Severing Ties

After Qin Yanan left, Liu Chang'an thought of her great-grandmother, Ye Sijin.

Many, many years ago, Ye Sijin was like the girl filled with sorrow in Dai Wangshu's poem "Rainy Alley."

The color of lilac, the fragrance of lilac, the sorrow of lilac.

Walking through the alley with her oil-paper umbrella, Ye Sijin's sorrow was certainly not born of affectation.

Like Qin Peng, she possessed the backbone of that era.

The backbone of that era was not the poetry written by any Republican-era master, nor the sentimental satisfaction brought by Tagore in 1923; the backbone of that era was found on a small boat on South Lake in Jiaxing.

Ye Sijin had already passed away, and Qin Yanan's birth was likely Qin Peng's greatest comfort and the repository of his remembrance.

They look so much alike, Liu Chang'an mused, turning back to find the scattered elderly neighbors had gathered around.

Cunning worldliness is a survival instinct of self-preservation that grows with age; unknown and novel things always make the elderly uneasy. Once that group of people left, leaving only the familiar Liu Chang'an behind, they naturally had to offer some guidance and express their insights as elders.

"Little Liu, did you provoke someone?"

"That woman certainly has the build of someone who can bear children well."

"I've seen tanks like this; back when I was escorting the Chief, it was about this same setup."

"What on earth is this thing? Is it for demolition? I'm not moving, not even if I die."

Liu Chang'an smiled, closed the truck door, and jogged away with the car keys. For him, exercise was essential; even though jumping off a building was a more direct way to improve his physique, it wasn't something he could do repeatedly.

Following the new route he had planned, he returned after circling the train station to find the idlers who had been watching the cargo truck had dispersed. Only then did Liu Chang'an re-enter the truck bed to examine the bronze coffin.

Qin Peng clearly hadn't told Qin Yanan the relevant details about this bronze coffin. Qin Yanan even assumed it was just a precious artisanal replica; after all, the paintings on the coffin were too fresh, and the engraved patterns were far too exquisite, not at all like ancient artifacts.

Yet, Liu Chang'an could feel that deep-seated ancient aura. It seemed to surround the bronze coffin—invisible and intangible, yet impossible to say it didn't exist, much like a magnetic field.

This magnetic field is particularly dense and significant in major museums. Those ancient artifacts that have traversed thousands of years of history condense the countless upheavals of human history, spreading out scrolls long buried in the river of time before the eyes of those who can understand them.

Who could know if the creators of those national treasures, in the process of refining mud, water, and fire, didn't harbor the ambition of passing them down through the ages, wanting to see the look of stunning amazement on the faces of future generations?

Liu Chang'an reached out and gently stroked the yellow interlocking thunder patterns around the lid. There was a high mountain, isosceles in shape, standing in the center of the image. Two dragons passed through the mountain body, their tails encircling an ancient jade, with two yellow ribbons tying the dragons together.

The ancient jade was square like a seal. According to convention, it should have been inscribed with the deceased's name, posthumous title, or other text, yet it was completely blank, appearing very abrupt and eye-catching.

The lid and the body of the coffin fit together perfectly; not even a strand of hair could be inserted. One could only vaguely see the seam, so fine it was almost non-existent.

A coffin—the most important thing is, of course, the person or corpse lying inside. A bronze coffin over two thousand years old, a soul-sealing ritual, the pattern of a phoenix pouncing on a dragon... what did this signify?

After the Qin Dynasty, bronze coffins became rare. Gradually, legends spread among the common people that bronze coffins were "cursed coffins." People whose horoscopes weren't strong enough would be possessed by evil spirits just by getting close to such a coffin, losing their souls and dying.

Liu Chang'an, of course, feared no "cursed coffin." He knew very well that a coffin is only considered cursed because the deceased was wicked in life. The ancients believed that these peerless villains, who were either heinous or stained with monstrous blood debts, could only have their souls sealed by a bronze coffin to prevent them from reincarnating and wreaking havoc on the world again.

Of course, some also believed that bronze coffins could seal the essence and soul, allowing the deceased to preserve their final living spirit while waiting for the day of resurrection, such as the massive coffin of Marquis Yi of Zeng.

These were all merely superstitious thoughts. The dead cannot return to life; Liu Chang'an had never seen a dead person resurrect.

Unless they were already ageless and immortal.

For the study of cultural relics and archaeology, the era, patterns, tomb location, and burial goods of a coffin are very important. As for the corpse inside, unless it is a case like Lady Xin Zhui, it is not important, provided the identity can be determined.

Liu Chang'an did not do research in this field. To him, the person or corpse inside the coffin was the most important thing. Clearly, for various reasons, Qin Peng had kept this coffin for himself rather than leaving it to the cultural relic research institutes or the Bureau of Culture; otherwise, he couldn't have delivered it directly to Liu Chang'an like this.

There were no signs that the coffin had been opened. Many of the manufacturing techniques and the precision displayed by ancient artifacts are difficult for modern people to understand, and it is often impossible to open or disassemble them while keeping them intact. This coffin was one such case.

Liu Chang'an's fingers traced a circle around the coffin, tapping it lightly. Perhaps here lay a skeleton that was once stunningly talented in life; perhaps here lay a rare treasure comparable to the He Shi Bi or the Imperial Seal; perhaps here lay a mysterious ritual recording a lost tribe or civilization.

Or perhaps, lying inside was a... person?

Without absolute certainty, he wouldn't destroy what was inside. Without sufficient information, Liu Chang'an wouldn't rashly open the lid. There are no ghosts or gods in this world, but there are taboos.

Liu Chang'an closed the truck door. Although he had grasped Qin Peng's intent and felt it was slightly troublesome, it was only a matter of a few decades, so there was no need to worry too much. Just as Qin Peng doted on this great-granddaughter because of how she looked, he would also take care of Qin Yanan for Ye Sijin's sake.

As for Qin Yanan interpreting it in other ways, Liu Chang'an didn't mind. Human emotions are more ethereal and harder to grasp than drifting clouds; they dissipate in a moment.

After tidying up the old books in the room, he thought he should take a trip to the Xiangnan Museum. Because of the ancient Junsha Kingdom, Xiangnan had always been a major province for the excavation of Han Dynasty artifacts. The Xin Zhui Tomb there was ranked alongside the First Emperor's Mausoleum as one of the world's ten most precious tombs, the most critical aspect being the large amount of documentary material unearthed.

Perhaps he could find some clues there, or gain some hints, or perhaps it would simply be enough to trigger some of his own memories.

Having experienced too much, it was impossible to keep all his memories neatly organized and ready for retrieval at any time. After all, the human brain is not a computer where one can input keywords to find reference materials.

Liu Chang'an didn't head straight to the museum. Checking the time, he strolled slowly to school, and as expected, he was late.

In the final days of senior year, the atmosphere was both lazy and tense. Everyone had relaxed regarding various rules, though they were naturally tense about their studies. Liu Chang'an arrived at his seat and took out his review materials, no longer reading Yuan Mei's Zi Bu Yu.

There was only a small red mark of skin abrasion left on An Nuan's nose. At this age, a girl's skin has excellent healing capabilities, so there was no need to worry about such a small injury leaving an ugly scar. Thus, An Nuan no longer raised her hand to cover the mark, though those who knew she had been hit in the nose by Liu Chang'an's volleyball would giggle at her from time to time.

"I got scolded to death by my mom when I got home, and then I quickly took a photo of my injured nose and posted it on Weibo, adding a pitiful, coquettish expression. Oh my god, she's so deep into the role, it's like she thinks she is me on Weibo, interacting with fans every day and never getting tired of it," An Nuan shook her head, unable to stand it. "I have a secondary account; let's follow each other."

"I think your mom manages that account quite well; it looks quite cute," Liu Chang'an looked at An Nuan. "Your mom must be quite good-looking too."

"Can you talk seriously!" An Nuan was both amused and annoyed. "My mom has a sharp tongue in real life. If she met a glib young man like you, she'd lecture you until you wanted to be reborn."

"Not at all, I chat with her quite well," Liu Chang'an shook his head and took out his phone. "Look, we chat from time to time, talking about life and ideals, poetry and literature, songs and movies from the eighties and nineties, Indian films, and the customs of South Pacific islands."

An Nuan was dumbfounded. She snatched Liu Chang'an's phone and flipped through the chat history. There was indeed a very, very long history of messages. The content was all-encompassing, ranging from astronomy and geography to gossip about the streets of Junsha City.

"Didn't you know long ago that this account was mainly being used by my mom?" An Nuan looked at Liu Chang'an in disbelief. After all, people's social media contacts are basically their peers; the generation gap on the internet is even more distinct. People don't even use the same style of emojis, so how could they chat?

"I knew, that's why we could keep chatting. If it were you, how would we have so many topics?" Liu Chang'an said as if it were obvious.

An Nuan pressed her hand to her chest to calm herself down. It was definitely time to break off relations with someone like Liu Chang'an. Usually, when she sent him messages, he was incredibly slow and dull in his replies, yet she never expected he could chat so well with her mother... Ignoring the invincible, youthful beauty by his side to chat so happily with a middle-aged woman—how was An Nuan supposed to balance that?

"We're through." An Nuan was so furious she could die, so naturally, she didn't bring up the matter of following each other on their alt accounts; she figured he wouldn't be interested anyway.

"No." Liu Chang'an refused.

"We must be through." An Nuan huffed as she opened her book, then snatched Liu Chang'an's phone away to meticulously scroll through the chat history between him and her mother.

"If we're through, why are you still grabbing my phone and digging through my chats?" Liu Chang'an looked at An Nuan, unable to fathom her logic.

"I've got goosebumps just reading this!" An Nuan shot Liu Chang'an a glare, unable to stop herself from wondering if Liu Chang'an was... into older women?

"When the heart is not upright, the eyes reflect a demonic, deviant glint." Liu Chang'an looked into An Nuan's eyes as he spoke.

An Nuan gave a light cough, her cheeks flushing red at the thoughts running through her mind. She kept hold of Liu Chang'an's phone, refusing to return it, yet she stopped scrolling through the messages. She stared at the book on her desk with a look of feigned seriousness; regardless, they were through, and she didn't want to speak to him today.