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墨書 Inktalez
"This is the handwriting of the Old Curator." Lin Xueqing unfolded the note, her fingers trembling slightly.
Shen Mo Ting took down the scroll and carefully unrolled it. The glow of the oil lamp illuminated the paper, revealing Lang Shining's signature meticulous and vibrant style.
"This is...?" Lin Xueqing leaned closer, "The Hundred Horses Painting?"
"No," Shen Mo Ting pointed to a corner of the painting, "Look here."
In the lower right corner of the artwork, there were a few barely visible small characters: Qianlong Fifteenth Year, Yangxin Hall.
"This is an authentic piece." Lin Xueqing gasped, "And it was created shortly after Lang Shining finished the secret letter."
Shen Mo Ting examined the painting closely. "Is there something special about it?"
Lin Xueqing's gaze drifted across the image. "I've studied the Hundred Horses Painting many times, but this one..."
She suddenly stopped, her eyes fixated on the center of the painting.
"What’s wrong?"
"Look at this horse." She pointed to a white horse in the painting. "Its posture is off."
In the painting, the white horse gazed into the distance, but the angle of its neck appeared somewhat stiff, unlike Lang Shining's usual fluid strokes.
"Wait." Lin Xueqing took out a Peach Wood Comb from her bag and held it up to the oil lamp to examine its patterns closely. "This design..."
She gently pressed the comb against the artwork. Under the light, the patterns on the comb perfectly matched the outline of the white horse in the painting.
"It's a mechanism," Shen Mo Ting murmured.
Lin Xueqing held her breath, gently pressing the comb against the drawing paper. A faint "click" sounded as a small gap opened at the bottom of the paper.
"Be careful." Shen Mo Ting caught a small bundle that slipped through the gap.
The bundle was wrapped in blue silk, adorned with a strange symbol.
"What is this...?" Lin Xueqing examined it closely. "Zunghar Script?"
Just then, footsteps suddenly echoed from outside the hall.
"Someone's coming." Shen Mo Ting quickly hid the bundle in his bosom and pulled Lin Xueqing behind the screen.
The footsteps grew closer. Someone pushed open the hall door.
"Old Curator?" a deep male voice called out.
Lin Xueqing's heart skipped a beat. That voice...
"I know you're here." The man continued, "Where's the painting?"
There was no response.
"Stop hiding." The footsteps echoed within the hall, "We all know this game needs to end. What happened back then cannot happen again."
Lin Xueqing felt Shen Mo Ting's arm tighten around her.
"Do you think you can protect her like this?" the man scoffed, "Just like how you protected her mother back then?"
Lin Xueqing's body trembled. Mother?
"Enough." A familiar voice echoed as the Old Curator stepped out from the shadows of the hall. "Director Chen, after all these years, you haven't changed a bit."
"Neither have you," replied the man known as Director Chen. "Still fond of playing these games."
"Not games." The Old Curator's voice was unusually calm. "I am merely fulfilling a promise."
"A promise?" Director Chen scoffed. "To whom? To that long-dead painter? Or to..."
"To history." The Old Curator interrupted him. "Some truths cannot be buried by anyone."
"You know what this means," Director Chen's tone turned dangerous. "Once it's leaked, the consequences..."
"The consequence is the truth being revealed." A clear voice suddenly rang out.
Lin Xueqing stepped out from behind the screen, and Shen Mo Ting tried to stop her but was too late.
"Miss Lin." Director Chen seemed unsurprised. "So you are here after all."
"Do you know my mother?" Lin Xueqing stared directly at him.
The hall fell into a dead silence. The flickering light of the oil lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls.
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