Ancient literati possessed an inherent integrity; even when meticulously copying the works of past masters, they would deliberately introduce variations rather than strive for exact replication, showcasing their own distinct interpretations.

However, ancient records detailing calligraphy and painting possessed a significant flaw. Famous works listed in books were often represented only by a name, followed by flowery language extolling their artistic merit, yet completely omitting any description of the depicted subject matter.

This state of affairs meant that when an original piece and a masterful copy were placed side-by-side, it was usually a moment of both intense excitement and sheer frustration for authenticators. Because the details differed between the true artifact and the imitation, the ability to positively identify one as genuine immediately confirmed the other as a forgery. Yet, these very differences in detail were also the most frequent source of dispute…

The complexity involved was far beyond a simple explanation; for this very reason, while many people appreciated calligraphy and painting, very few truly mastered the field.

In the words of Elder Zhou, Wang Guan had barely managed to cross the threshold, with a long journey still ahead before he could truly be considered Dēng Táng Rù Shì (Ascending the Hall and Entering the Inner Chambers). This is why, uncertain about the authenticity of the Tang Hou Xing Cong Tu (Post-Tang Traveler’s Scroll), he desired to examine it up close—to facilitate cheating.

“No rush,”

At this moment, Pi Qiushi chuckled, “The auction begins in a couple of days. Getting a distant sense of it then, even if we can’t view it on stage, will be much better than this current feeling of scratching an itch through a boot.”

“Mm.”

Wang Guan nodded slightly, then asked curiously, “Big Brother Pi, you must have heard some whispers these past few days. How many people are targeting the Tang Hou Xing Cong Tu?”

“Not many, only about a dozen or so,” Pi Qiushi shook his head, then forced a wry smile. “But every single one of those dozen is a major player, an absolute titan in the field. If you genuinely intend to bid for that painting, you must be psychologically prepared to bleed heavily.”

“Understood. Thank you for the heads-up, Big Brother Pi.” Wang Guan nodded, considering the matter seriously.

“If it’s genuine, and a Song Dynasty copy at that!” Pi Qiushi mused, “And if you’re not short on funds, I would suggest you acquire it. Of course, that’s predicated on the price not becoming exorbitant; otherwise, let it go.”

“Brother, don’t let the headline prices of some art treasures hitting hundreds of millions fool you. A large portion of that is inflated, and some of it is pure hype,” Pi Qiushi shook his head. “Some auction houses constantly publicize their record-breaking final sale prices, but they never mention whether the buyers who acquired those sky-high treasures actually paid and collected the items after the sale concluded.”

“Heh, it’s not always collusion, mind you,” Pi Qiushi said with a slight smile. “You know that during the heat of an auction, some people, driven by impulse, place bids at astronomical figures, only to regret it afterward. They’d rather forfeit the penalty deposit than pay the hammer price.”

“This happens almost every year, but auction houses don't advertise it, and the buyers certainly won't expose their embarrassment, so outsiders rarely hear of it. But everyone inside the business knows well enough.”

As he spoke, Pi Qiushi sighed slightly. “This is also why pieces sold just a few years ago are now surfacing again at auction. That’s why people often say the water at auction houses runs deep. If the antiques world is the Jianghu (Martial World), then the auction house is the ocean—infinitely deeper and churning with hidden currents.”

“Don’t worry, Big Brother Pi, I understand that,” Wang Guan smiled. “If it truly comes down to it, I’ll just forfeit the penalty deposit too.”

“Heh, that’s the absolute last resort.” Pi Qiushi smiled, but then became serious, offering a sincere warning: “If you actually do that, you’ll be instantly blacklisted as the most unwelcome kind of person. Not just by Hong Kong auction companies, but Chinese auction houses won't welcome you either; they won't allow you to participate in their sales.”

“That harsh?” Wang Guan was momentarily stunned.

“It’s inevitable,” Pi Qiushi chuckled. “Last year, or maybe the year before, remember that person who bid for the zodiac heads but never paid? He was hailed as a hero domestically, but he ended up on the blacklist of all major auction houses; they simply don’t invite him or welcome him to their events.”

“Even that leads to being shut out?” Wang Guan sighed lightly. “Being a hero is clearly difficult.”

“That’s just how the world is…”

Pi Qiushi was saying this when his phone suddenly rang. He fished it out of his bag and glanced at the caller ID, displaying a look of surprise and inquiry: “Master Banshan is calling.”

“Answer it and see what he wants with us,” Wang Guan was also curious.

Pi Qiushi nodded slightly and casually answered the call, chuckling, “Master, it’s me… Oh? That shouldn't be a problem… Where are you? Alright, we’ll be right there.”

Seeing Pi Qiushi hang up, Wang Guan quickly asked, “What did the Master say?”

“He wants us to come over to look at something,” Pi Qiushi smiled. “Are you coming? If it’s inconvenient, I can go alone.”

He clearly remembered Han Lang’s attitude and worried Wang Guan might feel awkward, so he offered to go by himself to help.

“It’s fine,” Wang Guan thought for a moment and waved his hand. “There’s no real conflict between me and Han Lang. Once it’s cleared up, he’ll probably end up thanking me.”

“Good enough then,” Pi Qiushi readily agreed, standing up immediately. “Let’s go; we shouldn’t keep Master Banshan waiting.”

“Mm.”

Wang Guan nodded, and he and Pi Qiushi left, paid the bill, and then drove according to the address provided by the Monk Banshan, arriving quickly at a luxurious seaside mansion.

Naturally, entering the mansion was not simple. Next to the wide iron gates stood several guards, resembling security personnel. After confirming their purpose and making a phone verification, the two men were finally allowed entry.

Shortly after, they walked through the villa’s main entrance, passed through another round of security checks, and were then escorted by a servant into a spacious living room.

“Welcome, two benefactors.”

At that moment, the Monk Banshan was conversing with an elderly gentleman in the hall. Upon seeing the pair arrive, he immediately rose to greet them, his face radiating a warm, spring-like smile that momentarily smoothed over the slight displeasure Wang Guan and Pi Qiushi had felt.

It made sense; being inspected two or three times as if they were thieves just to enter a door—anyone would be unhappy. If it weren't for the Monk Banshan’s sake, the two might have turned back already.

In reverse, the same logic applied: the mansion’s owner likely felt the same way—if it weren't for the Monk Banshan, not just anyone would be casually allowed entry. Different perspectives naturally lead to different thoughts; it was a common phenomenon, after all, which is why they say one’s position dictates their perspective (Pìgu determines nǎodai—one’s rear end determines one’s head).

“Two benefactors…”

Just then, the Monk Banshan smiled and introduced them: “Layman Han, this is Benefactor Pi, and this is Benefactor Wang. Both have extensive knowledge of antiques and might be able to discern the origins of an item.”

While speaking, the Monk Banshan introduced the elder to Wang Guan and Pi Qiushi: “This is Layman Han!”

“Elder Han,”

As he offered his greeting, Wang Guan took the opportunity to observe. He surmised the old man was likely a devout believer. Not only did he wear loose, simple robes, but his wrists and neck were adorned with numerous prayer beads, rosaries, and protective amulets. Furthermore, his physique was somewhat portly, and his slightly graying hair, coupled with a smile, gave him an air of benevolence.

“Welcome to my home. Please, don’t feel constrained; take a seat,” Elder Han was polite enough, but his courtesy was clearly tinged with distance.

This was common; not every meeting resulted in an instant connection. Moreover, judging by the luxury of the villa and Elder Han’s own bearing, he was undoubtedly a magnate of considerable standing. With such figures, unless one was already intimately acquainted, it was best to maintain a respectful distance. So, after sitting down, Pi Qiushi took the lead: “Master Banshan, what matter required your request for our assistance?”

“Indeed,”

The Monk Banshan decided not to beat around the bush. “Layman Han asked this humble monk just now to examine an object, intending for me to carve a replica of it…”

“That shouldn’t be difficult for you, Master,” Pi Qiushi smiled, fully aware of the Monk Banshan’s capabilities. Replicating was simple; even without the original, given specific instructions, he could create something from scratch.

“If it were an ordinary object, it would certainly be no trouble,” the Monk Banshan hesitated slightly, then offered a wry smile. “The problem is that Layman Han has presented me with a genuine conundrum.”

“What sort of conundrum?” Pi Qiushi and Wang Guan were quite curious.

After all, the Monk Banshan was no ordinary cleric; having spent years in rooms filled with precious artifacts, he had developed a discerning eye. He should be able to identify most things; why would this one trouble him?

“Layman Han…”

The Monk Banshan immediately looked toward Elder Han.

At the opportune moment, Elder Han nodded gently and gestured, and someone was called to bring the item over. The use of the word ‘bring’ implied the object was quite heavy and certainly not small.

A moment later, Wang Guan and Pi Qiushi saw the servants carrying the object, and they were immediately surprised. The object was indeed large: it was a wooden lotus pedestal base, featuring twelve petals surrounding a central platform—large enough for an adult man to stand on.

Of course, a living person could not stand on it, because inside the lotus pedestal was a mannequin. Simply put, it was a wooden statue. The statue and the pedestal were clearly meant to be a single unit, somewhat resembling the devotional images enshrined in temples.

The reason for saying ‘somewhat resembling’ was that the wooden statue was heavily damaged. For unknown reasons, nearly two-thirds of the statue—from the upper torso down to the knee joint—was missing. Only the lower legs and the pedestal remained intact.

Under these circumstances, it was no wonder the Monk Banshan was troubled. Without knowing the statue’s complete form, how could he possibly carve a replica? It would be easier to simply carve a new one from scratch.

However, Elder Han seemed to hold this incomplete wooden statue in very high regard, refusing the Monk Banshan’s suggestion to create a new piece. He insisted on a replica of the original form. But who could possibly know what the original statue looked like? How could it possibly be replicated…?