Chapter 24: What Nonsense Are You Talking About?

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In a room full of counterfeit antiques, where even the owner was a fraud, suddenly appeared a genuine teapot?

Lin Sicheng found it quite peculiar and studied it with unusual focus.

After just a few glances, he understood why Hao Jun invited him to see it, knowing full well this wasn’t an authentic Mingyuan teapot.

First, the level of imitation.

The proportions matched almost exactly, on a one-to-one scale, with the Chuanxiang teapot auctioned by Poly in 2015 for 34,500 yuan. Lin Sicheng was confident this piece was a clay model painstakingly sculpted, copy by copy, with eyes wide open.

Strangely, it retained its own unique character.

The carving featured openwork within solid form, rigidity softened by grace, with natural textures. It embodied the weightiness of the Mingyuan teapot’s “unity in looking downward, solemnity like an ancient bronze vessel,” yet also carried the dazzling charm of the Shi teapot (Shi Dabin, a renowned late Ming to early Qing Zisha master) with “silver sand flashes and hidden pearl grains.”

Yet the technique leaned heavily toward the “Yang Family’s Mansheng Teapot,” favoring a natural, rustic, and refined vintage aesthetic.

At first glance, it seemed like a patchwork, but the blend was seamless, perfectly integrated.

Just based on this, the teapot must have come from a master’s hand.

More crucially, the inscription: the script was vigorous and elegant, eccentric yet mature—undoubtedly the work of a calligraphy master.

Examining the carving: consistent depth, free and unrestrained, without any trace of hesitation—the engraver must also be a master.

Looking at the seal: sharp edges, ancient and unbridled, vast and profound... This level could only be achieved by a master seal carver.

So, putting the teapot aside for a moment, just considering the calligraphy, the carving, and the seal... If Lin Sicheng were to speak honestly, the skill and mastery here far surpassed Chen Mingyuan’s.

That wasn’t surprising; after all, expertise is specialized. If you asked Chen Mingyuan to paint, he’d only do worse.

What puzzled Lin Sicheng was: so many masters—renowned Zisha artists, calligraphers, engravers, seal carvers—how impressive must this person be?

Every generation produces talents in this land of exceptional spirits, but this teapot was definitely not made by one person alone: it was clearly a collaborative piece, molded by a famous Zisha artist and inscribed by a renowned calligrapher and seal carver.

Two masters… but who?

Lin Sicheng put down his flashlight and held the teapot, first inspecting the lining, then the base, and finally feeling its texture.

It was indeed an old teapot, but who exactly molded it he couldn’t be sure.

Never mind; he’d judge by the inscription and seal.

But that was futile—his knowledge was so vast it became a burden: instantly, dozens of late Qing calligraphers and seal artists flooded his mind.

He sighed, shook his head to clear his thoughts, closed his eyes, and traced imaginary strokes in front of the teapot.

The inscription’s strokes were vigorous and decisive, the blade’s entrance sharp and forceful. The structure was balanced with a harmonious interplay of firmness and flexibility, dense and sparse in perfect rhythm.

Though written in semi-cursive script, it was lively and agile, the strokes naturally resonated with each other, bearing a distinct “Dong style.”

The seal shared the same style as the calligraphy, clearly carved by the same hand: the strokes were angular and relaxed, yet exuded sharpness.

Ah, Chen Hongshou, Master Mansheng?

Looking again at the teapot... Ha! What had he just said? This teapot combined the strengths of many masters, yet leaned toward the vintage style of Yang’s Mansheng Teapot.

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So, this was a Mansheng teapot co-created by Chen Mansheng and Yang Pengnian… or rather, a Chuanxiang teapot jointly imitated by the two.

Who was Chen Hongshou?

One of the Eight Masters of Xiling, a poet, calligrapher, painter, and seal carver.

His calligraphy, paintings, and seals were collected by many museums, including the Forbidden City Museum, the National Palace Museum in Taiwan, the Shanghai Museum, the Zhejiang Museum, the Suzhou Museum, and the Nanjing Museum.

He was also one of the five great Zisha masters of the Qing dynasty, ranking just below Chen Mingyuan.

But this teapot wasn’t molded by him—it was made by Yang Pengnian.

Yang Pengnian was also a renowned Zisha master, ranked third among the “Five Masters,” though his fame was modest in his youth.

Until Chen Hongshou was appointed county magistrate in Liyang (southern Jiangsu, bordering Yixing), where busy with official duties and unable to make teapots himself, he was introduced to the Yang siblings from Yixing to craft teapots following his personal designs—the famous “Mansheng Eighteen Forms.”

After Chen Hongshou’s death, Yang Pengnian regarded himself as a “disciple of Mansheng,” creating his own Pengnian teapots and gradually gaining renown as the third among the “Five Masters.”

So, the two million yuan price was indeed justified.

Looking at past auction records:

The highest was in 2017 at the Xiling Yinshe auction: a purple clay milk ding teapot made by Yang Pengnian and carved by Chen Mansheng, sold for 15 million yuan.

The lowest was in 2012 at Jiade auction: a stone inscription teapot made by Yang Pengnian with Chen Mansheng’s inscription, sold for 3.86 million yuan.

Now it was 2007, so the price should be somewhat lower, but still, it could never drop below two million.

Lin Sicheng suspected Old Song only doubted this teapot was by a master, never imagining names like Chen Mansheng or Yang Pengnian. Otherwise, the price would have soared past ten million, and it wouldn’t even be displayed here.

Tsk, Senior Brother Hao was lucky.

Afraid of ruining the illusion, Lin Sicheng picked up the teapot again to examine it meticulously.

He remained motionless, eyes fixed. Hao Jun and Old Song watched, growing increasingly curious.

At first, Old Song thought: Hao Jun was a respectable figure but seemed to be regressing. If he couldn’t identify it, why not bring an expert?

Then this young man—barely twenty with sparse facial hair—how could he be trusted?

Yet he looked the part, putting on quite a show.

After a while, Lin Sicheng suddenly closed his eyes, extended his fingers, and traced invisible patterns in the air, like drawing talismans.

Old Song almost popped his eyes out: “Well, I’m damn enlightened—looking at antiques and casting spells now?”

After a while, Lin Sicheng opened his eyes.

Whether it was the light or the angle, the young man’s eyes seemed to be shining.

Old Song half-jokingly teased, “Young man, want to recite a spell?”

Recite what nonsense?

Hao Jun gave him a sharp glare and then looked at Lin Sicheng: “Well?”

“Not bad!” Lin Sicheng nodded. “The imitation is quite convincing.”

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Hao Jun knew this was a replica—the genuine Mingyuan teapot could never look like this.

Old Song knew it too, otherwise he wouldn’t have priced it at just two million.

They also knew this was definitely an old teapot, judging by the craftsmanship, not made by an amateur—possibly a master.

But it was only speculation; they had no clue which master it could be.

So Hao Jun offered 150,000 yuan, while Old Song, holding out for hope, stubbornly stuck to 300,000 yuan.

Hao Jun nodded: “Anything else?”

“Definitely an old teapot—not mid-Qing, but late Qing. However, it’s not a Yixing teapot, or at least the clay used is definitely not Yixing purple clay.”

“What?”

Hao Jun and Old Song were both stunned, then both lowered their heads to inspect.

The glaze was purple-black, subtly lustrous, with a sandy texture and an elegant ancient tone…

Whether in color, luster, texture, or grain, it clearly had the characteristics of Yixing ware—but still, it wasn’t a Yixing teapot?

Old Song narrowed his eyes: “Young man, you can eat anything, but don’t say nonsense!”

“I know!” Lin Sicheng smiled. “How about we brew some tea in this pot, Master Song?”

“Of course!”

Taking care of the teapot—what else is there if not brewing tea?

Every morning when he opened his eyes, Old Song would brew a pot of black tea in this teapot to whet his appetite.

His movements were swift. He boiled water with an electric kettle, got the tea box.

A few minutes later, water boiled; he sieved the tea leaves, rinsed them, and brewed with fluid efficiency.

After two minutes, Lin Sicheng pointed to the teapot’s body: “Master Song, look at the clay color!”

They both leaned in, gazing intently: the teapot’s body was reddish-brown, the clay lustrous.

Quite fitting, right?

Hao Jun raised his head suspiciously.

Lin Sicheng took his flashlight, turned it on, and shone it on the teapot’s body. A blue light flashed, reflected on Tao Jun’s face.

Why so blue?

He instinctively squinted, then froze: a blue Zisha teapot… what nonsense was this?