Of course, Bada Shanren was a sobriquet, one he only adopted in his later years. Before that, Bada Shanren also utilized numerous courtesy names, appellations, and aliases, such as Xue Ge, Ge Shan, Ge Shan Lü, Ren Wu, Liang Yue, Dao Lang, and so forth. It wasn't until he neared sixty that he took the title Bada Shanren, a name he kept until his death at eighty.

It is for this very reason that posterity habitually refers to him as Bada Shanren. The inscription on this painting and calligraphy piece bears this later title, allowing Wang Guan and Yu Feibai to confirm that this was indeed a work from Bada Shanren’s twilight years.

Generally speaking, works from an artist's late period are superior, often yielding masterpieces. After all, barring any unforeseen circumstances, a painter enjoys a long lifespan, and if they persistently dedicate themselves to creation, improvement is inevitable. One could argue that an artist's later years represent the zenith of their work, a point of true mastery.

We need not elaborate on great painters like Qi Baishi or Zhang Daqian; Bada Shanren followed a similar trajectory. During his later period, his unique artistic style had fully matured; his brushwork and ink application became markedly more profound, refined, and subtle, embodying a quality known as bǐ jiǎn xíng gāi (concise in writing, comprehensive in meaning).

To put it plainly, when Bada Shanren’s technical skill reached its peak, he no longer felt bound by the subject matter or the exact depiction of scenery; he painted purely as he pleased. His handling of ink and brush became more unrestrained and fluid, employing a summarization that was concise yet possessed a freedom and audacity that surpassed his predecessors. Furthermore, his compositions utilized bold cropping techniques, making the picture plane feel boundless and imparting a sense of magnificent, sweeping grandeur.

This so-called "bold cropping technique" is, frankly, a flattering descriptor.

In reality, during his later years, Bada Shanren’s temperament grew increasingly reclusive, a trait that manifested directly in his art. Sometimes, on a very large sheet of paper capable of depicting numerous scenes, he would merely sketch a few lines—perhaps a piece of fruit or a peculiar rock—and then stop. He used ink sparingly, eliciting sighs of admiration.

Admiration is warranted, as it is common knowledge that later generations obsess over research and summarization. Regardless of Bada Shanren’s underlying reasons, or whether these instances were purely coincidental, in the eyes of those who followed, every gesture of Bada Shanren was imbued with profound meaning, naturally demanding analysis and synthesis.

Truthfully, Wang Guan found it more plausible, rather than adhering to the concept of "bold cropping," that Bada Shanren might have only made a few strokes before being suddenly called away by an urgent need or hunger, causing him to step away temporarily. Upon returning, perhaps having lost his inspiration, he might have casually discarded the half-finished piece, only for someone else to treasure it, have it mounted, and carefully preserved.

One cannot dismiss the possibility, recalling the classic scene in the story of Tang Bohu and the Nine Beauties where someone picks up discarded scraps.

As Wang Guan’s thoughts drifted, he heard Yu Feibai state with certainty, “Yes, this should be an original.”

“That certain?” Wang Guan responded, not out of doubt, but merely as an automatic reply.

“I certainly have my reasons.”

At the same time, Yu Feibai grinned smugly, “You can tell by the seal impressions alone. The colors are distinctly layered, with varying depths; one look confirms it’s an item with an established provenance.”

“Mm.”

Wang Guan nodded slightly, having to concede that this was indeed one of the criteria for authenticating calligraphy and paintings.

Connoisseurs of ancient art historically followed the maxim: first the inscription (book), second the seals (chop), and third the artwork itself. If the signature and the seals align, the authenticity of the work can mostly be determined.

Of course, the signature requires no further discussion; one must possess an intimate understanding of the author’s handwriting to judge its veracity. Authentication of the seals is also not simple, as a painting often bears not only the artist’s seals but also appraisal chops from later collectors. Moreover, the ancient practice of using seals was highly ritualized—a complex field of study. Mastering even the basic appraisal skills demands considerable effort.

In summary, authenticating seals on artwork is neither simple nor overwhelmingly difficult.

It’s not difficult in the way Yu Feibai demonstrated: by comparing the varying depths of color in each seal. If all impressions appear generally consistent in color, one can usually determine the painting has an issue.

It becomes difficult because master forgers are aware of this very point. When creating counterfeit seals, they deliberately mix the seal paste to achieve varying shades, thus naturally creating layers during the stamping process. Failing to recognize this nuance often leads to deception.

Under these circumstances, the appraiser needs a deeper understanding of seal culture. If one can trace a clear line of descent through the seals on the artwork, proving an orderly chain of ownership, the authenticity can certainly be confirmed.

“Look here…”

Yu Feibai chimed in with a smile, “This is the hall name seal of a rather famous collector from the mid-Qing Dynasty, alongside appraisal seals from scholars of the late Qing and esteemed figures of the Republican era. A straight line like this is sufficient proof of order, wouldn’t you say?”

Wang Guan examined it closely and largely agreed. He then noticed that in addition to the Republican-era collector’s seals, there was one seal whose ink was relatively fresh but slightly aged, likely applied within the last ten or twenty years. Undeniably, this must be a contemporary addition.

So, Yu Feibai was correct; the seals on this painting truly demonstrated an orderly succession and did not appear forged.

Naturally, Wang Guan was not one to get bogged down obsessing over the seals. His appraisal was holistic: first the inscription, then the seals, and finally the artwork itself—a trinity leading to the final conclusion.

“Indeed, this is an original.” As he spoke, Wang Guan felt a touch of amazement. “To trust such an item, worth tens of millions, to a temple for consecration—that is truly remarkable audacity.”

“Exactly,” Yu Feibai nodded repeatedly, his eyes darting around. “How about we head to Panjiayuan, find someone to replicate this painting following the pattern, and then just swap the genuine one for the fake?”

“If you’re not afraid of General Yu breaking your legs, I can offer my full moral support,” Wang Guan laughed. “Spiritual support, that is.”

“I support that too,” Tang Qinghua added with a chuckle from the side. “I support General Yu breaking your legs.”

“Pfft…”

Yu Feibai snorted derisively, then asked curiously, “Master, who brought this painting in?”

“An anonymous donor.”

Master Banshan hesitated, looking slightly perplexed. “Sometime recently, they came to the temple to offer incense and worship, and simply left this painting behind, requesting that we consecrate it for blessings. At first, everyone thought it was just an ordinary item, but upon opening it, we discovered it was something this valuable…”

“No way!”

In an instant, Yu Feibai exclaimed in astonishment, “You mean the owner never mentioned its value and just left it here? And didn’t say when they’d return for it?”

“Correct,” Master Banshan affirmed with a nod.

“Incredible, a genuine tycoon,” Yu Feibai breathed admiringly. “Aren’t they afraid of it being misappropriated?”

“Don’t project your petty suspicions onto virtuous people,” Wang Guan chided him. “They trust Master Banshan and believe he wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Indeed.” Master Banshan deeply agreed; he certainly wouldn’t tarnish the temple’s reputation for tens of millions.

“Fine, forget I said anything.”

Yu Feibai knew he had spoken out of turn and quickly changed the subject. “Speaking of which, although this flower-and-bird painting has a clear provenance through its seals, it doesn’t seem to be recorded in any ancient catalogues of paintings and calligraphy.”

“Perhaps it was exceptionally precious, and those who owned it kept it secret, so it was never recorded,” Wang Guan replied casually. “Besides, ancient catalogues of paintings and calligraphy also list many forgeries; we can’t trust them entirely.”

“I know,” Yu Feibai nodded. “I was just thinking that since the owner is so magnanimous, they might possess other treasures. If we ever get the chance, it would be worthwhile to meet them.”

“Finally, you said something sensible,” Tang Qinghua remarked with a smile. “But you’ve been clever your whole life, only to be foolish just now. You just confirmed the seals show an orderly inheritance, so shouldn't we just read the names inscribed on the seals to find out?”

“That makes sense.”

Yu Feibai immediately forgot his annoyance and quickly bent down to examine the newest seal impression.

“He Wei?”

Upon close inspection, Yu Feibai looked surprised. “Hè Hè Wēimíng (Great and Majestic Name)—what a name! But have any of you heard of this person?”

“Don’t ask me; I haven’t,” Tang Qinghua admitted self-awarely, shaking his head right away.

Sensing Yu Feibai’s inquiring gaze, Master Banshan also offered a wry explanation. “I have lived overseas for a long time and am not very familiar with contemporary artists in the mainland…”

“And you?” Yu Feibai turned to Wang Guan.

“Never heard of him,” Wang Guan shook his head. “Besides, he might not be a collector, perhaps just a wealthy man feigning cultural appreciation.”

“That’s true… I’ll ask Elder Qian when we get back…”

While they spoke, the group continued to admire the painting until noon, after which they ate a vegetarian meal at the temple before departing. Upon returning to the main residence, Wang Guan mentioned Mr. Anderson’s matter to Elder Qian.

“He should arrive tomorrow, I estimate,” Wang Guan calculated. “He said he intends to verify it personally.”

“Since we haven’t tampered with anything, we have nothing to fear from his inspection,” Elder Qian stated calmly. “If his verification proves correct, everyone is happy. If he finds the item unsatisfactory, it doesn’t matter; we have suffered no loss either way.”

Wang Guan concurred; they currently held the advantage, placing them in an unassailable position. If Mr. Anderson confirmed the item was indeed a sacred relic of Judaism, that would be best. If he didn't, Wang Guan had no intention of keeping it himself; he would simply send it to the Xiyi Museum for exhibition.

After a brief discussion, Yu Feibai, unwilling to be left out, suddenly interjected, “Elder Qian, do you happen to know anyone named He Wei?”

“What?”

Unexpectedly, Elder Qian, usually so composed and dignified, suddenly changed expression: “Who told you that name?”

“Huh?”

Instantly, Wang Guan and Yu Feibai were taken aback, realizing at once that this He Wei must be significant. Otherwise, there was no reason for Elder Qian to be so shaken, displaying an air of profound shock. Was this name somehow taboo?

“That’s not right,” Elder Qian frowned simultaneously. “Not many people know that name, and there’s a shared understanding that it shouldn't be spoken. How could you possibly know?”

“Elder Qian, nobody told us,” Wang Guan began, and before Elder Qian could ask further, Yu Feibai quickly explained, “We saw the name on a painting…”