Chapter 10: Bones Crossing the Bridge

The tavern was quite impressive, with water flowing through the halls and winding its way out to a courtyard surrounded by a dense, vigorous bamboo grove.

Walking past the bamboo, He Shanyue untied her coarse cloth cloak and handed it to the servant waiting nearby. She looked toward a long, grey marble table set amidst the bamboo. Behind the table sat a man dressed in an indigo scholar’s robe and cap, his hair meticulously tied back with a white jade hairpin. One hand held the base of a jade mortar, while the other gripped a delicate, translucent jade pestle, grinding ore with a steady, unhurried rhythm. It was malachite. Scattered across the long table were a dozen pieces of malachite of varying sizes, translucent and grass-green, glowing under the candlelight with a luster as striking as the most vibrant peacock feathers.

"Fifth Master," He Shanyue said, bowing her head slightly in greeting.

Wang Erniang, for once, didn't curse, though she kept her thick local accent: "Fifth Master!"

The Sichuan dialect sounded somewhat provocative, but in truth, it had been a long time since Wang Erniang had been this respectful—or rather, intimidated.

The man looked up, revealing a thin, narrow face. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed the passage of time; it was hard to tell if he was in his thirties or forties, but he was certainly no naive, soft-skinned youth.

The servant beside him bowed and handed over a silk handkerchief. The man wiped his hands, and the cloth was instantly stained with the crystalline powder of the malachite.

A bit dirty.

The man frowned almost imperceptibly.

"How is the situation?" The man took another handkerchief and gestured for the two to sit.

Wang Erniang didn't dare, waving her hands quickly: "Old... I'm not tired. I ate, just standing for a bit to help with digestion."

He Shanyue pulled out a stool and sat down: "I got into the inner residence today. That family is full of schemes. They tested the authenticity of a few paintings and probed into my background. They said they’d give me an answer by tomorrow at the earliest, or the day after at the latest."

The man let out an "Oh," then asked, "What about Zhu Siming’s painting? Did you see it?"

He Shanyue shook her head: "Today I only saw Shen Huaizan’s *Fishing at Spring Creek Bridge* and that *Autumn Harvest* by Zhou Bingshan, which was a copy made by 'Bridge-Crosser' back in the day. There were a few other paintings hanging in the inner hall, but nothing of any real value."

The man’s surname was Sun, a native of Zhenjiang. He had once been a serious painter himself, but never managed to make a name for himself. After struggling through the "lower nine classes" of society to make a living, he simply threw away his brush and entered the "Suzhou Piece" trade. He opened an antique shop called "Bridge-Crosser," selling a mix of real and fake goods—a classic case of hanging a sheep's head to sell dog meat. No one knew his real name, so people just vaguely referred to him as Fifth Master Sun.

"Bridge-Crosser" was considered the top antique shop on Shantang Street in Suzhou, and Fifth Master Sun was the undisputed authority in the trade. He Shanyue wasn't wrong when she said that while the industry sounded refined, it was actually a mix of all sorts of people; no one was inherently nobler than the next. When the late emperor was on the throne, it was a golden age for landscape art, but Shantang Street was a cesspool. Even genuine masterpieces would emerge from Shantang Street as fakes. Some low-lifes would swindle real paintings, cut out the inscriptions and seals to place them on their own forgeries, dressing up a mountain pheasant as a phoenix—both paintings would end up fake.

It was a foul business.

Having rolled through the gutters for so many years, Fifth Master Sun had abandoned the brush of a serious painter and picked up the blade to rule Shantang Street. He had used his fair share of thug tactics, declaring, "Making money isn't shameful, but if anyone dares to mess with a genuine masterpiece, I’ll make you bleed!"

If you could swindle a painting, that was your skill, but you were forbidden from destroying them, especially precious ancient works.

Someone once didn't believe him and committed such a despicable act, destroying a Song Dynasty landscape. Fifth Master Sun called seven or eight men and asked the culprit: did he want his thumb or his index finger?

The man didn't dare answer.

Fifth Master Sun chopped off the man’s right hand and threw it into his lap: "If you can't make a choice, I'll give you both."

Furthermore, low-quality paintings were forbidden. Those that lacked spirit and form—the work of people who had studied line drawing for two days and wanted to make money before they’d even finished their apprenticeship—would be bought by Fifth Master Sun at their asking price and then burned to ashes in the open square of Shantang Street.

"Others may look down on us forgers, but we must not look down on ourselves! Who can say for sure that in a thousand years, the 'Suzhou Piece' won't have its place? That it won't be worthy of the grandest halls?!"

Shantang Street had indeed gradually improved.

When He Shanyue was first taken in by Fifth Master Sun, it was when "Bridge-Crosser" was just starting to build its reputation. She had been partners with Wang Erniang from the beginning, doing all sorts of wild, rough work for years—the dirty, the foul, the fragrant, and the expensive. She could hold a set of crab-eating tools while drinking hot tangerine-peel yellow wine and eating roe crab, or sit on a broken bamboo stool drinking sorghum liquor that hadn't even been filtered of its dregs.

"Bridge-Crosser" hired a dozen or so casual laborers, but there were only four people who were truly regulars.

All four lived just like the shop itself—the storefront was decorated with clear lacquer, rosewood, and inlaid turquoise, presenting a facade of wealth and splendor, while the interior was a mix of the broken, the rotten, the good, and the bad. It was quite a spectacle.

Fifth Master Sun wiped his hands several times until there was no more fluorescent powder in his fingerprints, then said, "That shouldn't be. Everyone knows that Zhu Siming’s *Autumn Trees After Rain* was bought by their family. Looking at the Cheng family, they don't seem like the type to hide their light under a bushel, do they?"

He Shanyue pursed her lips: "I suspect the painting is in the Cheng family’s banquet hall or study."

The Cheng family certainly wasn't the type to be modest. They would turn a simple free clinic—where they didn't even prescribe or dispense medicine—into a city-wide sensation. Would they really keep a painting bought for a fortune hidden away, rather than showing it off?

It was far more likely that it was hanging in the outer hall, where they could boast about it while holding court with business partners.

Among the Four Great Masters, Zhu Siming was ranked last, but he was always elusive, like a dragon hidden in the clouds. Only his young book boy ever appeared in public; no one had ever seen the old man’s true face. He produced very few paintings—at most four or five a year—and they were often bought by someone the moment they left the studio.

Genuine works were hard to find, so naturally, the value of forgeries rose accordingly. Not long ago, his new painting, *Autumn Trees After Rain*, briefly appeared in Songjiang Prefecture, followed by news that the Cheng family, a merchant family dealing in medicinal herbs, had bought it for a massive sum.

The Cheng family.

The moment He Shanyue heard the name, she felt hatred—a hatred so deep she wished she could chew their flesh and grind their bones.

Fifth Master Sun wanted the painting, and He Shanyue wanted the Cheng family dead. The two goals aligned perfectly—even without the recruitment of a female tutor, He Shanyue would have found a way into the Cheng family, whether as a maid, a concubine, a cleaning woman, or a lamp-bearer.

It was just that, suddenly, a perfect opportunity had presented itself to her.

Fifth Master Sun thought for a moment and nodded slightly: "Copy it as soon as possible." He paused, as if wanting to say something else.

He Shanyue lowered her eyes, her voice calm: "My share is only enough for me to copy it, not to swap it."

As long as the forgery was authentic enough, who could judge what was real and what was fake? While he forbade destroying paintings, Fifth Master Sun didn't object to the business of swapping them—"Making money isn't shameful; as long as the silver is enough, any painting can be had."

Fifth Master Sun had carved his way through the world; everything he did had a set price. As long as you had the silver, he would do any job, and it was always cash on delivery. Customers never had to worry about the layers of truth and lies.

Hearing He Shanyue say "no," Wang Erniang couldn't help but raise her eyebrows.

Fifth Master Sun said nothing, turning to the servant: "Tell Old Lu to get ready. Once Shanyue finishes the copy, he will go and swap the painting."

Wang Erniang’s eyebrows settled back down.

I’ve been working on the outline all day, and I’ve revised Fifth Master Sun’s character design many times. This draft has been changed three times already. The chapter I was supposed to add yesterday will be posted tomorrow afternoon.

(End of chapter)