The doctor’s mind went blank as he stared at the longevity lock that had accompanied him for 24 years.

The white jade, once an unbroken symbol of protection, now lay in two precise halves upon the rain-scoured bluestone pavement, with the fracture running clean across the “Live to a Ripe Old Age” inscription.

This lock had been his mother’s memento. From a very young age, he had been sternly told that it must never be removed. So, whether he was bathing, sleeping, or even performing surgery as an adult, it had never once left his neck. 

At some point, he even considered replacing the red cord securing it, but though it had frayed slightly over the years, it still held firm enough to dissuade him from the idea.

He never would have imagined a day like this would come for it to break without the slightest warning.

The doctor stood frozen, staring down at the broken jade. Though he had never been one to place much value on material possessions, watching something that had accompanied him for over two decades shatter before his eyes still made his heart ache. 

After standing there in stunned grief for a moment, he finally came to and bent down to pick up the pieces.

However, a slender, pale hand moved faster than his. In the blink of an eye, the two halves of the longevity lock rested quietly in the palm of the owner’s hand. Though it seemed that the owner made no move to return them, leaving the doctor momentarily confused.

“You… do you feel anything?” The owner studied him intently, his voice carrying an unfamiliar weight.

“Feel anything?” The doctor looked puzzled. “What do you mean, feel what?”

The question, unexpectedly, appeared to render the owner speechless. He regarded the doctor with disbelief and, without uttering a word, took him by the arm and proceeded down the street.

“What’s going on? Did something happen?”

The doctor had never seen him act like this before. The owner’s expression was grim—his usually inscrutable lips pressed into a tight line, and even his rarely furrowed brows were drawn together in a dark knot.

“Find someone to repair the lock,” the owner said abruptly. He raised a hand to flag down a taxi.

Hearing this, the doctor obediently followed him into the car. He had an unusual attachment to the longevity lock; even though it had broken, he had just escaped from a supernatural encounter involving the White Snake Umbrella and was curious to see what sort of miracle the owner might pull off this time.

When he heard the address the owner gave the driver, he realized the place was far, very far.

He sighed and pulled out his phone to call Chun Ge and apologize for having to reschedule his birthday gathering. On the other end, Chun Ge responded with a teasing laugh, suggesting he must be off having a candlelit dinner with someone special.

Candlelit dinner? 

He had nearly been someone’s dinner just moments ago.

The doctor had no way to explain, so he could only give a bitter laugh and hang up. Stealing a glance at the owner sitting rigidly beside him, he couldn’t help but think—what a thrilling birthday this had turned out to be.

Though the sudden break of the longevity lock that had been on him for 24 years left him disheartened, once the tension in his nerves finally eased, fatigue settled in. The doctor closed his eyes and let himself doze. He had no idea how long they had been on the road when the car finally came to a stop.

He was unceremoniously pulled from the car by the owner, only to look up in astonishment and find himself standing before an opulent mansion of staggering grandeur.

The sheer opulence of the place was enough to snap him fully awake, and his eyes lit up with intrigue.

The mansion, built in the style of traditional Chinese architecture, resembled more a palace from antiquity than a modern home. Yet it wasn’t purely a replica of the past—many of its details embraced contemporary, streamlined design. The fusion, surprisingly seamless, carried no hint of discord. On the contrary, it was a visual delight, like a finely crafted work of art that stirred awe in all who beheld it.

The mansion was something of a local landmark. It had been featured frequently in architectural magazines and design journals, earning quiet fame for its exterior beauty, so the doctor recognized it at once. But his familiarity extended only to its façade. It was said that the interior had never been photographed, never revealed, as the owner had declined all requests for interviews or features. What lay within remained a mystery—its furnishings, its design, its secrets—sealed away from the world’s gaze to this day.

The owner pressed the intercom mounted on the wrought-iron gate, startling the doctor—he had not expected that the person they had come to find actually lived there.

Moments later, the massive gate swung inward, revealing a cobblestone pathway leading towards the mansion’s entrance. Though the garden was modest, in a city where every inch of land was priceless, it was nothing short of astonishing.

The doctor looked around with growing curiosity as he followed behind the owner. Under the eaves of the mansion hung a set of traditional wind chimes, their bronze bells ringing out with crisp, clear tones whenever a breeze passed through. In the soft amber light of dusk, the sight had an almost otherworldly charm. The doctor couldn’t help but slow his steps, wishing to linger in the moment a little longer. Yet the owner seemed unusually urgent, striding ahead with long, purposeful steps into the mansion, and the doctor had no choice but to hurry after him.

The moment they entered, a gilded corridor stretched before them. Its walls gleamed with gold accents, lined with carefully curated antiques, each one exuding an air of immeasurable worth. Though the doctor had no time for close inspection, he could sense their rarity—artifacts not meant to be owned, but preserved.

At the end of the corridor, there was a remarkably spacious sitting room. Two walls of window wall looked out onto a lake, its surface aglow with the reflected hues of the setting sun. Light danced across the water and flooded the room in a blazing golden shimmer so radiant it made the entire space seem as though it had been cast in molten gold.

The doctor blinked several times before he noticed someone seated on the couch. 

The man’s features were unremarkable—average build, plain face, appearing to be in his 40s or 50s—but his eyes, clear and limpid as a child’s, shone with striking innocence. His head was completely bald, the skin smooth and gleaming under the rays of the sun, reflecting the light like an oversized light bulb. The doctor immediately realized this must be the mansion’s elusive owner, though he had no idea how to address him. 

Before he could puzzle it out, the man had already beamed at the owner with cheerful hospitality, gesturing enthusiastically towards the seats. 

“Ah, a rare guest! Please, sit!”

The owner remained standing, but the doctor instinctively obeyed and sank into the couch. It was soft—so soft that it felt like falling into a dream. The cushions seemed to cradle him, stripping him of all desire to rise again, tempting him to surrender to a slumber that might never end.

Still dazed, he watched as the owner handed over the broken longevity lock he had been clutching all this time. His tone was calm, almost indifferent, as he said, “Master, I’ve come to ask if this longevity lock can still be repaired.”

Upon hearing the owner address the man as “Master,” the doctor suddenly recalled that this very man had once been invited to give a lecture when the museum hosted an exhibition. This middle-aged man, now referred to so reverently, was in fact a renowned figure in the world of antiques—a master restorer whose family had passed down their exquisite craft for generations in the field.

Who knew that the owner of the mansion was him all along?

The owner handed over the longevity lock, but the master didn’t take it right away. Instead, he touched his smooth bald head and offered a sheepish smile. 

“Boss, you know my rule. When I restore antiques for others, I charge money. But the things you bring to me are never ordinary. Every time I work on one, it costs me a strand of hair. It’s not that I don’t want to help—look at me, I’ve already lost it all!”

The doctor’s mouth twitched involuntarily. He had always known that people in the antiques business tended to be eccentric, but this hair-loss-for-artifacts quirk was truly beyond anything he had imagined.

The owner’s expression remained unchanged. He replied mildly, “Just take a look. That shouldn’t be too much to ask, should it?”

“Ha! Yes, of course, I’ll take a look!” The master rubbed his hands together and pulled a handkerchief from his chest pocket. Carefully wrapping the broken longevity lock in the cloth, he finally received it into his hands.

The moment the master accepted the lock, the doctor’s gaze sharpened, watching his expression closely. At once, the master’s body jolted. He sat up straight, visibly trembling as he fumbled for the remote control on the tea table and clicked it several times.

The curtains closed automatically, cutting off the blinding glare of the setting sun. Soft, ambient lighting bathed the room in a gentle glow as bright as daylight. The doctor watched as the master pulled open a drawer in the tea table and retrieved an entire set of specialized magnifying glasses. 

One by one, he used them to examine the broken lock with painstaking care.

The doctor waited, anticipating a quick conclusion, but ten full minutes passed, then another ten, and still the master was hunched over the object, turning it this way and that. Soon enough, boredom gradually crept in. 

The owner, on the other hand, remained standing perfectly straight, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the master’s every move, as though afraid the man might secretly swap out the artifact at any moment.

At last, after more than 20 minutes, the master leaned back with a defeated sigh, sinking into the plush couch. 

He muttered to himself, “What a sin… what a terrible sin…”

Over and over, he repeated the phrase. His voice rose from a near whisper to a roar of grief and fury. His face flushed deep red as he flailed his arms in the air. “Who did it?! Who smashed this longevity lock?!”

The doctor stared in stunned silence.

Before he could even think of a response, the master turned to him with a face full of anguish and bellowed, “It had to be you, kid! The owner would never be so careless! If you’d offered me this lock in exchange for this entire mansion, I would’ve agreed in a heartbeat! And yet you—how could you be so clumsy?! Sinful!”

Staggered by the intensity of the outburst, the doctor stared in disbelief. From the owner’s earlier demeanour, he had already guessed the lock was no ordinary item, but he had never imagined it was precious to such an extent.

This mansion was one of the most extravagant in the city, designed by a famed architect and practically a landmark unto itself. And now this tiny, broken lock… was worth as much as all of it?

The mere thought that he had once worn a whole mansion around his neck every day made his throat ache with phantom weight.

At that moment, the owner let out a cold snort, “Worth a mansion? You’re underestimating it.”

The master bristled, launching into defensive outrage.

“You think my mansion was cheap? This is the most coveted area in the whole city—land here is more valuable than gold. Even with money, you couldn’t just buy your way in! And I didn’t purchase it either. I traded a genuine Song dynasty porcelain piece for the privilege of having that architect design this place for me. The materials used were the finest available. It’s not just a house—it’s a work of art! Even if that longevity lock were carved by Lu Zigang himself, it would barely be worth the same!”

“Lu Zigang? Who’s that?” the doctor interjected hastily, trying to defuse the tension before it boiled over. “Master, how can you tell who carved the lock? I don’t recall there being a signature on it.”

“You rascal, you’ve never even heard of Lu Zigang?! He was the most illustrious jade carver of the late Ming dynasty! Raised relief, openwork piercing, incised lines—he had mastered all of these to perfection. What’s more, he was capable of achieving shallow bas-relief effects in his carvings.

“The man was a legend! And he always signed his work, though never in obvious places. The marks were often hidden in the base or inside the lids, where they wouldn’t be noticed. There’s a tale that Emperor Shenzong of Song once ordered him to carve a jade teapot and forbade him from leaving any signature on it. So Lu Zigang, relying solely on his tactile memory, secretly engraved his name inside the spout, where it couldn’t be seen unless dismantled.”

The master had clearly been bottling up this passion for far too long. Now, with someone to absorb his knowledge, he launched into the explanation with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Now, this longevity lock here doesn’t bear a visible signature—but look closely at the back, right there, within the pattern of the lotus. Do you see it? Two characters, almost hidden in the lines.” He pointed reverently. 

The characters, Zi and Gang, were indeed carved in there.

The doctor took the half of the longevity lock handed to him by the master, lifted a magnifying glass, and examined it closely. Sure enough, he spotted two delicate seal-script characters, precisely aligned with the lines of the lotus blossom—an exquisite display of craftsmanship.

The doctor found it extraordinary. He had worn this longevity lock every day for 24 years, remembered every fine detail by heart, and yet had never noticed that there were two characters hidden within the lotus design.

“Lu Zigang—that stubborn fool. Told him not to leave an inscription on this lock, and yet he did. No wonder the emperor had him executed,” the owner sighed beside him. Yet his tone was utterly different from the master’s, as though he had known Lu Zigang personally.

“Huh? He died?” The doctor realized as soon as he said it that something was wrong. Someone from the late Ming dynasty—of course, he would be dead. So he awkwardly corrected himself, “He was executed?”

“Yes. According to legend, Lu Zigang once carved a jade piece for the emperor and secretly inscribed his name within the dragon’s head design, which enraged the emperor and led to his execution. Lu Zigang died young, left no descendants, and his unmatched skills vanished with him. That’s why surviving works of Zigang jade are extraordinarily rare. Despite countless imitations over the centuries, pieces that have been authenticated as his are either housed in museums or held in private collections—no more than a few dozen exist in the world.” The master sighed with regret, then took the fragment of the longevity lock back from the doctor, gently caressing it with sorrow.

The doctor still felt as though he were lost in a fog, as if listening to a story that had nothing to do with the longevity lock he had worn every single day.

The master suddenly gave a low gasp. “This isn’t right. The jade’s patina gleams brightly, the lustre is smooth and full, the texture warm, and the spirit vibrant. It should be far older… yet there’s not a trace of burial stain…”

He examined the piece under the light again and again, growing more agitated. “This jade has been nurtured for at least two or three centuries. It’s a crime! A crime! You rascal! Where on earth did you get this jade?”

His final question was shouted at the doctor with barely restrained fury.

The doctor stammered, “It was my mother’s memento… well, not exactly hers. My grandfather said I was born prematurely, and a certain gentleman gave me this longevity lock when I was born. He said I had to wear it close to my body and never take it off. So I’ve worn it for 24 years. Today, the red string suddenly snapped, and the lock broke…”

The master’s face grew more and more twisted as he listened. He could tell at a glance that this young man had no understanding of such things.

This kind of jade should never be worn directly on the skin, let alone exposed to soap or other chemical substances. Worn for 24 years without ever being removed—through sleep and bathing—yet the jade still retained such radiant, water-like brilliance?

That could only mean the stone had already been nurtured for centuries before it was carved.

To “nurture jade” meant to refine it through prolonged handling and wear, much like a butterfly struggling from its cocoon. Only after shedding its rough earthly crust could the jade’s inner beauty emerge. Even the most vividly colored antique jade would appear dull without proper care. Its structure and colour would remain hidden, and its essence unrevealed—no better than a common stone. 

Therefore, the ancients placed great importance on the art of jade nurturing. 

The Gu Yu Bian (古玉辨) classifies three methods: Passive Patination, Mechanical Burnishing, and Qi-Infusion Method.

Passive Patination—worn and cherished it with great care over the decades.

Mechanical Burnishing—rubbed vigorously with a white cloth to generate heat, accelerate the jade’s awakening. Although this method was proven faster than Passive Patination, one misstep can easily ruin it entirely.

Qi-Infusion Method—the most mysterious method. A virtuous keeper cradled the jade in a place rich with spiritual energy and used the mind to communicate with the jade. Only those of the highest spiritual cultivation could achieve it.

At first, the master had been focused solely on the craftsmanship of the broken longevity lock. But now that he noticed the material itself, he nearly jumped to his feet in shock.

Only Lu Zigang would dare use his carving knife on jade of this calibre, and only Lu Zigang’s techniques would be worthy of it.

“If this lock had remained perfectly intact, not just this mansion—I’ll be willing to trade two of them for this.”

The doctor had gone numb from listening. The lock was broken anyway; there was no point in caring how much the master exaggerated.

The owner, however, said coolly from the side, “Even with all the collections in your mansion added in, it wouldn’t match this longevity lock.”

The master’s expression changed dramatically, but he didn’t lash out. Even though his mansion was valuable, its true worth lay in the treasures within, many of which had been handed down from his ancestors and were of exceptional rarity. Hearing the owner say this, he nearly leapt up to argue. 

However, his family and the owner were old acquaintances. The owner had been close friends with his grandfather. Moreover, he knew well that the owner never spoke carelessly when it came to antiques.

The master clutched the longevity lock and fell into deep thought, trying to recall whether he had ever seen jade this precious. After a long while, he suddenly chuckled and said, “Boss, don’t tell me this longevity lock is Jia Baoyu’s Jade of Spiritual Understanding from The Story of the Stone. But the inscription doesn’t match!”

[TL Note: Jade of Spiritual Understanding (通灵宝玉) is a mystical artifact from The Story of the Stone (红楼梦, 18th c.), Cao Xueqin’s classic Chinese novel. The word 通灵宝玉, in the first English translation, was translated as Magic Stone by David Hawkes in 1973—a readable but culturally generalized term. 

A new translation was then published by Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang in 1978, in which they translated 通灵宝玉 as Jade of Spiritual Understanding, emphasizing its Daoist and Confucian significance. To this day, both terms remain in use, though scholars often prefer the Yangs’ more culturally precise version.]

“The Jade of Spiritual Understanding is no ordinary artifact; it doesn’t shatter so easily. Each time, it seeks out its destined bearer,” the owner said with a slight curl of his lips. “The jade used to make the piece in your hand comes from the same source as the Mr. He’s jade. It was carved from the leftover fragments after crafting that imperial treasure.”

“The Mr. He’s jade?” The master jolted in shock.

If what the owner said was true, the longevity lock was indeed of immeasurable worth. A jade from the Warring States period, preserved over thousands of years, carved by none other than Lu Zigang—such a piece was beyond price. 

Yet, despite enduring time unscathed, it had shattered so easily today!

His eyes reddened with agitation as he turned an accusatory glare towards the doctor nearby.

The doctor shrank back into the couch, suddenly feeling that the air conditioning in the room was set far too low.

“Mr. He’s Jade was discovered by Bian He. He was a master jade carver of the Spring and Autumn period, in the Jing Mountains. Initially, it was dismissed as mere stone; it gained recognition when King Wen of Chu had it polished and named it Mr. He’s Jade, transforming it into a legendary treasure. 

“During the Spring and Autumn period, it passed through many hands before finally coming into Qin’s possession, where Emperor Qin Shi Huang had it carved into the Heirloom Seal of the Realm. When the seal was made, two leftover fragments of jade remained—one large and one small.

“The large piece was the size of a hand, its white jade pure as mutton fat. The smaller was no longer than a finger, its bluish hue like still waters. With no immediate use for them, Qin Shi Huang bestowed the two fragments upon his sons—the larger to his eldest, Fusu, and the smaller to his youngest, Huhai.”

The owner’s voice echoed through the spacious living room, low and slightly hoarse, as if steeped in the weight of distant history.

The master’s eyes gleamed as his thought had veered onto a different thread of history. “After the fall of Qin, the Heirloom Seal of the Realm was passed to Liu Bang, founder of the Han. ‘He who holds the Imperial Heirloom Seal holds the Mandate of Heaven’—this Mr. He’s Jade artifact circulated through imperial hands until the Tang dynasty…until it vanished during the Five Dynasties chaos…”

Hi gaze sharpened as it settled on the owner. Though he knew nothing of the man’s origins, their decades of acquaintance had taught him that many treasures long lost to history were hidden within the walls of Ya She. 

He had never dared to covet them—just seeing such legendary artifacts with his own eyes was reward enough for a lifetime.

The owner, however, failed to grasp his meaning. Still immersed in distant memories, he could almost see the towering figure of Qin Shi Huang gripping the Heirloom Seal of the Realm, looking down upon the world. Then the image dissolved, replaced by a kneeling Ziying offering the Mr. He’s Jade in trembling surrender to Liu Bang…

Suddenly, the owner was wracked with a violent cough. The doctor rushed to pour him a glass of water, only to freeze in shock—blood had seeped through the gaps between the owner’s pale fingers as he covered his mouth.

The stark contrast between blood and his paper-white hands was almost unbearable to look at. 

The doctor, relying on his professional instincts, quickly steadied himself and reached to lead the owner to a chair for a preliminary examination. However, before he could do so, the owner brushed him off. Without hesitation, he retrieved a handkerchief from his chest pocket, wiping away the lingering streaks of blood from his lips and palms.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned to the stunned master and asked evenly, “I don’t have much time left, so let’s keep this brief. Can you repair this longevity lock or not?”

The master rubbed his bare scalp, his expression tinged with hesitation. 

“If this were an ordinary jade, I might attempt to mend it. But when a jade breaks, it means it has warded off a great misfortune for its wearer. It mustn’t be worn again. Wrap it in red cloth and store it away. But this jade… It’s far too precious. If restored improperly, the consequences could be severe. Jade carries a spirit, but it also harbours malice. A broken jade is dangerously prone to attracting things best left undisturbed…”

Even as he spoke, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Finally, as if unwilling to keep it in his possession any longer, he stood and carefully handed the two halves of the lock back to the owner with great reverence.

Of course, the owner understood all this. However, seeing the jafe he had safeguarded for thousands of years suddenly shatter before his eyes, he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept it.

Over the years, he had seen countless antiques broken and lost before him. He thought he had long grown indifferent. But now he realized that wasn’t the case. It was only because those weren’t the things he truly cherished.

He took the lock from the master’s hands, still faintly warm from his touch. His eyes fell on the doctor beside him, who seemed in good spirits, though concern clouded his face. The words “it has warded off a great misfortune for its wearer” kept echoing in his mind.

Had he misunderstood all along? 

Had the breaking of this longevity lock been a salvation rather than a disaster?

Steeling himself, the owner drew a deep breath, gave the master a slight bow, and said, “Pardon the intrusion. I’ll take my leave now.”

But the master caught sight of something, and his expression changed drastically. “Your… your clothes! Why is it torn?!”

The owner gave a dismissive chuckle. “Clothing is still just clothing. If even the jade could shatter, how could a mere fabric remain unscathed?”

The doctor adjusted his glasses, sensing between the two men’s reactions, as if the Zhongshan suit belonged to the master instead. Strangely, the owner, who should have been concerned, seemed entirely indifferent. 

Could it be that the Zhongshan itself was some kind of antique?

His gaze lingered on the crimson dragon embroidered across the Zhongshan suit. He was almost certain that what he had seen earlier hadn’t been an illusion—that dragon had truly moved.

The master’s expression remained frigid. Without warning, he seized the owner’s arm and tugged him towards a side room.

“Come with me,” he said sharply.

“I thought you said all your hair had fallen out and you could no longer mend things,” the owner teased as he raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just an attempt. I can’t promise anything. I’m not nearly as skilled as my grandfather. I doubt I can restore the dragon’s lifelike detail,” the master replied, his voice tinged with melancholy.

The doctor watched as the two of them disappeared into the inner room, though he consciously chose not to follow along. Still, he had clearly heard every word of their exchange.

So, was the moving dragon also the work of the master’s grandfather as well?

An embroidery done by a man?

The doctor was quite certain that if a mirror had been placed in front of him right now, it would show just how utterly contorted his expression had become.

With both of them now gone, boredom gradually crept in. Yet he couldn’t simply leave without a word, so he made himself comfortable on the couch. Luckily, a bookshelf lined with books and magazines stood nearby. He began flipping through them while sipping tea, enjoying a rare moment of leisure.

However, the collecting journals proved terribly dull, and the couch was far too soft and inviting. Before long, he surrendered to fatigue and drifted into sleep. 

It wasn’t until the owner woke him that he realized it was already past 11 PM. 

The master, surprisingly, was the one who drove them back.

While on their way, the doctor stole a glance at the owner, noticing that the damaged section of his suit had been hastily sewn up—so crudely that even his own suturing skills on a wound would have looked better.

They spent hours on this patchwork?

The doctor scoffed inwardly but wisely kept his expression neutral.

Soon enough, the master drove them to Ya She, then departed without lingering.

The doctor had been prepared to stifle a yawn and stretch his limbs, but the moment he stepped out of the car, the cold night air rushed against his skin.

“Are you heading home, or would you like to come in for a while?” the owner asked politely, seeing that the doctor made no move to leave.

“I’ll come in. There are still some things I want to ask you.” The doctor’s eyes gleamed with curiosity, his mind brimming with questions.

The owner made no objection. He simply lowered his head and pushed open the carved wooden doors of Ya She. He then took out a match from a small cabinet near the entrance and hand-lit the long palace lantern by the door.

The dim flame danced in the stillness of the night. Just then, a Western-style clock from the Republican era began to chime atop the curio cabinet—it was midnight.

The owner let out a long breath of relief. He thought to himself that the doctor’s birthday had finally passed. He had successfully seen him through his 24th year and narrowly escaped calamity. 

But just as that thought crossed his mind, a sudden force struck him from behind. Caught completely off guard, he stumbled forward and barely managed to steady himself by grabbing hold of the counter.

In a state of panic, the owner turned around, only to be horrified at the sight of the doctor slumped against him, utterly unconscious.

It felt as though he had stepped into a dense fog.

The fog was thick and suffocating, obscuring everything around him. Even when he stretched out his hand, he could only make out faint, shifting shadows beyond his fingertips. It was as if the world had lost all shape and direction. He couldn’t even see his own feet when he glanced down.

With no idea what lay ahead, the doctor dared not move recklessly.

What was happening?

His last memory was of entering Ya She, and in the blink of an eye, he had arrived here.

The doctor stood frozen for a moment until he vaguely heard voices murmuring in the distance. 

Standing around like a fool clearly wouldn’t get him anywhere.

Hence, convinced that he must have been caught in a dream and that nothing here could truly threaten his safety, he began to follow the faint sound of that voice.

The fog gradually thinned, and the doctor saw beneath his feet a floor of blue bricks. Yet unlike the ones he had seen in the hidden chamber of Ya She, these were far more elaborate—each tile exquisitely carved, inlaid with gold leaf and gemstones, so dazzlingly ornate it nearly took his breath away.

As the fog dissipated further, he realized he was standing inside an opulent palace, its grandeur beyond anything he had ever seen.

All around him were people dressed in intricate robes of antiquity. The sight startled him at first, but when he noticed that none of them seemed aware of his presence, he relaxed slightly.

So it really was a dream, after all.

Interest sparked within him as he began to wander through the palace, absorbing the details that shouldn’t exist. His attention soon fell on a tall, imposing man standing at the front of the hall in splendid robes.

The man stood upright like a pine on a mountaintop, every inch exuding strength and command. Although he appeared only in his 20s, there was an unmistakable air of sovereignty about him.

The doctor found himself watching the man closely, and only then did he notice that the man was cradling a swaddled infant, who was sleeping peacefully inside.

“Over mountains grows the fusu tree, in wetlands bloom lotus flowers. Our eldest son shall be named Fusu!” the tall man declared with an easy smile.

At once, the gathered officials below broke into a chorus of congratulations, their voices rising and falling in unison. The noise startled the infant awake, and the once-quiet baby began to wail loudly.

The doctor, standing among them like a ghost, was already frozen in astonishment.

Fusu?

How many people in history could bear that name?

Or rather… only one man ever had… and he was none other than Crown Prince Fusu.

Could it be that the tall, imposing man truly be Emperor Qin Shi Huang himself?

The doctor leaned forward instinctively, eager to take a closer look. However, just as he did, the fog that had dissipated surged back with startling speed, blanketing the entire scene in an instant. Not only did it obscure his vision, but it also muffled all sound. Even the cries of the infant faded into complete silence.

Still convinced he was within a dream, the doctor remained calm and simply waited, watching the fog with quiet anticipation.

Moments later, the fog dispersed once more. This time, he found himself standing in an even grander palace than before. Though the architecture resembled the previous hall—same vast arches, same polished blue bricks beneath his feet—there was a greater sense of formality here.

This appeared to be an imperial court in session. Officials lined both sides of the hall, while the man suspected to be Emperor Qin Shi Huang sat imposingly on the throne. To the doctor’s astonishment, the one addressing the assembly was a child no older than ten.

Despite the presence of at least a hundred courtiers, the boy spoke with unwavering composure, his clear voice resonating through the vast hall.

Could this child truly be the legendary Crown Prince Fusu?

The doctor noticed that the man he suspected to be Emperor Qin Shi Huang had lost the remnants of youthful softness in his features. His demeanour had become more composed and imposing, making him appear as if he were in his mid-30s now.

Clearly, this scene was set many years after Crown Prince Fusu’s birth. Yet the ten-year-old child standing in the centre of the hall bore no resemblance whatsoever to the sovereign seated above.

Emboldened by the certainty that no one here could see him, the doctor approached until he was standing right before the boy. The child had rosy lips and white teeth, no taller than the doctor’s waist. Yet the more he looked, the more familiar that delicate face seemed, as if the answer was hovering just beyond memory.

As he stood there puzzling over it, a hand tapped him lightly on the shoulder. A familiar voice, tinged with relief, said, “I finally found you.”

The doctor turned around and saw the owner’s pale complexion staring at him. What followed was a disbelieving dance of his eyes, flitting back and forth between the owner and the child.

His jaw hung loose, yet no sound dared to escape.

With a rueful smile, the owner said, “I didn’t expect you to end up here. But yes… that child is me, when I was young.”

The doctor stared at him as though he had been struck dumb. His throat tightened as if an invisible hand had seized it.

He couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

He began to think that this was, in fact, not a dream. His imagination, however bizarre, couldn’t invent a world with this much coherence, with history so intricately and accurately woven into it.

Just then, a commanding voice echoed through the hall.

“Gan Luo, your mission to Zhao has succeeded without mobilizing a single soldier—a feat worthy of commendation. By decree, you are hereby appointed as Senior Minister (shàng qīng;上卿), and the lands and residences once held by your grandfather, Gan Mao, are restored to your household.”

The doctor turned to the child now kneeling in gratitude at the centre of the court. He pointed with a trembling hand, words catching in his throat. “You… that’s Gan Luo? That child prodigy Gan Luo, who became a chancellor at just the age of 12? “

“In the Qin hierarchy, the titles Chancellor (丞相) and Senior Minister (上卿) were considered comparable in prestige. That’s how the legend of a 12-year-old ‘Chancellor’ came about.”

The owner gazed nostalgically at their surroundings before fixing his eyes on a particular spot. Following his line of sight, the doctor noticed a handsome young man in his early teens, dressed in ornate robes and official headdress, standing behind Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s towering screen. 

Although lacking Ying Zheng’s commanding presence, his facial features bore a striking resemblance to the Emperor.

[TL Note: Ying Zheng (嬴政) was Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s birth name, as his family name was Ying. While Zhao Zheng (趙政) was also his birth name, as he was born in the Zhao clan.]

“Is that… Crown Prince Fusu?” the doctor murmured, a strange feeling stirring in his chest as he looked at the young man.

He couldn’t quite put it into words, but something about the scene unsettled him. Before he could make sense of it, the fog surged back without warning, blanketing everything—even the palace vanished from sight.

Yet oddly enough, despite the dense fog, the doctor could still see the owner standing beside him.

“I know you have questions. Keep watching. You’ll find the answers you seek.” The owner’s voice was calm, distant, his presence seeming almost blurred, as though the fog itself were trying to reclaim him.

The doctor steadied himself. As impossible as it sounded, he had indeed heard the owner once mention that the White Snake had belonged to his master and that the snake was over 2,000 years old. The Warring States period took place just over 2,000 years ago. And now here stood Gan Luo, who bore an uncanny resemblance to the owner…

Could the owner truly be Gan Luo?

The doctor didn’t blink, his gaze locked onto him. However, the dense fog made the man’s expression even harder to read, lending his presence shifting into something almost unreal.

Suddenly, a thought surfaced—historical records never listed Gan Luo’s fate of death. His birth and rise were well documented, but his end was a mystery. A child prodigy who had once lit up the Qin court like a shooting star, and then disappeared entirely.

Could it be… the reason no records of his death existed was because he had never actually died?

A dryness crept into the doctor’s throat, his mind racing towards a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Just as he parted his lips to speak, the fog dispersed once again.

This time, the scene was no longer in the palace.

The doctor found himself in a tastefully arranged study. Several years seemed to have passed—Gan Luo had grown from a child into a young man, his features now almost identical to the owner. Yet where the owner’s gaze held profound depth, the boy’s expression retained only innocence and untroubled joy.

“When the First Emperor appointed me as Senior Minister, my diplomatic mission to Zhao alone couldn’t justify such an honour, nor was it mere imperial whim. It was a placate to Qin’s old aristocracy. Though bearing the title, none truly treated me as a Senior Minister. The emperor must have foreseen this. Not long after, he appointed me to study with Crown Prince Fusu, effectively making me his study companion.”

The owner’s voice carried a quiet nostalgia as he spoke.

The doctor watched as the now-grown Crown Prince Fusu entered the study. The young men greeted each other warmly before falling into deep discussions. Sometimes they argued until their faces flushed red; other times, they burst out laughing, the air alive with camaraderie and intellectual energy.

Only then did the doctor understand why historical records of Gan Luo’s achievements ceased after his famed appointment at age 12. By becoming the crown prince’s companion, he had effectively joined Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s handpicked brain trust for Fusu. Had Fusu ascended the throne, this dormant prodigy would have undoubtedly reshaped Qin’s history spectacularly.

But Qin’s second emperor wasn’t Fusu.

It was his younger brother, Huhai.

The thought struck him like a physical blow. To think of the young, gentle prince—China’s first crown prince in the truest sense—would eventually meet his end in an untimely demise. 

It was a loss too deep for words.

A wave of grief surged from some inexplicable depth within the doctor’s chest. The reaction somehow baffled him. As a medical professional, he had long mastered clinical detachment towards life and death.

And Fusu was dead for over 2,000 years.

So why was he feeling such grief?

He forced himself to steady his emotions and instinctively turned to look at the owner. There, he caught the full, lingering warmth of a gaze heavy with nostalgia.

Of course. If anyone felt the weight of it all, it was him.

The doctor couldn’t even begin to imagine what it meant to live 2,000 years alone. To watch every friend and loved one fade into history while he himself remained, endlessly moving forward…

At that moment, the doctor began to understand why the owner chose to deal in antiques. Only those artifacts, like him, had lived through the centuries. Only they bore the silence of time, the pain of change, and the weight of history…

The fog came and went, revealing scene after scene. Some passed in a blink, others lingered for a long time.

The doctor realized that he was witnessing someone’s memories unfold before him.

And it was almost certain that they belonged to the owner.

In the shifting scenes veiled by fog, the figure of Emperor Qin Shi Huang began to appear more and more frequently. The doctor could no longer follow their conversations—half in classical diction, half in vernacular—and found the endless discussions of state affairs unbearably tedious. He even gave up asking the owner for translations.

Just then, the scene shifted to one of the most famous, harrowing moments ever recorded in history—Jing Ke’s assassination attempt on the King of Qin.

[TL Note: During this assassination incident, Emperor Qin Shi Huang was yet the emperor. The attempt occurred in 227 BCE when he was still 32 years old as “King of Qin”. In 221 BCE, after conquering the last river state (Qi), he created the title “Emperor” when he was 38 years old at unification.]

Jing Ke knelt before the First Emperor, his expression unreadable as he presented the map with apparent deference. As the scroll unfurled inch by inch, until the end of the map, and that was finally when the dagger appeared. In one fluid motion, Jing Ke seized the Emperor’s sleeve with one hand while his other hand flashed forward, the gleaming blade slicing towards him. 

The Emperor recoiled, tearing his sleeve free as the strike whistled past him.

Jing Ke’s strike missed, but he had come prepared to die anyway. There would be no retreat, not until the King of Qin lay dead. The king drew his sword and slashed, cutting deep into Jing Ke’s flesh. Blood began spraying as Jing Ke hurled his dagger in desperation, yet again, it found no mark.

Before he could recover, the King of Qin’s blade pierced him once more, sending him crashing to the ground, wounded and bleeding.

The doctor watched Jing Ke’s fury and defiance towards the King of Qin as he lay dying. He couldn’t help but ask, “Boss… do you think Emperor Qin Shi Huang was a tyrant?”

The owner cast him a sidelong glance and replied coldly, “Crown Prince Dan of Yan sent Jing Ke to assassinate the First Emperor—an attempt that nearly cost the emperor his life. Yet when Qin conquered Yan, not a single Yan aristocrat was executed. After unifying the Central Plains, the First Emperor ordered no mass slaughter of surrendered cities and no purges of the nobility from the six conquered states. These very nobles later became the backbone of anti-Qin rebellions.

“If the First Emperor truly were the tyrant history claims, how could Liu Bang, a mere Chu peasant, rise to become a minor official? How could Xiang Yu, descendant of Chu’s aristocratic Xiang clan, grow to adulthood unscathed?”

The doctor was momentarily stunned. Not just solely by the owner’s remark, but also because at the very moment, the scene showed Jing Ke being cut down by a tide of Qin soldiers. Blood splattered across the floor, nearly reaching the doctor’s feet. Even though there was a 2,000-year gap between them, he could still almost smell the sharp metallic tang of blood hanging in he air.

“You say the nobles of the six major states led the rebellion,” the doctor said slowly. “But wasn’t it commoners like Chen Sheng and Wu Guang from Dazexiang, who first raised the banner of revolt? It was Qin’s crushing corvée labour demands that drove them to rebellion, was it not?”

The owner let out a cold snort. “Sima Qian of the Han dynasty claimed Chen Sheng and Wu Guang rebelled because Qin law mandated beheading for delayed corvée labour. Yet recently unearthed Qin bamboo slips prove the actual penalty was a verbal reprimand for delays under five days, and a minor fine beyond that. 

“The world decries the Qin dynasty’s laws as harsh, but archaeology reveals the opposite—the Qin legal code contained protections for the accused that wouldn’t appear in the West for 2,000 years. Even the Records of the Grand Historian admit there were multiple cases that the Emperor handed down that went unresolved. In later dynasties, that would be unthinkable, because torture could always extract a confession, even from the innocent. If Qin relied on coerced confessions, why did we still have many unresolved cases? Compared to the endless wrongful convictions of subsequent eras, the Qin dynasty was remarkably restrained.”

The doctor found himself at a loss, and although he had no counterargument, he only questioned. “So then… are you saying the First Emperor was a flawless ruler? That all the accusations against him were fabricated?”

“What accusations, exactly? Go ahead and list them out.” The owner smiled faintly.

For 2,000 years, he had endured the world’s prejudice against Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Had he said it to anyone else, they would have dismissed it and called him a madman. But now, as he turned to regard the doctor standing before him, in the middle of a fog-drenched dreamscape, watching the past unfold with his own eyes. Their fates had wound through thousands of years, only to circle back to this moment.

Back then, it had been the same—he and she, side by side upon the polished blue bricks, speaking of politics and debating matters of state. There were no crown princes, nor were there any humble attendants.

Only two people shared one vision. That was to forge a great Qin dynasty that would endure till the end of time!

Even without his past life’s memories fully restored, this profound satisfaction of a spirited debate, of truly clashing wits, was a feeling that had been absent for far too long from his existence…

The doctor, oblivious to the flicker of reminiscence in the owner’s gaze, began listing charges with uncertainty. He started with the milder accusation, “He murdered the innocent.”

“Hmph! The First Emperor ruled for 37 years, yet never executed a single general or minister. Compared to the later dynasties, they all wiped out entire families of former regimes without hesitation. Some went further, slaughtering even their own allies.

“Liu Bang, the founding emperor of Han, had nearly all his fellow rebels executed, every one of them with their families too. Yet does history condemn Liu Bang as a tyrant? No. Because he executed everyone who might’ve said so. Even Sima Qian, who wrote Records of the Grand Historian, didn’t dare speak too freely. He knew that one wrong word, and Emperor Wu of Han could’ve burned his life’s work to ashes.”

The owner’s lips curled with scorn.

“But didn’t Emperor Qin Shi Huang burn books and bury scholars alive as well? Isn’t that also executing the rebels?” The doctor protested.

The owner didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he waited as the fog around them dissolved into a new scene. 

This time, the scene unfolded in an imperial garden, where the full bloom of spring filled the air, and Emperor Qin Shi Huang could be seen reclining on a chair, no longer the towering sovereign of legend. Instead, he appeared as a man with a gentle smile, playfully teasing the child in his embrace.

In the distance, not so far away, stood Fusu and Gan Luo. 

Fusu, now a grown man, wore an expression of undisguised envy.

“Who’s that child?” The doctor was too caught off guard by the rare tenderness on Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s face, that he had forgotten their earlier debate.

The owner closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “That’s Huhai.”

The doctor sucked in a sharp breath.

So that child was the infamously tyrannical Qin Er Shi, Huhai, who squandered Qin’s legacy?

He knew Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s reign had its controversies, yet the First Emperor had, after all, unified the Central Plains. That the empire he built with his own hands, that were meant to last till the end of time, would crumble under his own son’s rule…

Staring at the child’s guileless face, the doctor struggled to reconcile it with the merciless despot of history.

“Do you remember what I said about the jade used in the longevity lock?” the owner said quietly. “It was around this time, after unifying the Central Plains, that the First Emperor had the Mr. He’s Jade carved into the Heirloom Seal of the Realm. The two leftover pieces were then bestowed upon his sons—the elder, Fusu, and the youngest, Huhai.”

The scene then shifted to when Fusu accepted the flawless piece of jade, its surface translucent and pure. He dared not carve it, choosing only to tie it with a red cord and wear it against his chest.

“I thought the Warring States didn’t follow any strict rules of succession, like primogeniture or legitimacy?” the doctor asked, catching on to the implication in the owner’s words.

“Indeed. On the surface, Fusu was the designated heir. But to anyone with eyes, it was clear the First Emperor favoured Huhai.” The owner watched the shifting scenes that showed Emperor Qin Shi Huang berating Fusu mercilessly. 

He signed, “He was harsh with Fusu because he intended to entrust the empire to him. He indulged Huhai because the boy was never meant to bear that burden. Yet… the truth was, Fusu never had the temperament for politics. He preferred medical texts over military dispatches…”

The final words were uttered softly—almost reluctantly—as the owner’s gaze drifted toward the doctor beside him.

The doctor, however, was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear.

If only Qin Shi Huang had treated his sons equally.

If he hadn’t misled Huhai or put the wrong ideas in his head, perhaps things wouldn’t have ended so tragically.

But then again, isn’t it a tragedy in itself if even an emperor can’t choose whom he wishes to love most?

The debate faded for a while, giving way to a quiet camaraderie. The ever-shifting fog showed scenes from the past, and the owner would now and then identify figures or explain moments with precision. The doctor listened with rapt attention—it felt less like a history lesson and more like a three-dimensional epic unfolding before his eyes.

“Oh, right! One of Qin Shi Huang’s biggest crimes! Wasn’t his obsession with massive construction projects? The Great Wall, the Epang Palace, the Mausoleum… each one was enormous!”

The owner smirked slightly and sighed, “What do you expect him to do with the surplus soldiers after unifying the six major states? Simply disbanding them would solve nothing. Lasting peace breeds unrest. A ruler must either expand outward or channel that energy inward. This has been true for every dynasty without exception.

“Take Emperor Wu of Han, for instance—he had launched repeated campaigns against the Xiongnu; the Sui, Tang, Song, and Ming all followed suit. Even the Kangxi Emperor personally led his soldiers during peacetime. This is how empires resolve internal tensions.”

Upon hearing that, the doctor felt a rush of clarity.

This pattern had echoed across dynasties, even stretching into modern times. How many empires, how many governments, had used war or vast construction to redirect under the guise of economic necessity!

Seeing that the doctor had no rebuttal, the owner went on, “We can set aside the debate over whether the Great Wall was a blessing or a burden. But look at the dynasties that followed Qin—every one of them continued to build it. Does that not speak to its enduring strategic value?

“The First Emperor avoided foreign conquest precisely to spare the people. You might dismiss my words as speculation, but the Shuihudi Qin bamboo texts excavated from the tombs prove it—Qin’s corvée labourers were paid wages, given food, even provided with clothing. So, do you think the commoners would rather march to war, or earn their keep through work?”

The doctor was speechless at this point.

His mind was a whirl of everything the owner had just said, each point upending what he thought he knew, leaving behind nothing but a muddled fog.

“This is the truth behind the burning of books and burying of scholars.” The owner said abruptly.

The doctor’s eyes widened at once. Seeing his reaction, the owner feared that a few scattered scenes wouldn’t be enough to make the truth clear, so he began to explain slowly.

“The incident was sparked by the First Emperor’s pursuit of immortality. Yet he was constantly haunted by the fear of being poisoned. So, he decreed that fangshi presenting him elixirs must prepare twin pills—one for a dedicated team of testers, the other for himself. Only after a month of observation, if no ill effects manifested, would he consume his portion. Then one day… a tester suddenly dropped dead.”

[TL Note: Fangshi (方士) were occult-technicians specializing in esoteric arts, proto-scientific practices, and supernatural pursuits. They were prominent during the Warring States to Han dynasty (475 BCE–220 CE), especially under Qin Shi Huang and Han Wudi.

Although the author wrote it as 术士 (shùshì)—commonly known as Warlock—it isn’t particularly accurate to the historical records if I were to translate it to English. Hence, I shall use 方士.]

In the scene, Emperor Qin Shi Huang was flying into a rage, while all the officials below him stood in terrified silence.

The doctor frowned and said, “Modern research has proven that the ancient alchemical elixirs contained substances like mercury, alum, and other heavy metals that are highly toxic to the human body. Accumulation over time will cause serious side effects. In fact, many emperors throughout history died from taking such elixirs. It’s said that Li Shimin, the Emperor Taizong of Tang, had died this way. All this for the pursuit of immortality…”

He trailed off midsentence, suddenly aware of the person standing right beside him.

Someone who, by all appearances, had succeeded in that very pursuit.

The owner nodded indifferently and said, “Yes, but back then, no one knew that the elixirs were fundamentally toxic. There was no way to verify which fangshi’s elixir caused the test subject’s death. On top of that, cases emerged where Hou Sheng and Lu Sheng were found to have committed embezzlement and fled with their ill-gotten wealth. So the First Emperor decided to execute all implicated fangshi.

“In modern terms, this was a case of ‘academic fraud,’ and all 463 convicts faced capital punishment after due process with irrefutable evidence. There was only one ‘burying of scholars alive’ incident—more accurately, an ‘Execution of the Fangshi’ event. Even Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian specifies these were fangshi. But later generations exaggerated it into the tale of countless scholars being buried alive.

“As for the burning of books, have you not seen the Qin bamboo texts unearthed in recent years? If the books had truly been destroyed, how could so many documents from that era still exist? What Emperor Qin Shi Huang burned weren’t all texts, but the private libraries of the six major states’ aristocrats. He wanted to erase their histories to prevent their descendants from future rebellions. But in the end, the mere book burning wasn’t enough to curb their desire to resist.”

At this point, the doctor had entirely given up any intention of arguing. He simply let himself sink into the unfolding historical tableau. One revelation after another subtly but surely overturned much of what he had once believed.

Emperor Qin Shi Huang, who ruled with absolute authority and personally oversaw every matter of state, gradually came to a grim realization with the passage of time—only his continued existence could sustain the operation of the vast empire he had built. Thus, he began touring the realm more frequently, entrusting Crown Prince Fusu with the affairs of the court in his absence.

Yet Crown Prince Fusu, though virtuous and loyal, held political ideals that starkly contrasted with his father’s. Their ideological clashes grew sharper over time, and eventually, Emperor Qin Shi Huang exiled his son to the frontier to serve in the military in hopes that years of tempering on the battlefield might transform the gentle prince into one worthy of bearing the weight of an empire.

Gan Luo—the owner, who had once accompanied Crown Prince Fusu as his study companion, also followed along.

From this point on, scenes of Emperor Qin Shi Huang grew increasingly scarce. Instead, they depicted the monotonous grind of military life beyond the frontier. And as expected, it was through the crucible of war that Fusu, once a pampered aristocrat, gradually grew into a seasoned and capable commander.

Countless seasons passed, until one day, an Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s edict arrived in Shang Commandery. The decree reprimanded Fusu for alleged incompetence and ordered both him and General Meng Tian to commit suicide.

The doctor was dumbfounded. 

By all means, he knew that the decree was nothing more than a fabrication—a false edict from Huhai and Zhao Gao.

Emperor Qin Shi Huang had already died during his eastern tour. Nor did Fusu meekly draw his sword to comply, as recorded in history. Instead, he and General Meng Tian prepared to march their troops back to Xianyang to demand the truth. However, Huhai and Zhao Gao’s men had long laid their trap. The moment Fusu showed a hint of resistance, the assassins in their employ stormed the tent and executed him without mercy.

Though more than 2,000 years had passed, the moment those soldiers raised their blades and lunged toward Fusu, the doctor couldn’t help but cry out in alarm.

Because to his disbelief, the owner, who had been standing quietly at his side all this while, suddenly dashed forward, hurling himself in front of Fusu without a second thought, as if to shield him with his own body.

The doctor watched as the sword glinted coldly through the air and passed straight through the owner’s phantom form before burying itself in Fusu’s chest.

The owner looked back and froze.

“It’s not your fault…” the doctor whispered.

He understood now that the owner hadn’t been present back then. Had he been, he would surely have acted just as he had just now. For a fleeting moment, the doctor felt an odd sense of relief that the owner hadn’t been there.

Yet as he gazed upon Fusu’s lifeless body, sprawled in a pool of blood, a cold shiver crawled up his spine.

The blood had soaked the soil beneath him, and from within his robes, that precious piece of jade—the longevity charm bestowed by the First Emperor—slipped from Fusu’s lifeless grasp and tumbled to the ground.

The doctor stared as the jade was slowly stained red, the warmth of the blood seeping into its once-pristine surface. The sight alone once again sent a chill through the doctor’s bones.

“It’s not that righteousness defeats evil,” came the owner’s quiet voice, “but that only the victors are allowed to write history. In this world, victory alone determines what is called justice.”

The doctor had no time to respond before the darkness reclaimed him.

It felt like he was surfacing from deep beneath the ocean, breaking through the abyss. With difficulty, he finally opened his eyes, and the dim glow of Ya She’s lantern flickered before him.

He sat up in the chair with some effort and rubbed at his throbbing temple.

Then, he paused. 

There, resting in his palm, were the shattered halves of the longevity lock.

He stared at the broken jade for a very long time, then murmured, “What I just saw… those memories… they belonged to Fusu, didn’t they?”

The owner poured him a cup of tea and, upon hearing his question, nodded lightly. “Yes. After Fusu’s tragic death, I helped Liu Bang overthrow the Qin to avenge him. Since then, I’ve been searching for Fusu’s reincarnation.”

“You helped Liu Bang overthrow the Qin?” The doctor picked up his cup and downed the tea in one gulp. The scalding liquid burned down his throat, making him grimace and click his tongue.

“I had originally chosen Xiang Yu. But I never expected he would destroy Xianyang, burn the Epang Palace, and slaughter the entire Qin imperial family and its ministers,” the owner paused slightly as if recalling something distant. His hand stiffened around the teapot at the memory. It was a while before he went on, “So I turned to Liu Bang instead.”

The doctor let out a dry laugh. “You’re not about to tell me that you were Han Xin, are you?”

He had meant it as a joke. However, the moment the words left his lips, the owner simply nodded.

This time, the doctor was truly speechless. He snatched the teapot from the owner’s hands and refilled his cup to steady his nerves. If this man had truly lived for over 2,000 years, then who knew what roles he had played in history?

After downing a few more cups to compose himself, he gently covered the teapot lid and spoke.

“I did manage to find him. But for some reason, Fusu’s reincarnations would always die young—none of them ever lived past the age of 12. The lives were so brief, I often failed to find them in time, always running, always too late. After countless years, I finally discovered that only by letting his reincarnation wear the jade he once kept close to his body could their life be extended. So I had Lu Zigang carve it into the longevity lock. But even so, it could only sustain them for 24 years.”

Though the doctor had vaguely guessed some of it, he still shuddered when the owner met his gaze after finishing the last sentence. A chill crept up his spine.

He forced an uneasy smile and said with a nervous laugh, “Are you sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else? I’m already over 24. Still alive and well.”

The owner shook his head slowly. “No. I’m not mistaken. Do you still remember the Aqua-Celadon Nephrite crucifix?” 

“Of course I do. How could I not? I was the one who saved that person!” The doctor remembered the strange incident clearly. 

Because of that Aqua-Celadon Nephrite crucifix, Ning Qiqi, who had been murdered, now possessed the body of the popular mystery author Xiao Ji. While Xiao Ji’s own soul, in exchange, had been absorbed by the very Aqua-Celadon Nephrite crucifix he wore.

Just as the doctor prepared to offer another word of caution, he watched the owner retrieve a small box from beneath the counter. There, resting quietly within, was the very Aqua-Celadon Nephrite crucifix.

“Ning Qiqi gave it to me. I had the Director examine it. Though the carving is recent, the jade itself dates back over 2,000 years.” He added, in case the doctor was lost, “It came from the same piece of jade that the First Emperor gifted to Huhai—the same piece used to carve the longevity lock in your hand. All from the Mr. He’s Jade.”

The doctor was stunned. He had already been through more than enough shocks for one day. He decided it was best to keep quiet and just listen to the conclusion.

“I only learned about this just now as well. One fragment of Crown Prince Fusu’s soul had remained sealed within that jade at the moment of his death. With an incomplete soul, his reincarnations were doomed to die young. Only now, when the longevity lock shattered, was that fragment released. Everything we saw earlier was the memory left behind within the lock by Crown Prince Fusu.”

The owner spoke with such deliberation that each word seemed measured, as though dragged through tightly clenched teeth.

The doctor felt lightheaded, but his knack for filtering information helped him catch the main point. After mulling it over, he blinked and pointed at himself. “So, you’re saying… the great calamity in my fate has finally passed? I can finally live the rest of my life in peace now?”

As for whether he was really Fusu’s reincarnation, the doctor had no interest at all. The scenes he had just witnessed, he simply treated as some ultra-realistic 3D historical drama—they stirred no great emotion in him. After all, those events belonged to a world 2,000 years ago.

What was the point of dwelling on it?

When morning came, he still had to go to work, put on his white coat, and treat patients. Whether he was a hero or a fool in his past life had nothing to do with his current life.

The owner gave him an almost wistful smile and nodded with quiet certainty. “Yes. It’s over. From now on, you’ll live like anyone else. Not only in this life, but in all those that follow. There will be no more premature deaths.”

For some reason, the doctor felt that the owner’s words carried a hint of sorrow, but he couldn’t tell what was off about them. Just as he was about to ask, he suddenly saw blood begin to flow from the corner of the owner’s mouth, but the smile still lingered on his pale face.

“Yes, you can finally live well. My purpose is finally fulfilled… I… should rest too…”