Chapter 9: No One’s Mightier Than You

In just two minutes, the cashier finished issuing the receipt, and a clerk led a man in his early forties, slightly well-off in appearance, to the reception area.

The appraiser got straight to the point: "My surname is Hao. Where’s the item?"

Lin Sicheng stood up. "Please, sir, here it is."

The appraiser was momentarily taken aback, his eyes showing a hint of strangeness: a feather duster?

To be honest, he had never seen such an object before.

He had heard of them, though: during the late Qing Dynasty, the Cai family in the capital made feather dusters exclusively for the imperial court, known as "Tribute Dusters."

Although feather dusters, these were uniform in color with a thousand feathers of the same hue, all generally the same length, with handles made only from small-leaf red sandalwood.

But this one: its feathers were mixed and messy, and the handle was just ordinary bamboo—definitely no connection to the Tribute Dusters.

So what value was there to appraise?

Frowning, he asked, "Really want it appraised?"

The implication was clear: it’s not too late to regret this.

Lin Sicheng paused briefly, then smiled, pointing to the duster’s tail feathers. "Of course! Sir, look: it has writing!"

Many items bear inscriptions, but not all are antiques or valuable.

Young people, he thought, would just throw away a thousand yuan like that?

He sighed, opened the box, donned gloves, and reached to take the item—then squinted: indeed, there were characters, “Mr. Qiuming”… the name looked somewhat familiar.

The key was the calligraphy—it seemed extraordinary.

Was it in the style of Liu or semi-cursive script? It possessed unique character, flowing gracefully yet strong and slender.

Ordinary people couldn’t write like that, much less carve it; from this, the author had to be a master.

Turning it over to examine the name again—Mr. Qiuming… huh, Shen Yinmo?

His eyes lit up, but then his brow furrowed again: something was off.

It wasn’t the writing that was wrong, but the person: Shen Yinmo first studied the “Two Wangs” style, then the Ouyang style, which was upright but lacked this kind of gentle beauty.

Moreover, who would call themselves “Mr.”, even if he was a true gentleman?

The appraiser studied the item a long time, then stared at Lin Sicheng: “There’s thick old lacquer; it needs cleaning!”

“Alright, clean it,” Lin Sicheng agreed.

“Takes two days.”

Two days? Lin Sicheng glanced around and pointed at his toolbox. "Sir, maybe I’ll do it myself?"

Young man, no patience at all—can you handle it?

The appraiser thought this but nodded anyway, taking the tools one by one.

---

“The item is definitely old; at least fifty or sixty years. It wasn’t well preserved, hence the thick layer of old lacquer…”

“After so long, the bamboo handle must be heavily aged. Need to start with a soft brush, but not too hard…”

The appraiser rambled on as Lin Sicheng nodded repeatedly—but the young man wasn’t using a brush, but cotton cloth.

With a “plop,” he poured a whole bottle of walnut oil onto the handle, then wrapped it up with the cloth.

The appraiser looked resentful: this guy was set on doing his own thing regardless.

Yet, surprisingly, he seemed quite knowledgeable.

About three minutes later, Lin Sicheng unwrapped the cloth, picked up a carving needle, and began lifting away bits carefully.

The appraiser was amazed: this young man was not just knowledgeable but highly skilled and steady-handed.

Secretly admiring, the old grime peeled away piece by piece, revealing more and more writing.

Master Hao read each character slowly: “If one cannot sweep one’s own house, how can one sweep the world? Written in the winter month of the Wuchen year by a garden guest in Zuo Jing, presented to Mr. Qiuming.”

Winter of Wuchen year… if Mr. Qiuming was Shen Yinmo, that would be November 1928.

But where was Zuo Jing? Never heard of it.

And who was this garden guest? No idea.

No known calligrapher used this pseudonym; otherwise, it wouldn’t be so hard to recall.

But the writing was clearly not by an unknown person.

Most likely, a master engraver.

Yet, after much scrutiny, Master Hao still couldn’t make sense of it.

Rubbing his chin and smacking his lips, he said: “Young man, this thousand yuan wasn’t easy to earn, huh?”

Lin Sicheng suppressed a smile and nodded.

If it were that easy, this item wouldn’t have ended up at a street stall.

The duster was indeed ordinary; even without the grime, only the four characters “Mr. Qiuming” might evoke some thoughts: during the Republic era, Mr. Shen Yinmo went by the sobriquet Qiuming.

A renowned scholar, revolutionary, educator, calligrapher, poet… co-founder of “New Youth” with Mr. Chen, Lu Xun, and Hu Shi; later president of Peking University, and a member of the Kuomintang’s Control Yuan.

Just his calligraphy alone was famed as “Southern Shen, Northern Wu,” one of the two giants of Peking University.

Impressive, right?

But strangely, the writing was not Shen Yinmo’s.

And without proof it was his relic, they had to look elsewhere—like to this “garden guest” author.

Honestly, that was hard to find: this “garden guest” was quite famous, known as “Southern Zhang, Northern Pu,” referring to him and Zhang Daqian.

But that was long ago; since fleeing to Taiwan in 1949, his fame had waned year by year.

That was one reason.

The second: too many surviving works, none highly hyped, so few studied or collected domestically.

In another four or five years, his reputation might ride Zhang Daqian’s coattails, but sadly, that never happened.

Third: he had many pseudonyms—dozens, including rarely used ones. This “garden guest” was only used for a few years, so even experts in calligraphy and painting might not recall it, let alone miscellaneous item experts.

---

Lin Sicheng didn’t hold back, pointing to the final signature: “This garden guest is Pu Xinyu.”

Master Hao was stunned: “You said who?”

“Pu Xinyu, younger cousin of Pu Yi, grandson of Yixin, originally named Aisin Gioro Puru, first styled Zhongheng, then changed to Xinyu, with various aliases: Xihuang Shangren, Xishan Yishi, Old Prince, Mingyi, Huzhongke, Garden Guest…”

“This ‘Garden Guest’ refers to his residence at Prince Gong’s Cuijin Garden, later at Xihe Garden, then back to Cuijin Garden… But after Pu Yi became emperor of Manchukuo in 1932, to avoid suspicion, he abandoned this pseudonym, so its use was brief.”

“Looking at the duster’s Wuchen year aligns: 1928. Because of openly supporting student movements, Mr. Shen was wanted by authorities and temporarily fled to Japan. Having studied twice at Kyoto University, he rented a room in the Yoshida dormitory in Zuo Jing district.”

“At that time, Pu Xinyu was teaching at Kyoto University, also living in Yoshida dormitory… one a calligrapher, the other a painter, both cultural luminaries of the capital, they were long acquainted.”

“Meeting an old friend in a foreign place, their friendship deep as ever, was truly a joy. Without any precious belongings, Pu Xinyu gifted the feather duster at hand to Mr. Shen…”

Lin Sicheng spoke nonstop, while Master Hao’s expression grew stranger: “You’re quite the storyteller, huh?”

But then reconsidered—it was possible: known as “Southern Zhang, Northern Pu,” Pu Xinyu was skilled in landscapes and figures, excelled in carving, and was a competent calligrapher. He and Shen Yinmo were indeed acquainted.

If the young man’s story was true—that the two had ended up in Japan and unexpectedly reunited—Pu Xinyu giving Shen Yinmo a feather duster made sense.

Of course, it was just a possibility. So even if confirmed as Pu Xinyu’s work, its value would be modest.

Because he produced so many works: it’s said Zhang Daqian left over 20,000 paintings, and Pu Xinyu’s surviving works were at least three times that.

Because of the volume, value was low, and thus research was minimal.

Besides, Lin Sicheng specialized in miscellaneous items, while Pu Xinyu was a painter; this bamboo handle bore inscriptions, carved under a rarely used pseudonym—so it wasn’t his fault for missing the details.

Not exaggerating, if it were him, even without grime, he wouldn’t pay more than 400 yuan.

Forty might be about right…

“So, it’s a Japanese feather duster?”

Giving himself an excuse, he pointed to the clerk: “Call Master Liu and get my computer.”

After calling out, he looked back at Lin Sicheng: “Where did this come from?”

“Picked it up at the East Gate, paid 400!”

“What? Not from your home?”

“No way,” Lin Sicheng smiled wryly. “It’s just a few steps away; they’d know immediately!”

“Then how do you know so much?”

Lin Sicheng smiled: “I’m a senior in Cultural Heritage and Museology at West University.”

Master Hao moved his lips: “I graduated from Peking University and still can’t match you.”