Chapter 2: Inheriting the Family Property

An Minghua knew the layout and mechanisms of the An family’s secret rooms like the back of her hand.

When she was little, she absolutely loved playing the game of “find the secret room.” Her father, An Tingbai, indulged her, and during his free time, he even taught her how to unlock the various mechanisms of the secret chambers.

Back then, Mother An—Zhao Qiuxian—would paint the father and daughter while laughing, teasing Father An: “Are you trying to raise a little Shi Qian, the thief on a drum?”

Father An’s voice still echoed in her ears from those days:

“Now the nation is at peace. Though everything needs rebuilding, the people are united, and the country’s revival is just around the corner. Hua Hua was born in a good era. She can learn whatever she likes—it doesn’t have to be useful. As long as she enjoys it, that’s enough.”

An Minghua blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears welling up in her eyes.

She still had no idea what exactly had happened to her father and mother.

In the basement, An Minghua first gathered all her childhood memorabilia—anything sentimental or considered bourgeois.

Then, she pressed a mechanism in the corner of the wall and entered the second level of the underground chamber.

The first thing she saw was a large antique display shelf lining the wall.

Right in the center, a Yuan Dynasty blue-and-white cloud-and-dragon jar with beast-shaped handles gleamed with a golden luster, dazzling An Minghua’s eyes.

Back when her parents got married, Father An had once mentioned that he had placed a few things in the secret room—meant to be her dowry.

She had always known how to access the chamber, but she had never gone in before. She had always known the An family was wealthy—but not this wealthy!

It had to be remembered that back in the war years, Father An had been a red capitalist operating right under the noses of the Japanese occupiers. During the hard times, all of the family’s liquid assets had been sent away to support the cause!

Now, on the display shelves stood treasures like the Ru kiln celadon eight-sided string-pattern vase with flared rim, a Qianlong-era pastel gourd vase with “Longevity and Continuity” motifs, and a Qianlong enamel-ware twin-ear vase with golden pheasants from the Guguan kiln—each item radiating golden brilliance, their vibrant colors bursting into her vision.

On the other side of the wall, another display shelf was packed with white jade ornaments, brightly colored jadeite figurines, and all sorts of trinkets, big and small, stuffed to the brim.

On the floor, a Qianlong-era doucai painted storage jar was filled with scrolls of calligraphy and paintings.

An Minghua casually pulled one out—good heavens, she had actually found “Autumn in the Han Palace” from the Southern Song Dynasty!

The only reason she even recognized this painting was because, while learning art appraisal from a CEO’s wife, she had heard that this particular scroll had once sold for 160 million yuan at auction. The number had left a lasting impression.

She glanced around—everything here was clearly a treasure. But why were the colors so flamboyant?

Was this how her parents saw her? Did they think she had the same gaudy taste as Emperor Qianlong?

An Minghua felt a bit indignant. She opened one of the chests on the floor—golden light nearly blinded her.

Inside were gold vessels inlaid with gemstones—cups, dishes, and pitchers. She picked up a gem-encrusted golden square crane pitcher, and it easily weighed over a jin.

And there were twelve such chests!

She couldn’t help but open another one—two phoenix crowns sat inside, so beautiful and unexpected that they startled her out of her wits!

Not daring to look any closer, with her heart pounding, An Minghua swept everything in the basement—including the antique shelves—into her personal space.

After exiting the secret room, she made a round through her own courtyard. In her room’s safe, she found stacks of cash—twenty bundles of ten-yuan bills, given by her parents at her wedding.

She was now so rich that she felt a little resentful of herself for it!

Aside from the cash, there was also a stack of land deeds and various receipts. Another wooden box held money too—it was Qin Lie’s salary.

Out in the open, besides the ordinary clothing and daily items, anything that could be considered antique, or deemed worthy of being targeted for political campaigns—like books or qipaos—was all taken away by her.

She walked through the courtyards of her parents and her two older brothers, picking up anything she could like a bird pecking at feathers, her heart growing heavier with each step.

The small secret rooms of her two brothers held no display shelves—only two chests each. She didn’t even open them. Her parents’ and brothers’ favoritism toward her was clear as day.

In Father’s secret room, the display shelf held porcelain pieces that matched his personal taste—yes, they were all from the Yongzheng period.

There were also a few paintings that were probably Mother’s favorites, and some pieces of jewelry.

After collecting all the gold, silver, and valuables, An Minghua—panting with effort—went into the storeroom and gathered all the grain in one swoop. On her way past the library, she slapped her forehead and ran inside to sweep up all the books into her space too.

The antique decorations in the guest hall were also collected. In the central spot, she placed a framed copy of Mao’s Quotations (“Red Book”). At the end, she solemnly placed the redwood box from her parents’ underground chamber right beside the Red Book.

The box was filled entirely with receipts from the aid Father An had provided back in the day.

They might not hold much practical value now—but she had done all she could. The rest was up to fate.

After all, the tides of the times would not shift for any one person’s will.

Once everything was arranged, An Minghua rushed back to check on her son. The little boy was in a daze, his cheeks flushed red, muttering something in his sleep.

He had a fever!

An Minghua’s first instinct was to scoop him up and run straight to the hospital.

“Minghua!”

Just as she stepped outside the front gate, she bumped into Qin Zhao and his wife, He Cuizhi, who had just gotten off their bicycle.

Qin Zhao was Qin Lie’s eldest brother. He now worked in the railway department and was a stern, unsmiling man with a dark, weathered face.

“What’s wrong with Ping’an?”

“Big Brother, Sister-in-law, what are you doing here?” An Minghua was a little surprised to see them. “Ping’an has a fever.”

“I heard that people are coming to search the place soon. It’s not safe for you to stay here alone with Ping’an—we came to get you out.”

He Cuizhi touched Ping’an’s forehead, then turned her head toward the alley, where the sound of a commotion was growing.

“There’s no time to pack. Let’s take Ping’an to the hospital first.”

The three of them reached the alley just in time to come face to face with a group marching down it, chanting slogans.

Bold and aggressive, their faces solemn and heated with purpose, they were heading straight for the old An family residence.

At the front of the group was a bad boy with upturned eyes—he looked like the leader. His gaze skimmed past An Minghua, then suddenly fixed on her face.

He Cuizhi subtly stepped to the side, shielding An Minghua from view.

The group passed by.

“Brother Zhou, what are you staring at?”

“Call me Captain Zhou!” the upturned-eyes man tilted his chin proudly and shouted toward the front: “Director, isn’t that the capitalist young lady from the An family? We’re just going to let her walk away?”

“She’s a military dependent!” the woman addressed as “Director” responded sternly. “Everyone listen up—pay special attention to any kind of letters or correspondence…”

That was all An Minghua heard before their voices faded. She frowned, deep in thought.

Pay special attention to letters? This didn’t sound like an ordinary anti-capitalist raid. Were they suspecting her father of being a spy?

“Dad! Mom! Minghua!”

As they exited the alley, Qin Muhan came running toward them, soaked in sweat. “Why are you all here?”

“I should be the one asking you that! We told you to come check on Minghua, but you vanished!”

He Cuizhi frowned and scolded him: “This is not the time to go running around!”

“I went to find out about Brother Minglang!” Qin Muhan stepped beside An Minghua and lowered his voice. “Brother Minglang got implicated by his unit’s leadership. They’ve only detained him and are making him write reports about his superior.”

That didn’t sound too bad.

In the novel, it was mentioned that Second Brother was eventually sent down to a farm in the northwest, and it happened before she herself was exiled.

As long as he was still alive, things were manageable. An Minghua let out a small breath of relief and nodded. “As long as he’s safe.”

Then she suddenly felt that walking beside Qin Muhan was especially irritating.

“Big Brother.” she turned to Qin Zhao: “still no word on Qin Lie?”

The novel hadn’t stated the exact timing of Qin Lie’s injury either. Now that Qin Muhan was bothering her, her thoughts drifted to that man—whose fate was still unknown.

She couldn’t change the fact that he had gotten injured on a mission, but Qin Lie hadn’t died immediately. He had been treated in a hospital for half a month before passing away. As long as she could get to him during that window—she could save him.

The spring in her space might not be able to bring back the dead or regenerate lost limbs, but as long as someone was still breathing, it could bring them back from the brink.

“Dad said he’s on a mission. Don’t be afraid, Minghua.” Qin Zhao said, his voice steady. “Qin Lie’s military rank now qualifies him for family relocation. Once he comes back, he’ll bring you to live with the army unit. As for Uncle An—we’ll keep watch over things here.”

He paused briefly, face unreadable.