She rubbed her finger until it was warm, traced the seal a few times, brought it to her nose and inhaled. Yes, the copper tang. A bronze piece aged over a thousand years would never carry this scent. She put the seal back, wiped her fingers on a towel, and delivered her verdict: "New." The antique trade did not say fake or real. Fake was xin. Real was lao. Someone nearby murmured, "All the other experts called it genuine, Miss Yan. Perhaps you should look more carefully." "There is nothing more to look at." A stir of whispers spread through the room. "Where?" "On the bed." "...It is only six in the evening. Did you just wake up, or are you not getting up at all?" "Doesn't matter. No work to go to. Sleep as long as you want." The voice on the phone paused. "Then why did you tell the truth at the appraisal conference?" She twirled a slim lady's cigarette between her fingers. "Can't help it. I am a straightforward person." "Come on. What about that matter?" "What matter?" "The archaeological team. They need a文物鉴定师." Yan Xiao let out a cold laugh. "Baffling." "Don't do this. I'm genuinely hoping you'll leave Shanghai and get out of town. There are rumors everywhere about you now." "Ah, thank you for your concern, young master." "You doing this on purpose?" "No. Sincerely grateful for leadership care." Two clients had just walked out of the gate, heading toward her car, chatting as they went. "Didn't I hear there was a young female appraiser at Huayan who was very impressive? Why didn't we see her today?" "You mean the one surnamed Yan? She's suspended. Haven't you heard the news?" "Suspended?" "There was an appraisal event, all the experts said the pieces were genuine, and she alone called them fake. The circle says someone like that doesn't understand antiques at all. How could Huayan keep her?" "I wanted to hire her for an appraisal." Yan Xiao, a recognized antique appraisal expert in Shanghai, had her career ruined in one night simply for speaking the truth. She was, quite literally, ruined. She closed the car window and pressed the accelerator. Two men, still chatting enthusiastically, saw a car suddenly shoot past them. One grabbed the other and stepped back onto the sidewalk. "Watch where you are going! Rushing to commit suicide?" She had barely settled on the sofa when a man leaned over. "You're as punctual as yesterday." "You're watching me?" "I've been noticing you lately. Work not busy?" "Unemployed." "Haha, you're funny." He watched her pour liquor down her throat, then leaned close to her ear. "Something bothering you. Want to talk?" "Nothing worth talking about." "Why not?" "Say it. Why..." The man wanted to spark her interest, so he talked too much. His breath carried the weight of alcohol, his body pressing toward her. Yan Xiao shifted, stood to leave. The man caught her waist and pulled her back, breathing heavily. "My place or yours?" "I never take men home." "Then my place?" Yan Xiao turned. In the dim light, her neck and collarbone were a flash of white. She lifted the glass above his head and flipped it. The liquor poured over him from crown to collar. "Too bad. I have no interest in talkative men like you." The man shot to his feet. Someone strode over and pulled Yan Xiao up. She resisted for a moment, then looked at who it was, stood, and walked out with him. The man, humiliated, muttered, "Damn. I wondered what was so fierce. Turns out she's taken." Outside the bar, a black sedan waited. Yan Xiao was pulled inside. Pei Mingsheng let go of the door, said "Get in," then climbed into the driver's seat, rolled up the window, and pushed up his glasses. "What was that back there?" "A small disagreement." "What kind?" "He wanted to sleep with me. I didn't want to." Pei Mingsheng's laugh caught in his throat. He coughed several times, face reddening, then slumped back against the seat. "Your reputation is destroyed by you. What do I get out of this?" She had a lazy air about her now, different from her sharp professional self. Without work, her edges were fully exposed. The bar light painted a flush across her wine-warm cheek. Pei Mingsheng watched her for a while, his voice dropping. "The entire circle is excluding you now. Shanghai is not safe for you anymore." "So you want to ship me off to that archaeological team?" "What are you saying? Don't forget our relationship. I am not just your boss. I am your senior fellow student. Would I truly abandon you?" "And if I refuse?" Pei Mingsheng pressed his brow, pushed his glasses again, his face darkening. "Yan Xiao, you offended Master Wu. You should have known this would happen the moment you told the truth at that event." Yan Xiao grasped the door handle and pushed. Pei Mingsheng stopped her. "Where?" Yan Xiao nearly kicked the door open. "To smoke." "... " May in Shanghai was already hot, but the wind off the Bund was cold, sobering. She wanted to curse, to leap into rage. In the end, she only gave him a cold look, lowered her head, and inhaled deeply from a cigarette. When the cigarette was done, she got back in the car, closed the door. "Fine. I'll go." Pei Mingsheng turned to her. Half her face was lit by the window, half swallowed by darkness outside. Only her dark brows and red lips stood sharp against the shadow. He knew she was not at peace, but he could only pretend not to notice. "I'm doing this for your own good. Even if you resent me, I'll accept it." Yan Xiao's face was stone. "Where is this archaeological team?" "The northwest." Pei Mingsheng placed a thick paper envelope on her lap, gave it a pat like a comfort. "Everything is ready. Certificates, credentials, a letter of introduction to the team, a car key, and a slip with the address of an auto dealership. Signed by me." She stuffed everything into her backpack. On the television, an appraisal show played—experts around a table, dissecting "treasures" with confident words. She smirked. "A bunch of liars." She checked into a guesthouse in Xi'an. The owner looked at her ID: Yan Xiao. "From where?" "Shanghai." "Just visiting?" "Passing through." A guest nearby chimed in. "Which way are you headed?" "North." A short-cropped man leaned over. "We're looking for travel companions. If the route works, we can go together." "No need. Definitely not the same direction." "That's not certain. Tell us where." Yan Xiao pulled a map from her bag, spread it on the counter, pointed with her finger. The red circle sat where Inner Mongolia, Shaanxi, and Ningxia all met. "No name on this place." "Not on the same route, then?" "No. Not even close." She took the key card, rolled up the map, and headed upstairs. The man with the crop called after her. "Hey, you going alone to this no-man's-land? What for?" "Exile." The man was puzzled. The woman walked up the stairs without looking back, her profile tight. She did not sound like she was joking. The phone rang the moment she entered her room. She set her bag down, swiped the screen open. Pei Mingsheng: "All well?" No reply. She was about to set the phone down when a second message appeared: "Don't actually hold a grudge. Your senior brother does everything for your own good." Followed by a frowning emoji and a display of false pitifulness. Then a third: "Don't go to bars anymore." She opened the envelope he had given her and poured everything onto the bed—credentials, a letter of introduction, a car key, and a slip with a dealership address signed Pei Mingsheng. On the television, an appraisal show played. Experts sat around a table dissecting "treasures" with confident words. She laughed softly. "A bunch of liars." She left the guesthouse that evening. Across the street was a convenience store. She looked inside but did not find her usual brand of cigarettes. "Do you have anything for women?" the shopkeeper asked. "Women smoke less." "Far from here," he said. "Three streets to a specialty shop." She left without another word. The short-cropped man saw her and called out. "Someone came looking for you earlier." "Was he still here?" "We said you weren't. He said he would come back later." She nodded and started upstairs. The girl who had been chatting earlier smiled. "He was so handsome, whoever he is." She did not respond. The man at the bar earlier had tried to stop her. She had poured a glass over his head. Then Julian Cross had appeared—a man with sharp features, short hair, a broad shoulder cut by the dim light from behind. He had pulled her up. She had resisted until she recognized him, then walked out beside him. Later, alone in her room, she looked in the mirror and found a finger print across her cheek and nose. "Damn." The next morning, before six, the three men got up. Wang Chuanxue complained about Guan Yue being too eager to please. Shi Zhongzhou said it was for work—the appraisal of the jade segments depended on her. Yan Xiao had not appeared. Shi Zhongzhou went to check and came back. "Still sleeping. There is a note on the door: 'Not up. Do not disturb.' Can't believe she can sleep that long." Wang Chuanxue looked at the driver's seat. "Should we wake her?" "Don't. What if she says we won't even let her sleep?" Guan Yue said nothing. His finger tapped the steering wheel. He looked toward the guesthouse entrance, then back. Something occurred to him. He opened the door and stepped out. "She left," the front desk girl told him. "Right after dawn." "Left?" Still Shi Zhongzhou who understood. "Her personality is too unpredictable. She's giving us the silent treatment. What now?" Guan Yue took out a cigarette, lit it with his cupped hand. "Now what?" "She is a funded arrangement. A woman. We can't just let her travel alone to the team." Guan Yue brought the cigarette to his lips, paused. "Let her go. She won't reach the team like this." But she did. By noon, on a stretch of highway outside the city, one of the boys—Xu Ruxiao—jerked his thumb out and stepped onto the road. Yan Xiao slammed the brakes, nearly swore. The boy ran to the window, breathless. "Can you give us a ride? We've been looking for a car. The one before dropped us here." She studied the two of them. Young, not quite twenty. The boy had helped her the night before. She unlocked the doors. "Get in." The boy was thrilled. The girl, Wu An'an, climbed in behind him. She stared at Yan Xiao's rearview mirror for too long. Wu An'an tapped the seat. "Wait. My bracelet. My father gave me that. I must have dropped it back at the spot where we were waiting for a car." "We're going back," Wu An'an said. Yan Xiao slowed. "You're kidding. It's dark." "I need to find it. That was the last thing my father left me." "That's not my problem." Wu An'an's shoulders shook. Tears started. Xu Ruxiao leaned forward. "Miss, how about this—drive us back a bit and I'll go with her. Won't take long." Yan Xiao turned the wheel and drove backward ten minutes' distance. "Ten minutes. Then I leave." The sky was completely black when the car stopped. Then—a shout from ahead. "Miss, go! Go now!" Someone pulled the door open and sat in the back. A knife tapped the steering wheel. "Easy. Just need a ride for a stretch." Yan Xiao looked in the mirror. A thick gold chain glinted at the man's throat. The man from the bar. "Well, what a coincidence," he said. "You're driving me right into a trap." She said nothing. The gold chain man explained he was defending himself. She knew he was lying. He was running from someone—the man he called "Brother Zhu," the one who had been in charge of the jade segments. "Drive," the gold chain man said. "Not far. Won't take much of your time." They drove in silence for a while. The cabin light was warm, painting her profile in amber. She caught his eye in the mirror as he looked at the music player. "Turn right," he said suddenly. "Stop here," Yan Xiao said a moment later. The gold chain man was already pressing the window open. "Brother Zhu! Over here!" A thin figure approached slowly—like a bamboo pole, lean and angular. Zhu Mao. The one who had stolen half the jade segments from the archaeological team. "You didn't come alone?" Zhu Mao asked. "These are people I know," the gold chain man said. Zhu Mao grabbed Yan Xiao by the arm. "Get out. I'm doing this for your own good." He was gropeing. She wrenched her arm free. "Talk among yourselves. I'm stepping out for air." But Zhu Mao held her. "Stay right there." Zhu Mao turned to the gold chain man, voice dropping. "Did you sell it?" "No—" "They took it back. The archaeological team got it." "Then why are you here?" "I need help." Zhu Mao cursed. Then turned to Yan Xiao. "You're going to have to drive us again." "If you don't want me hanging on, you'll need to offer something." Yan Xiao grabbed his wrist. "I have another kind of benefit for you. An antique. For you. Let's part on good terms." "An antique?" "In my bag." He let go, pressed the unlock button. Yan Xiao reached into her backpack and pulled out the porcelain dish she had picked up on the road—a fake Southern Song official kiln piece. "Here." She got back in the car. Behind her, she heard the gold chain man explode: "You fucking set me up!" She looked back and saw three blurred figures getting out of a car ahead—backlit, elongated, unreal. "Miss Yan!" "Miss Yan, are you okay?" She let the rope go, her fingers stiff. "Fine." The wind was cold. So was the voice. "You brought him here?" "So what?" "I told you he deals in stolen artifacts." "Are you interrogating me?" He bent and picked up the gold chain man by the collar. "Where is Zhu Mao?" The gold chain man would not speak. Yan Xiao crushed out her cigarette. "Wait," she said. Everyone waited. The gold chain man screamed. Another struck him. "Stop." "Let go." Guan Yue tightened his grip. Yan Xiao turned. "Did you hear me? Let go." "Your wrist is dislocated." "Don't touch me." She saw what he intended. Her eyes locked on him. "I warn you, I depend on my hands for my living." Guan Yue's gaze was deep as ink. He looked from her face to her wrist, found the position, and pulled. A soft click. Yan Xiao bit down hard, staring at him. "You're welcome." ##