Chapter 26: Give Me a Reason

Lin Sicheng gripped the steering wheel, driving the Audi with both speed and precision.

Hao Jun, feeling utterly wretched, sat slumped in the passenger seat clutching the teapot, his mind replaying every word Lin Sicheng had used to warn him. Each word felt like a needle pricking his heart:

"Brother Hao, this pot is a very 'authentic' imitation!"
"It's blue sand!"
"At the very least, it's from the mid-Qing Dynasty; the artistic standard is very 'high'!"
"It's blue sand!"
"It's extremely unique and has great 'value' for research!"
"Even if it has value, it's still blue sand... No, wait, Lin Sicheng, whose side are you on?"

The repeated reminders, the constant hints, and even the deliberate emphasis on key words—he might as well have stood by his ear and roared: "Brother, this is a massive oversight, strike now!"

But he, blinded by his own prejudices, had fixated on three words: "It's blue sand."

So what if it was blue sand? Even a pile of dung, if carved by a master, would be worth a thousand pieces of gold.

Thinking back to his conversation with Old Song at the shop, Hao Jun wanted to slap himself. Who said there were no famous Zisha masters outside of Yixing? What about Chen Mansheng and Yang Pengnian? Both were from Zhejiang; they weren't just non-Yixing natives, they weren't even from Jiangsu. And who said famous pots weren't produced outside of Yixing? Weren't the Mansheng pots proof of that? Chen Mansheng was an official his entire life, and Yang Pengnian followed him everywhere. They visited Ganyu, Liyang, and Huai'an, but they never once stepped foot in Yixing. Therefore, by any stretch of the imagination, the Mansheng pots had nothing to do with Yixing.

Why hadn't he realized that? It wasn't until Lin Sicheng explained it that he felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of enlightenment. Prejudices are like a great mountain: "If it's not made in Yixing, can it really be a Zisha pot? If you're not from Yixing, what kind of Zisha master are you?"

Oh, and it wasn't just him; Old Song was the same. That bastard—if he knew this was a genuine Mansheng pot, he’d likely be sick with regret. A treasure worth millions, treated like garbage and shoved out the door.

Wait, thinking about it that way, he felt a bit better.

Seeing him recover and a smile return to his face, Lin Sicheng nodded inwardly. He had to admit, Brother Hao’s capacity for psychological self-reconstruction was quite impressive.

He smiled. "Brother, this pot is quite rare."

"Of course. Although there are quite a few Mansheng pots in existence, that's only relative to the Mingyuan pots!"

"It's also quite valuable."

"Nonsense. If it’s worth less than two million, I’ll cut my head off... wait, no?"

Hao Jun stopped abruptly, eyeing him sideways. "What are you trying to say?"

Lin Sicheng’s expression was solemn. "Brother, this pot is of immense value. It’s not just about its research value; it holds extremely high artistic and scientific significance. Setting everything else aside, just as the 'first blue sand pot of the Qing Dynasty,' it qualifies as a rare treasure, perhaps even a unique specimen. If you let it sit for a few years and handle the marketing carefully, doubling or tripling its value isn't impossible..."

What was two or three times two million? Four million? Six million?

"Two or three times it is, then!"

"The key is that this pot is also..."

"Alright, say no more!" Hao Jun waved his hand to interrupt, his expression equally grave. "Lin Sicheng, if you can call me 'Brother,' then we are people of principle. Let’s not belittle one another! Besides, there are many days ahead; what’s the rush?"

Thinking back on the day, had Lin Sicheng said a single word that was misleading? No. Had he given warnings? He’d done more than warn; he’d practically shouted. If he had pushed any harder, it wasn't certain that Hao Jun would have woken up, but Old Song certainly would have. Therefore, Lin Sicheng had done everything he could; it was only right that he was the one to find this treasure. His own frustration came from his own thick-headedness—even with such blatant hints, he hadn't caught on. Furthermore, if he hadn't let Lin Sicheng take it, should he have let Old Liu or that bastard Wu take it? If those two scoundrels had gotten their hands on it, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life.

Of course, looking at it from another angle: reasonably and sentimentally, Lin Sicheng should have offered him a share, but did he, Hao, lack that bit of money? What he lacked was a friend like Lin Sicheng. Looking at those scoundrels around him, like Old Liu, and then looking at Lin Sicheng, the difference was clear.

Lin Sicheng nodded. "Good."

Since things had reached this point, mentioning shares would only be hypocritical. As Brother Hao said, time reveals a person's character.

"So, Brother, are we still going to the hospital?"

"Since we're already here... Oh, stop by the entrance; I need to buy something."

"Why buy anything? Just set this pot in front of him and say you helped me find it; I guarantee Grandpa will be grinning from ear to ear."

"Lin Sicheng, quit talking nonsense!"

One thing is one thing, another is another. Visiting a patient in the hospital empty-handed? That wouldn't do. Hao Jun ignored him, picked out some fresh fruit, and grabbed two high-quality gift boxes.

The two made their way to the sixth floor, hearing hearty laughter from afar. Stepping inside, they saw Lin Changqing and Director Guan sitting by the window, chatting and laughing.

"Oh, Director Guan, didn't you go back to the office? You move fast."

"What, am I sold to the office? Am I not allowed to take a break?"

The two exchanged a joke, and Hao Jun greeted Lin Changqing. "Professor Lin, I heard from Brother Lin that you were ill, so I stopped by to see you!"

"Sorry to trouble you, Secretary-General Hao. Chengzhi, pour some tea."

One could tell from the tone that they were only acquaintances. Hao Jun hadn't been able to ask his grandfather for help directly, so he had taken a roundabout approach. And as it turned out, the help hadn't happened, and the teapot had ended up being his own.

As Lin Sicheng helped his father pour tea, Director Guan took the box from Hao Jun and weighed it in his hands. "Feels like a ceramic pot. Where did you dig this up?"

Hao Jun took his tea cup, unhurried. "Director Guan, take it easy; that's a Mingyuan pot!"

Director Guan was startled. "What kind of pot?"

"A Mingyuan pot by Chen Mingyuan!" Hao Jun said, his tone indifferent, tinged with a bit of pride, as if he had been the one to find it. "Cost me eighty thousand!"

"Old Hao, you're ugly and your dreams are even uglier!" Director Guan sneered. "Don't talk about eighty thousand; eighty thousand multiplied by a hundred wouldn't buy it."

"I never said I paid the eighty thousand for it. Besides, why don't you open it and see?"

Opening it was unlikely. Director Guan didn't stand on ceremony and found a pair of scissors. It wasn't just Director Guan; Lin Changqing also found it impossible. On a whim, he reached out to help.

After a few snips of the tape and opening the cardboard box, the moment the spout of the pot was revealed, both men froze. It looked a bit like... antique Zisha?

Looking closer: it didn't just look like it; it was antique Zisha. Judging by the clay color and the tea patina, it was at least two hundred years old. But to say it was a Mingyuan pot... that was absolutely impossible.

Their movements grew much gentler. After tearing away the foam, the full appearance of the pot was revealed.

After a moment of stunned silence, Guan Xingmin leaned back sharply. "Chen Mingyuan?"

Lin Changqing’s eyes narrowed, his pupils contracting. "The Chuanxiang Pot?"

The former looked at the inscription; the latter looked at the form.

Then, they spoke in unison, though not with the same conclusion:

"Fake!" declared Guan Xingmin firmly.
"An imitation!" Lin Changqing said, his face full of disappointment.

It was no surprise that Professor Lin could tell. Hao Jun raised his eyebrows. "Old Guan, what's fake about it? Give me a reason!"