After Qin Yanan left, Liu Chang’an thought of her great-grandmother, Ye Siyuan.
Many, many years ago, Ye Siyuan was like a sorrowful girl in Ding Xiang’s poem “Rain Lane”, with a Ding Xiang-like complexion, fragrance, and worry.
Her worries were not from complaining about life’s hardships. She and Qin Peng were the vigorous and heroic ones of that era.
That era’s heroic spirit was not something that could be written about by any great masters or poets, nor was it the lyrical poetry brought by Tagore in 1923. It was the spirit that navigated on a small boat in Jiaxing’s South Lake.
Ye Siyuan had already passed away, and Qin Yanan’s birth was probably Qin Peng’s greatest comfort and solace.
Liu Chang’an sighed, and when he turned around, he found that the scattered old men had already gathered around him.
Cunning and experienced in the ways of the world, they were wary of new and unfamiliar things, and when they left, only Liu Chang’an was left to offer his guidance and share his wisdom as an elder.
“Little Liu, have you gotten into trouble with someone?”
“That woman has a good foundation to educate her.”
“I’ve seen this kind of tank before, it was similar when I escorted the leader in the past.”
“What’s going on here? Are they going to relocate? I won’t move, I’ll die before I do.”
Liu Chang’an smiled, closed the car door, and walked away, holding the car key. For him, exercise was essential, although jumping off a building might be a more direct way to improve his physique.
Following the original route, he walked back from the train station, and the onlookers near the cargo cars had dispersed. Liu Chang’an re-entered the car and examined the bronze coffin.
Qin Peng had obviously not told Qin Yanan about the bronze coffin’s background, and Qin Yanan even thought it was just a precious replica, as the paintings on the coffin were too vivid, and the dark patterns on them were too exquisite, unlike an ancient artifact.
Liu Chang’an, however, could sense the profound ancient aura surrounding the bronze coffin, like an invisible magnetic field.
This kind of magnetic field was especially concentrated in large museums, where ancient artifacts that had spanned thousands of years of human history were stored. These artifacts condensed the infinite changes and vicissitudes of human history, unfolding a grand scroll in front of those who understood them.
Who knew that the creators of these national treasures, in the process of refining them with fire, water, and earth, had never thought of transmitting their spirit to future generations, wanting to leave a stunning legacy?
Liu Chang’an stretched out his hand to gently touch the yellow patterns on the coffin’s lid, where a high mountain stood, with two dragons piercing through its body, and two yellow ribbons tied around them.
The ancient jade buried with the dead should have had the deceased’s name and posthumous title engraved on it, but here, it was empty and attention-grabbing.
The coffin’s lid fit perfectly with its body, leaving no gap, not even a hair’s breadth. Only the seam was faintly visible, almost imperceptible.
The most important thing about the coffin, of course, was the person or corpse inside, which had been sealed for over two thousand years. The bronze coffin, the soul-sealing ritual, the dragon and phoenix patterns… what did they imply?
After the Qin dynasty, bronze coffins became scarce, and people began to believe that bronze coffins were ominous, and those who were not destined for greatness would be haunted by evil spirits if they approached such coffins, losing their souls and dying.
Liu Chang’an, of course, was not afraid of the ominous coffin. He knew that the coffin was only feared because the deceased had been evil in life, and ancient people believed that these evil people could only be sealed away with bronze coffins, preventing them from reincarnating and causing chaos in the mortal world again.
Some people also believed that bronze coffins could preserve the deceased’s spirit, allowing them to keep their last breath of life, waiting for the day of resurrection, like the enormous coffin of Prince Yide.
All these were just superstitions. Liu Chang’an had never seen anyone come back to life.
Unless they were not ordinary people, not mortals.
As for archaeological research, the era, patterns, burial site, and artifacts of the coffin were crucial, but the corpse inside the coffin was not important, unless it was a case like Xin Zhui’s, where the body was so well-preserved that it was like a treasure in itself.
Liu Chang’an did not do this kind of research. For him, the person or corpse inside the coffin was the most important. The coffin in front of him was clearly collected by Qin Peng for some reason, and he had not left it to the cultural relics institute or the museum. Otherwise, it would not have been delivered directly to Liu Chang’an.
The coffin had no signs of being opened before, and the craftsmanship and precision of ancient artifacts were difficult for modern people to understand, let alone open and disassemble them while preserving their integrity.
Liu Chang’an circled the coffin, gently tapping it. Maybe there were skeletal remains inside, or maybe it was a treasure, comparable to the He Shi Bi jade, or maybe it was a mysterious ritual, recording a lost tribe and civilization.
Or perhaps there was a person inside?
Without sufficient confidence, Liu Chang’an would not open the coffin, as he knew that there were taboos in this world, although there were no ghosts or gods.
Liu Chang’an closed the car door, feeling a bit troubled, but it was just a matter of a few decades. He didn’t need to take it too seriously, just like how Qin Peng doted on Qin Yanan, and Liu Chang’an would also take care of her as his own.
As for Qin Yanan’s understanding of other things, Liu Chang’an didn’t mind. Human emotions were like clouds, fleeting and difficult to grasp.
Liu Chang’an tidied up the old books in the room, thinking that he should visit the Xiangnan Museum, due to the reason of the ancient Guangsha State. Xiangnan was a province where many Han dynasty cultural relics were unearthed, including the Xin Zhui tomb and the First Emperor’s Mausoleum, which were listed among the top ten most precious tombs in the world.
Maybe he could find some clues or hints there, or at least jog his memory.
Having experienced too much, Liu Chang’an couldn’t remember everything. He couldn’t retrieve information like a computer.
He didn’t go to the museum directly, but instead, looked at the time and slowly strolled to school, which made him late again.
It was the last period of his senior year, and everyone was feeling relaxed yet tense. Liu Chang’an arrived at his seat and took out his study materials, not the “Zi Bu Yu” by Yuan Mei.
Ann Wan’s nose still had a small, red mark from the skin injury. At her age, girls’ skin was still capable of rapid recovery, and she didn’t need to worry about leaving an ugly scar, so she didn’t bother to cover her nose.
However, there were people who knew that Liu Chang’an had hit her nose with a volleyball, and they would occasionally tease her about it.
“I went home and got scolded by my mom, and then I quickly took a photo of my injured nose and posted it on Weibo, with a pitiful expression. Oh my god, she’s really getting into her role, as if she were me on Weibo, interacting with her fans every day.” Ann Wan shook her head, “I have a small account, let’s follow each other.”
“I think your mom manages that account pretty well. She looks lovely.” Liu Chang’an looked at Ann Wan, “Your mom should be quite nice-looking.”
“Can’t you be serious for once?” Ann Wan was amused and annoyed at the same time, “My mom is really strict in reality, and if she met someone like you, who loves to flirt, she would be able to discipline you.”
“I’m not flirting,” Liu Chang’an shook his head, “I’ve been chatting with her, and we’ve had some great conversations about life, ideals, poetry, and literature, as well as 80s and 90s music and Hong Kong movies.”
Ann Wan was dumbstruck, snatching Liu Chang’an’s phone and flipping through their chat history. It was real, and they had discussed everything under the sun, from astronomy to local news in Guangsha City.
“You didn’t know that my mom was the one using that account, did you?” Ann Wan looked at Liu Chang’an in disbelief, as it was hard to imagine how someone like Liu Chang’an could chat with her mom about so many topics.
“I knew, so I could keep chatting with her.” Liu Chang’an said calmly.
Ann Wan took a deep breath to calm herself down. It seemed that Liu Chang’an was the kind of person who needed to be cut off from her life, as she couldn’t balance her feelings towards him. Putting aside the beautiful girls who surrounded him, he could chat with her mom so enthusiastically…
“Break off our friendship,” Ann Wan said decisively, not mentioning following each other on Weibo anymore.
“No,” Liu Chang’an refused.
“Must break off our friendship,” Ann Wan was furious, snatching Liu Chang’an’s phone and carefully flipping through his chat history with her mom.
“Are you cutting off our friendship and taking my phone, and then going through my chat records?” Liu Chang’an looked at Ann Wan in confusion.
“I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it!” Ann Wan squinted at Liu Chang’an, wondering if he had a fetish for mature women.
“Her heart is not upright, and her eyes have an evil, seductive charm,” Liu Chang’an said, looking at Ann Wan’s eyes.
Ann Wan coughed lightly, her face flushing as she thought about Liu Chang’an’s words. She took his phone, but didn’t flip through the chat records anymore, instead, she focused on her books, anyway, they were cutting off their friendship, and she didn’t want to talk to him today.
Previous Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter