Chapter Seventy: The Man in the Painting and Reality

He looked at the cold-faced young man before him. The words were polite, but in his ears, they sounded like commands. It was the suppression of a superior over a soldier, the admonition of an eagle to a hatchling.

He had no choice.

Mr. Su's face turned pale. In that moment, he realized the gap between himself and the other. The contempt and arrogance that came with age had now become a bitter fruit he had to swallow.

He nodded, answering with utmost respect, "Yes... Very well. Let's return to the private room and talk."

Chen Qing nodded calmly. He glanced at the phone in his hand, hesitated for two seconds, then finally pressed the delete key.

He looked up at Mr. Su and asked, "You know what to say when the police arrive, don't you?"

Mr. Su's face tightened, but when Chen Qing pointed at the phone in his hand, his heart eased considerably.

"Understood... Of course, I understand."

"Then let’s go."

He walked ahead, making his way back to the private room on his own.

Inside, the three young men were still seated, but upon seeing Mr. Su's tense and solemn appearance as the three entered, they tried to make a joke, attempting to return the atmosphere to their familiar territory.

"Hey—what's up with you, Boss Su..."

Their voices were laced with insolence, but Chen Qing was already quite displeased.

"Shut your mouths."

He cast a glance at those at the table. These thugs had never taken such attitude from a student before.

They slammed their hands under the table, but before they could stand, Mr. Su had already strode over and slapped the leader across the face.

"When Mr. Chen tells you to shut up, you shut up! Don’t you understand?"

His voice was cold and stern, no longer the helpless tone he’d used when the trio first entered.

The slap was heavy. The young man’s head whipped to the side, and with a spit, two teeth flew from his mouth.

Those teeth landed on the table, clattering and bouncing.

Immediately after, their pockets began to chime with message notifications.

Their expressions turned awkward, laced with stubbornness, worry, and fear.

They looked at Mr. Su’s back, unsure whether to sit or stand.

Those who pay for pleasure always need underlings to do their dirty work.

Mr. Su was no exception, nor were they.

Hearing the chimes from their pockets, Chen Qing’s expression grew more severe.

He looked at the leader and held out his hand, "Give me your phone. Don’t look at it."

He emphasized the instruction, and Mr. Su seemed to catch on.

Turning his head, his expression unchanged, he barked, "Didn’t you hear what he said?!"

The thug wanted to sneer, but his mouth was twisted from the slap. He pouted and handed over the phone from his pocket.

"What’s the password?"

"1437."

Chen Qing unlocked it. The screen displayed the gruesome images of the four policemen at the moment of their deaths.

"This is serious."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, noticing Mr. Su’s curious expression.

"Want to see?" he asked with a cold laugh.

Mr. Su didn’t reply.

"If you want to see, just look. But once you do, you’ll be dead." He stared into Mr. Su’s eyes, but the insolent one behind him snapped, "Why are you acting tough? Didn’t nothing happen to you?"

Mr. Su’s face flickered with thought. He turned to the other two lackeys, "Did you get it too?"

The two exchanged glances, but just as they were about to speak, their faces changed.

They looked at Mr. Su, their faces turning deathly pale.

Like the visage of a long-dead corpse.

That face had lost all vitality. They reached out, touched their own faces, and with a hooked fingertip, forced a smile onto their lips.

In the next instant, they bolted, sprinting for the room’s window. With the precision of divers, they leaped out, and about 10.85 seconds later, the sound of car alarms rang out from outside the restaurant.

A hiss escaped behind Chen Qing—the only one daring to make a sound was Karans.

Looking ahead, Mr. Su's face was paper white; his mind was filled with images of those pale, grinning faces.

Those corpse-like, stiff faces.

He felt the phone vibrating in his pocket and realized his sweat had already soaked his undershirt.

He felt cold, his neck creaking upward like a rusty gear as he stared at the air conditioning.

It was cold indeed, even though the unit was set to 28 degrees.

"Pass the word: anyone who receives an unknown message, delete it immediately. Don’t open it."

Chen Qing, still playing with the phone, spoke as if nothing had happened. The man behind Mr. Su wanted to speak, but seeing Chen Qing’s indifferent air, the words died on his lips.

"Sir..." Karans, behind Chen Qing, asked with some concern, "If you do this...is there a chance I might see something by accident?"

Though phrased as a question, it was more of a reminder.

Chen Qing nodded, deleted the message from the phone, and without another word, tossed the phone back.

The man reached out, his hand trembling so badly he fumbled four or five times before the phone finally dropped to the floor.

Mr. Su watched, his lips pale, yet his anxiety did not seem eased. As Chen Qing walked to the sofa, he hurried after him, "But...sir, what about my problem?"

Chen Qing turned, fixing him with a calm stare for a long moment.

Only when Mr. Su began to squirm did he speak, "You’re not clueless, are you? You’ve been a tomb raider for decades. Don’t tell me you don’t know the rules."

Having said that, Chen Qing picked up his water glass, but paused just before drinking, "Please get me another bottle of water."

At his words, Karans went to fetch it. Mr. Su hovered nearby, looking timid.

Watching Chen Qing drink made him relax a little, and he finally murmured, "Is there really no solution?"

Chen Qing gave him a strange look, "Didn’t I already give you one?"

Mr. Su gritted his teeth, "But not like that!"

"There are rules to handling things. You took what wasn’t yours, stripped them bare—how could they not be angry?"

Chen Qing smiled as he glanced at the previously mentioned jade pendant, "And don’t try to pawn off the jade Han again. It’s not polite."

Sweat trickled down Mr. Su’s face, and only now did his true concern emerge, "Please, just tell me."

"You’re not worried about the message?"

"As long as I don’t look at it, it’s fine. But the evil spirit is real," he replied hastily.

"What else did you take?"

"A painting and a silk scarf."

Chen Qing paused for a moment, his expression blank. "You really are something."

"Money left underground shouldn’t count as money, right?" Mr. Su chuckled sheepishly, and at last, Chen Qing understood.

No wonder he insisted on settling the deal here. First, this was his stronghold and he felt secure; second, the stolen goods were here, making everything convenient.

So-called acquisition was just a case of the boss paying his own men.

Chen Qing shook his head and asked, "Where’s the painting?"

Mr. Su scratched at his coat hem and, after a moment’s hesitation, spoke to Chen Qing, "Forgive my boldness and presumption... I hope that, no matter what you see, you will never speak of it in the future. As compensation, this jade Han... and half the cash from the sale will be respectfully offered afterward."

Chen Qing nodded, his curiosity piqued. Seeing his agreement, Mr. Su hurried out, and Chen Qing followed at a measured pace.

Karans and the lackey brought up the rear as the group ascended to an even more private room upstairs.

Once on the second floor, Chen Qing’s expression finally shifted.

He saw a painting that had been disassembled into more than a dozen pieces; each sheet bore traces of aged pigment, and nearby sat a pile of already processed, packaged albums.

"Quite the hand, Boss Su." Even Chen Qing couldn’t help but marvel.

This was the mark of a true forger—a genuine masterpiece now split into dozens of parts.

"I’d only ever heard of this kind of forgery online. I thought it was just an urban legend among antique dealers..."

A spark lit his eyes; it was as if a new world had opened before him.

"It’s not that incredible..." Mr. Su replied with an awkward smile, his pride unmistakable. "It’s just a little trick. By separating the fibers of layered Xuan paper, each resulting fragment retains a bit of the original. It’s not top-tier, but it’s enough to fool some experts."

Chen Qing nodded, watching the ongoing dismantling of the painting in the center of the room. No wonder he was reluctant to return it—there was nothing left to give back.

Chen Qing stepped closer. The painting depicted a woman holding flowers, seated beneath a riverside tree.

The woman seemed alive; her eyes, no matter the angle, always appeared to be watching you.

"Have you noticed, Mr. Chen?" Mr. Su joined him, sighing, "The craftsmanship of the ancients is truly remarkable. If only the lineage hadn’t been broken..."

He shook his head. "No matter what angle you view it from, the woman’s gaze follows you. Our copies can’t replicate that. Still... so long as no one’s seen the original, it’s not a problem."

Chen Qing estimated that, at the current rate, they could probably create over a dozen more forgeries.

No wonder he refused to return it.

Chen Qing shook his head; even the eye between his brows remained closed, but the extraordinary aura from the painting had already begun to seep out.

"This painting is intriguing," said a voice beside him—Bu Zhaozhao’s figure materialized.

"The painting’s owner harbors great resentment. The passage of time, the number of deaths... it’s nearly become a relic of unending misfortune.

A pity..."

She shook her head, and Chen Qing knew well what she meant by that regret.