the stem displayed interlocking, crooked nodes, perhaps because the grain patterns were irregular, to the casual observer, the pipe looked entirely metallic, merely decorated with engraved, mottled bamboo patterns.

Old Master Qiao’s smile deepened: “Since it’s bamboo, how can it be considered precious?”

“It is no ordinary bamboo; it is indeed very precious.”

Wang Guan smiled: “This should be Tortoise Shell Bamboo, also known as Dragon Scale Bamboo. This is an exceedingly rare variety, a treasure among bamboos. Old Master, your pipe must have been carefully selected; the interlacing nodes are remarkably uniform, resembling fine tortoise shell, symbolizing longevity and health, which makes it even more valuable.”

“Haha, excellent, excellent,” Old Master Qiao praised. “Finally, I’ve met someone with true discernment who understands the value of my long pipe.”

Hearing this, Han Lang’s eyes flickered, though a gentle smile remained on his face. He even spoke up to compliment: “An expert is indeed an expert; your insight is truly sharp.”

“You flatter me,” Wang Guan replied with a faint smile. “It’s mainly because the Old Master possesses such fine objects.”

“Is that item an antique? Did Ji Xiaolan really use it?” Han Lang then inquired with feigned curiosity: “By the way, Old Master, who gifted you this pipe? They must have a deep relationship with you to be willing to give away such a treasure…”

“Is this deliberate malice, or an unintentional move?”

In that instant, Wang Guan’s brow twitched slightly. He had only just asked if it was Ji Xiaolan’s pipe, and now Han Lang was asking about the giver’s close relationship with Old Master Qiao—it was clearly a trap being laid by insinuation.

Telling the truth might displease Old Master Qiao; lying, however, would reflect poorly on Wang Guan’s character...