At this moment, having his intentions exposed by Wang Guan, Fang Mingsheng gave an awkward chuckle, masking his true feelings: “It’s not like I have anything better to do; might as well find something to pass the time...”
This statement was unconvincing not just to Wang Guan, but to Fang Mingsheng himself, so he quickly changed the subject: “Wang Guan, look, this word seems to mean forest.”
“So what?” Wang Guan laughed. “Am I supposed to guess that this is vital military intelligence, meant to inform headquarters that there’s an ambush in the forest? Or perhaps it’s truly a will, bequeathing an entire forest to a favored son...”
“Perhaps,” Fang Mingsheng shook his head. Until they knew the meaning of the script on the parchment, he couldn't completely rule out Wang Guan’s guess.
“You take your time studying it.”
Wang Guan didn't believe Fang Mingsheng would make any breakthroughs, so he returned to eating his breakfast. Once finished, someone naturally cleared the dishes and brought him a cup of rich milk tea—a small luxury, all things considered.
“Let me see that thing again.”
As Fang Mingsheng had suggested, he was indeed idle with nothing pressing to do, so Wang Guan didn't mind examining the item. He didn't expect to find any grand revelation; it was merely a way to kill time.
It turned out Fang Mingsheng hadn't given up, keeping the parchment close by. Upon hearing Wang Guan’s request, he immediately retrieved it from his pocket and handed it over.
“The script aside, which I certainly can’t decipher, it’s mainly the material itself...” Wang Guan weighed the parchment, then mused, “This paper and the cipher tube are not from the same era.”
“What?”
Fang Mingsheng started, suddenly catching on: “You mean the paper is older?”
“Exactly.”
Wang Guan nodded. The cipher tube was invented by Da Vinci, but the object itself predated him. Someone must have acquired it during its long circulation, recognized its value, and hidden it within the cipher tube.
Therefore, the previous notions of a will or intelligence report could be discarded. After all, both wills and intelligence have a shelf life; they expire. If a later holder had found it, there would be no compelling reason to conceal it so deeply; leaking it casually would have been no issue.
“That’s excellent.”
Understanding this point, Fang Mingsheng’s face lit up: “I knew the content couldn't be that simple.”
“Don’t celebrate too soon.”
At the same time, Wang Guan shook his head. “There are two scenarios when an ancient object is hidden inside a cipher tube. First, the person who collected it couldn't decipher it but was unwilling to discard it, so they hid it. Second, the collector did understand the script, achieved whatever purpose the text implied, and then rendered the parchment useless, thus discarding it...”
“Impossible. If they were going to discard anything, they’d discard the paper, not the cipher tube as well,” Fang Mingsheng immediately countered, making a somewhat valid point.
“Even if you are right,” Wang Guan spread his hands, “you also have to consider this: even if the writing on the paper holds some profound, hidden meaning, if the people of that time couldn't understand it, how on earth could we crack it?”
This was the unvarnished truth. They were not scholars specializing in ancient English; they didn't even grasp the most basic surface meaning of the characters, let alone explore deeper significance.
Of course, this was all predicated on the assumption that the script actually held any deep meaning, as they suspected.
“If that’s the case then...”
At that moment, Fang Mingsheng displayed the decisiveness of a senior executive: “I’ll contact a scholar specializing in this field immediately. I’ll have him sign a non-disclosure agreement, and then he can help us break the code.”
“That could work,” Wang Guan agreed, offering no objection or dampening words.
After all, life was often bizarre, full of variables. Variables could be bad news, but they could just as easily be great news. Until the dust settled, it was best not to offer hasty opinions, lest one be proven utterly wrong.
It turned out Wang Guan’s caution was justified. Just as the two were exchanging views, they suddenly noticed a new figure standing before their seats—a man with silver-white hair, dressed in a simple tailcoat, wearing a hat, and leaning on a cane. By all appearances, this person looked exactly like an old-school gentleman from the eighteenth or nineteenth century.
Seeing this man, Wang Guan was naturally taken aback. However, he remained silent, leaving the hosting duties to Fang Mingsheng. Unexpectedly, the moment the man spoke, he stunned them both into silence.
“Hello there!” the man said with a slight smile. His Mandarin was flawless and precise. If it weren't for the slight rigidity in his accent, just listening to the voice without looking at him, one might assume they had encountered a fellow countryman on the train.
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
The man continued, smiling, “I am Joseph Hawke, delighted to make your acquaintance...”
“Mr. Hawke,”
Fang Mingsheng startled for a moment, then quickly recovered, rising immediately to invite him: “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Hawke nodded politely and sat directly across from Wang Guan. Fang Mingsheng smoothly shifted to sit next to Wang Guan and then remarked admiringly, “Mr. Hawke, your Chinese is excellent.”
“I am a teacher, specializing in lecturing Chinese,” Mr. Hawke explained. “I unintentionally overheard your conversation and thought I might exchange a few words with you. I hope I’m not intruding?”
“Not at all, we welcome it, welcome,” Fang Mingsheng replied warmly. “It is our honor.”
At this point, neither man suspected anything untoward. In their perception, Westerners were generally warm and outgoing, keen on social interaction. So, a casual visit for a chat seemed quite normal.
Meanwhile, Wang Guan asked curiously, “Since your Chinese is so good, Mr. Hawke, have you ever visited China?”
“Oh yes, I go periodically to exchange views with Chinese scholars,” Mr. Hawke chuckled. “Sometimes in Nanjing, sometimes in Wuchang. The location changes every year, offering different sights. It’s absolutely fascinating!”
Hearing this, Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng were quite certain that Mr. Hawke was far more than just an ordinary teacher. Furthermore, he seemed to have no intention of concealing anything, as he admitted it so frankly.
In the spirit of reciprocity, Fang Mingsheng returned the courtesy: “The scenery in England is wonderful too; we like it very much.”
“It’s different, the feeling is different...”
Mr. Hawke paused in thought, then suddenly smiled. “After looking at your own country’s scenery for too long, even beauty becomes tiresome. So when you see landscapes from another nation, everything feels fresh and wonderful. I believe there’s a Chinese idiom for it... something like being tired of the old for the new.”
“That captures the essence pretty well,” Fang Mingsheng agreed with a smile.
“And you two?”
Mr. Hawke then turned the question back: “Are you traveling in England?”
“Sort of,”
Fang Mingsheng replied with a smile. “We’re also taking the opportunity to visit a friend.”
“Ah,” Mr. Hawke smiled knowingly. “To be honest, initially, I thought you were both Chinese scholars, but I realized later that wasn't the case...”
“What do you mean?”
Instantly, Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng looked confused.
“I overheard you discussing Old English earlier.”
Mr. Hawke chuckled. “You must understand, even here in Britain, very few people take an interest in Old English. Especially the younger generation now; they only care about trends, fashion, and celebrities. Few bother to study things from the past.”
In that moment, the two exchanged a glance, a flicker of alertness mixed with a touch of regret.
They had assumed that, as most passengers were British, nobody would understand Chinese, allowing them to speak freely. Instead, they had hit the jackpot, running into someone fluent in their language.
At this juncture, they both understood: Mr. Hawke was likely here because of the parchment.
“Please don’t misunderstand, gentlemen.”
Mr. Hawke offered an apologetic smile. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, but I saw the parchment and sensed it looked very ancient, which made me pay attention involuntarily...”
“...It’s fine.” With things having reached this point, further words were useless. Fang Mingsheng spoke magnanimously, “It’s our fault for speaking so loudly and disturbing Mr. Hawke.”
As the saying goes, a ruler who loses secrecy loses his country; a subject who loses secrecy loses his life. It was their own lack of vigilance, so they couldn't blame others.
Besides, hearing their conversation was pointless for Mr. Hawke, as neither of them knew what the script on the parchment meant. Even if he heard it, he would only know what they were talking about, not why—it wasn't a security leak.
However, China has an idiom: dé cùn sì chǐ (to press an advantage gained). It was unclear if Mr. Hawke knew the term, but that was precisely what he was doing now. Hearing Fang Mingsheng say it was fine, he immediately pressed his luck, smiling and pleading, “If it’s not too much trouble, might I have a look at that parchment?”
“That...”
Immediately, Fang Mingsheng frowned. While he didn't mind Mr. Hawke overhearing their discussion, that didn't mean he would hand over the parchment without reservation. These were two distinct matters, and Fang Mingsheng was keenly aware of the difference.
Typically, a normal person would take Fang Mingsheng’s frown and hesitation as a refusal. But Mr. Hawke was not deterred and continued, smiling: “I heard you mention needing a scholar proficient in Old English. Coincidentally, I have been studying Old English for ten years and might be able to read the script on the parchment.”
“What?”
Fang Mingsheng was stunned. It felt like finding something you searched for tirelessly everywhere only to find it right where you started. Of course, there was also a degree of suspicion—the timing was too convenient. Mentioning an expert in Old English and having one materialize instantly was hard to believe.
Mr. Hawke, possessing good observational skills, naturally sensed Fang Mingsheng’s doubt. He smiled, suddenly stood up, walked to a seat nearby, and began rummaging through his satchel.
A moment later, Mr. Hawke returned, holding a photograph.
At Mr. Hawke’s gesture, Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng leaned in to examine it. The photo appeared to be a graduation picture taken at a school with an elegant environment. Dozens of students in black robes surrounded Mr. Hawke, looking like the central star of a constellation...
But that wasn't the crucial part. The key was the location where the photo was taken, clearly visible in the background architecture, which looked strangely familiar. Wang Guan stayed silent, but Fang Mingsheng felt a strong sense of déjà vu. After thinking for a moment, he suddenly remembered and blurted out, “Oxford University!”