Just then, an elder admonished, "Wei Laoweng was a great scholar of the late Southern Song Dynasty, the master synthesizer of Shu learning."

Someone else immediately chimed in, "As for Deng Wenyuan, he was also an extraordinary figure, celebrated alongside Zhao Mengfu and Xianyu Shu, known as the three great calligraphers of the early Yuan Dynasty. He was called Deng Basi, Mr. Sùlǚ, truly a titan of early Yuan literary circles."

"Learned, learned..." The person who initially claimed ignorance about Wei Laoweng and Deng Wenyuan immediately flushed slightly and quietly retreated to the back.

It wasn't entirely his fault; the issue was simply the vast number of ancient Chinese figures.

Some individuals, lacking broad public recognition, faded into relative obscurity. However, if you start studying them, you realize these were colossal figures in their own time. Wei Laoweng and Deng Wenyuan are prime examples. There are historical factors contributing to why the average person today hasn't heard of them.

Take Wei Laoweng; his studies focused heavily on Neo-Confucianism and I Ching scholarship—academic pursuits that rarely make it into standard textbooks, leaving the general public with little impression of him.

Then there is Deng Wenyuan. Despite being a titan of the early Yuan literary scene and one of the top three calligraphers, history has concluded that Xianyu Shu's influence waned behind Zhao Mengfu, and Deng Wenyuan's influence lagged behind Xianyu Shu’s. Xianyu Shu died young, so his achievements naturally didn't match Zhao Mengfu’s. Deng Wenyuan ranked last primarily because he was highly successful as an official; in his later years, he devoted less energy to calligraphy, causing his fame as a writer and artist to gradually diminish.

This situation is akin to that of Jiang Yan, whose talent famously declined. It’s quite normal for someone to regress when official duties consume all their time, leaving no room for practicing calligraphy or writing. In the eyes of the ancients, these two served as cautionary tales. But viewed through a modern lens, they exemplify dutiful public service. After all, regardless of the era, the populace supports you with tax money. You aren't maintained merely to eat and drink while boosting your own artistic fame; diligence in governance and serving the people is the true responsibility. Deng Wenyuan, in fact, enjoyed a stellar reputation as an honest and effective official with remarkable administrative achievements.

As for Zhao Mengfu, although he served in the Yuan Dynasty, being a descendant of the previous dynasty’s imperial family meant he could never wield substantial power, affording him the leisure to practice calligraphy and painting, which ultimately brought him renown throughout the land under the new dynasty. In reality, Su Dongpo was similar; it was after his banishment that one masterpiece after another, poems and essays that would live through the ages and shake heaven and earth, finally poured forth, solidifying his status as a grand master and literary giant.

Enough digression, back to the matter at hand. The inscriptions from Wei Laoweng and Deng Wenyuan reveal that this piece was passed down continuously through the transition from the Southern Song to the Yuan Dynasty—no issues there.

Next came a few more inscriptions, seemingly written by literati from the Ming and Qing dynasties. Unfortunately, the fame of these individuals could not compare to those preceding them, and their identities and backgrounds remain unclear. It would likely require consulting historical texts to even begin to ascertain who they were. This is normal. Local celebrities, naturally, require a look through local gazettes to be identified. Old Man Xing once joked that he himself belonged to this category—a big name locally, but a nobody outside his region.

Simultaneously, Old Man Tian smiled faintly, "I’m also not entirely certain about the people in the middle. However, I do know the provenance of the Yang Shi Tie Yuan mentioned in the final inscription."

"Yang Shi Tie Yuan?" The others looked puzzled and blank, clearly having never heard of it.

"Wang Guan, do you know?" Old Man Tian turned and asked.

"I think I heard Old Man Qian mention it," Wang Guan frowned in concentration. "It should be in Xuzhou. It was established during the Jiaqing era of the Qing Dynasty by a man named Yang Yingquan. While serving as an official, he collected many calligraphy rubbings by famous Tang and Song masters originally housed in the Princely Estate of Jin during the Ming Dynasty. After returning home, in order to preserve these works for posterity, he spent a great deal of money hiring skilled artisans to inscribe the rubbings onto stone tablets and built a garden to house them, hence the name Tie Yuan (Stele Garden)."

"You are quite right," Old Man Tian chuckled. "After the founding of the nation, Yang’s descendants donated this collection of stone carvings to the state. These stone steles are now preserved in the Xuzhou Museum."

"Brother Tian is truly knowledgeable!" Old Man Xing and the others couldn't help but offer praise.

"I once visited Xuzhou and saw the preserved carvings; that’s how I learned about the Yang Shi Tie Yuan." Old Man Tian waved his hand thoughtfully. "This means the work definitely existed at least as late as the Jiaqing era. But for some unknown reason, the object vanished again, only to see the light of day now."

"Could this truly be the Former and Latter Odes on the Red Cliffs by Layman Dongpo?" At that moment, a group of people rushed in from outside, having hurried over from Huangzhou after receiving a call from Old Man Ji—they were the judges for the cultural festival. These individuals came from various regions, but without a doubt, they were all connoisseurs comparable to Old Man Tian. Furthermore, they possessed profound knowledge of Su Dongpo’s calligraphy, which is why Old Man Ji was asked to summon them to consult on the authenticity of this Odes on the Red Cliffs. Strength in numbers, after all; one person’s ability is limited, making it impossible to cover every aspect. Calling in more people to assist, allowing everyone to analyze and research together, would naturally lead to the truth being revealed and the final answer reached.

Seeing this group enter, Old Man Tian immediately broke into a smile and beckoned, "Brother Chi, you've arrived. Quickly, come over and take a look."

The newcomers were not overly polite, or perhaps courtesy wasn't on their minds at this moment. They crowded around the table, meticulously examining the scroll. Leading them was an elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing large black-rimmed glasses, exuding an air of scholarly refinement that immediately marked him as a highly experienced expert with immense appraisal ability. Wang Guan discreetly asked Qiu Xing and learned that this Elder Chi was one of the most renowned masters of calligraphy and painting appraisal in Hubei Province. Holding a respected position at the Hubei Provincial Museum, he was truly a venerable elder. If Huangzhou hadn't been relatively close to Wuchang, and if Elder Chi hadn't possessed a particular interest in Su Dongpo’s works, persuading him to attend the cultural festival would have been difficult.

Putting aside the pleasantries, upon viewing the long scroll, Elder Chi observed it carefully to get a general sense of the piece. He then took a magnifying lens, about the size of a thumb, from Old Man Tian’s kit and began studying the signature and seals directly. In truth, not only does every artist have their own style, but every appraiser also has distinct characteristics when examining an object, often focusing on a particular aspect. Some lean towards the paper itself, judging the age instantly by the feel of the material. Others are intimately familiar with the author’s brushwork, discerning authenticity by examining the structure of the characters and the variation in ink density.

Clearly, Elder Chi specialized in the seals and signatures. In appraising calligraphy and painting, verifying the signature is often more critical than examining the seals, as many forgeries betray themselves in the penmanship or the strength of the inscription. Authenticating a signature requires familiarity with the artist’s signing habits. Zhao Mengfu, for example, had the courtesy name Zǐ’áng but habitually signed as Mengfu on letters, while often using Zǐ’áng on paintings. Dong Qichang, whose courtesy name was Xuanzai, similarly led to the saying in expert circles: “In his paintings, one does not see Qichang; in his calligraphy, one does not see Xuanzai”—meaning his paintings rarely carried the signature 'Qichang,' and his calligraphic works never bore the seal 'Xuanzai.'

These are the most common subtle details. Outsiders, unaware of these nuances, often become incredulous and angry when they see an expert dismiss a piece as fake after only a cursory glance, suspecting the expert is misleading them. In reality, there is no need for meticulous scrutiny; the saying goes, an expert sees the essence. Mastering the key techniques means that determining authenticity at a glance is not extraordinary. The prerequisite, however, is that the work must be an extremely poor forgery, requiring only one look and no second glance.

Naturally, a single scroll cannot contain just one set of seals. Generally, besides the author’s own marks, there are seals belonging to previous collectors or appraisers of the work. This long scroll is like that, bearing not only the inscription of Su Dongpo but also seals from Huang Tingjian, Zhu Xi, Emperor Gaozong of Song, Wei Laoweng, and Deng Wenyuan, among others. These square or circular impressions are scattered artfully throughout the scroll, creating an engaging history of seals that provides significant corroborating evidence for verifying the scroll's authenticity.

In fact, the depth and color of the ink in these seals are also crucial, as seal paste itself carries chronological characteristics. Before the Song Dynasty, water-based paste was common, made by mixing cinnabar with water; after the Southern Song, paste mixed with honey gradually took over; only after the Yuan Dynasty did oil-mixed paste become standard. Careless forgers sometimes apply many seals from different eras onto a fake, yet the ink appears uniform, indicating they were applied simultaneously. Experienced eyes spot this immediately and deem it counterfeit.

However, this long scroll showed no such inconsistencies, which is why Elder Chi studied it diligently for quite some time. He continuously swapped magnifying lenses, focusing intensely for nearly half an hour before finally looking up gently. While his outward demeanor hadn't changed, his eyes betrayed a mixture of pleasant surprise and anticipation.

"What did you find?" Old Man Tian asked with a smile.

"It’s hard to say..." Elder Chi shook his head repeatedly.

"Is it hard to say, or hard to speak?" Old Man Tian understood. After all, these men cherished their reputations; they weren't like certain money-grubbing academics who would utter any nonsense. For Old Man Tian and Elder Chi, their appraisal was not just about providing an answer to the public; it was about answering to their own conscience and being responsible for themselves. Thus, without absolute certainty, they would not easily voice their opinions.

"What do the rest of you think?" Old Man Tian then asked the others. At this, Old Man Xing, Old Man Ji, and the others nodded affirmatively, convinced that the piece was undoubtedly an authentic work by Dongpo. However, the later judges all wore contemplative expressions—neither denying nor confirming.

Seeing this, Old Man Ji grew angry. He huffed, "You fellows are usually so eloquent; why are you all subdued today? If we can't rely on you in a critical moment, what use are you?"

"Brother Ji, it’s not that we’re failing you; it’s just that this matter cannot be treated lightly," Elder Chi managed a wry smile, speaking with solemnity. "This is a treasure that could cause a nationwide sensation, just like the Jiaowei Zither; how can we regard it casually..." (To be continued)RT