Iron Bull taucht wieder auf

Kapitel 165

“Everyone dies eventually, no matter who they are, right?” I said to her apologetically.

"I saw her in the crystal coffin. Such a beautiful girl, it's such a pity she's gone." She tossed her long hair, and her large, dark eyes gradually welled up with tears.

At that moment, I almost blurted out, "Who can be as beautiful as you?" A man after a fierce battle might crave tenderness and affection even more. Guan Baoling's understanding and her refusal to nag made me feel genuinely relaxed.

She sensed my rapid breathing, took a step back, and gently tapped the piano board twice with her fingers, producing two soft, lingering "ding-ding" sounds.

With Fujika dead, I see no reason to stay any longer at Fengge Temple. The "divine oracle" Guan Baoling mentioned has appeared out of nowhere; I hope to take her away from this dangerous place first and return to Xunfu Garden together.

After a night of intense fighting, I was exhausted. I just wanted to lie down and get a good night's sleep, forget all the unpleasant memories, and then sort out my chaotic thoughts.

“Feng, do you know that ‘fortune teller’ Xiao Gu from Hong Kong? He’ll definitely know the origin of the guqin. Such a wonderful instrument, if it’s buried in a desolate mountain temple, might be ruined by ignorant people at any time. Wouldn’t that be a pity?” Guan Baoling gently stroked the strings, her love for the guqin overflowing.

Gu Zhijin's greatest hobby is talking about antiques and supernatural beings, which is why people in the circle gave him the nickname "half-immortal".

I took out my phone and immediately dialed his number. Before he answered, I traced the two seal characters "五湖" (Wuhu) on the table with my finger. I felt that each stroke was elegant and lively, completely different from the ancient seal carving techniques I was familiar with, and did not belong to any particular school or style.

The person who answered the phone was Gu Zhijin himself, who was as lively and quick-witted as ever, making people feel as if they could see him in high spirits, talking eloquently.

"I am Gu Zhijin. Who is this? What can I do for you? If it's just casual conversation, please don't exceed three sentences or thirty seconds." "No more than thirty seconds of idle talk" is the desk rule he set for himself. If it's about antiques, then three hours or three days doesn't matter. There is no time limit.

"I have a guqin (a traditional Chinese stringed instrument) and would like to trouble you to appraise it." I deliberately used a flat tone.

"Ah? Wind? Is that you? Guqin? What guqin? Where are you?" A series of simple questions popped out like a machine gun, flying continuously from the receiver. Of course, the most important question was "guqin".

We've had many dealings. Besides academic discussions and research, I even bought an antique Nepalese bronze sword from him, of course, at an "antique" price. He never confuses friendship with business, which is why he's been able to thrive in today's fiercely competitive antique industry, achieving both fame and fortune, and becoming a highly influential figure in Hong Kong's antique circles.

"A vermilion-sealed ancient zither?"

I said six words, and he was already gasping for breath on the other end of the phone: "Oh? Could it be a high-quality replica from an underground factory in Asia?" For those in the antique business, skepticism is the key to success. They would never blindly believe any so-called "top-quality" or "rare" item. The word that comes out of their mouths most often is "fake."

"There are 121 registered guqin with the Zhu Yin seal worldwide, with values ranging from $300,000 to $4 million. I have information on all the guqin, their provenance, and their current owners. Furthermore, there haven't been any auctions of ancient musical instruments or guqin transfer events in any auction houses around the world in the past two weeks. I know you have extraordinary abilities, but could you possibly conjure a guqin out of thin air?"

Gu Zhijin spoke fluently, first explaining the background of the guqin clearly. This was also a way for him to save time when negotiating business, getting straight to the point without beating around the bush.

"Xiao Gu, do you want to hear it? If you do, shut up for now!" I was exhausted, and my hands and feet started to feel cold.

Gu Zhijin obediently shut up. He knew I wasn't the type to cause trouble for no reason, and I wouldn't go all the way from Japan to make an overseas call to chat with him about nonsense.

"The seal is carved in seal script, with the two characters 'Five Lakes.' The body of the zither is purplish-black, and the texture of the strings cannot be seen. However, it gives the impression that the zither is very old and has been through many vicissitudes." While I was on the phone, Guan Baoling accidentally plucked the strings, producing four "ding-ding-hao-hao" sounds, from low to high, like a series of bubbles rising to the surface of a river, scattered and extremely beautiful.

Gu Zhijin interrupted me again: "Feng, what was that sound just now?"

I knew he could hear it clearly because the sound of the guqin seemed to have the power to penetrate all radio interference waves, and was always clear, bright, and extremely pleasant to the ear.

"Feng, was that the guqin you mentioned that was playing just now?" Gu Zhijin asked anxiously. I could hear his rapid breathing, like a bulldog that had spotted its prey.

“Yes, that’s it.” I turned to look at Guan Baoling. She was tilting her head, her eyes half-closed, completely absorbed in the music.

Gu Zhijin was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter: "Don't joke around. It's just a worthless replica. If someone were willing to deliver it to my door, I might be able to exchange it for a few dollars. To be honest, if it weren't for a call from an old friend like you, I wouldn't bother with it."

I couldn't help but laugh. His sudden change in attitude perfectly validated his business principle: the more someone tries to belittle something, the greater its unpredictable value.

"Hey Gu, we're friends, don't use those business tactics. Tell me, where did this instrument come from and who was its first owner? Maybe I can help you find a way to get it from Hokkaido to your treasure room, how about that?"

Gu Zhijin remained silent, so I changed to a more relaxed tone: "Forget it, if you're not interested, a few senior professors at the University of Tokyo who specialize in the ancient Chinese zither will definitely be able to give me an answer. Maybe if the price is right, I'll sell it to them."

The fourth super weapon

— Chapter 5 - The Five Lakes Ancient Qin (Part 2) —

Xiao Lai darted out from under the eaves and secretly made a gesture to me. I nodded to him and slowly strolled out the door without disturbing Guan Baoling at all.

Gu Zhijin let out a strange cry through the receiver: "No way! What do those old guys know? They just buy scraps from international antique dealers. Giving them this to study would be like casting pearls before swine! Feng, name your price. For our sake, give me a truly heartfelt clearance sale price, and I'll come and get it myself! Hmm, are you in Hokkaido? If the price is right, I'll be there within 24 hours—?"

He was so used to being immersed in the antique business that he would call any trip to a certain place "rushing there on horseback" regardless of whether he was traveling by car, boat, or plane.

Xiao Lai quickly walked west, pointing beyond the wall. On the other side of the wall was another empty courtyard, neglected due to the dead of winter. He bent his knees, leaped over the wall with one hand on top, and I followed behind, scaling the wall as well.

Gu Zhijin was still shouting, "Name your price! We're friends, after all. But don't be ridiculously greedy; I need to make a living too, you know?"

On the east wall of the courtyard, five gray-clad ninja corpses were clearly nailed to the ground, suspended in mid-air. They had been impaled in the back by strange arrows with five blood-red pheasant feathers at the end, pinning them firmly to the wall. There was no blood on the ground; the arrows seemed to possess a magical power to absorb blood, radiating an eerie blood-red glow from their shafts to their feathers.

"How about I offer HK$100,000?" Gu Zhijin tentatively offered.

I took a deep breath and glanced at the locked door on the side. The steps were covered with a thick layer of dust, without a single footprint. This courtyard had probably been idle for more than two months. The fact that the dust hadn't disturbed it proved that all the killings had taken place only in the courtyard.

The five ninjas were dressed exactly like the first batch of ninjas to appear in the library, so it could be concluded that they were also subordinates of Fenglin Huoshan. Since he was able to drive the Fang Demon to harm Guan Baoling, he would not have ignored the movements of Guan Baoling when launching the siege. Perhaps the mission of these five people was to monitor her closely, but they were shot dead on the spot by someone else first.

"Wind, give me a straight answer! How about I double it?"

I tilted my head back, facing the approaching midday sun, and took a deep breath. The winter wind has its advantages; it quickly blows away all the filth and bloodshed, leaving only cold and fresh air inside.

"Xiao Gu, tell me where this piano came from. Price isn't an issue. I'll take pictures and fax them to you later. That's all for now..."

I immediately hung up, ignoring Gu Zhijin's furious outburst.

In fact, all things considered, Gu Zhijin is one of the best antique dealers in Hong Kong. Unfortunately, he is originally from Beiping and has the penchant for the old Beiping businessman who is extremely calculating, prioritizing money over friendship.

“Mr. Feng, they were shot around 1:10 a.m. I only heard the faint sound of arrows piercing the air and rushed over from the rooftop, where I saw the scene before me. They still had residual body heat, and I judged that the arrows hit them with absolute accuracy, piercing their hearts and killing them instantly. I have searched a 50-meter radius for suspicious traces and found a line of extremely small footprints, which may belong to the archer, only slightly larger than the shoe print of a ten-year-old child.”

Xiao Lai gave a concise and efficient report on the situation. The pheasant feathers trembled in the cold wind, like five torn red flags.

The arrow shafts were no more than two feet long, and after piercing the ninja's body, only a very short fletching remained outside.

"Mr. Feng, would you like to take the arrow down and take a look?" Xiao Lai didn't take any further action just to protect the scene and let me see it.

I shook my head: "No need, the arrows are coated with deadly poison." Seeing the pheasant feathers, I immediately suspected the archer was a scoundrel. Xiao Lai scratched his head in confusion: "Poison? But I used silver needles to examine the back of their necks, muscles, and blood, and found no signs of poisoning."

Xiao Lai's way of thinking is still relatively rigid and conservative; he only focuses on the immediate situation and doesn't understand comprehensive consideration. The tycoon came to Fengge Temple alone, without a single bodyguard. Clearly, his protectors are hidden in the shadows, and to deal with this strange extortion case, he will spare no effort to use his most elite private forces, rather than relying on the police system.

No one can fully comprehend the tycoon's power, which is the main reason he has remained a dominant force in the business world for decades. He is always hundreds of times more powerful than anyone imagines or understands; neither friends nor enemies dare to claim they know him completely.

"This kind of arrow comes from the tropical jungles of the Philippines and is specially designed to deal with pythons and crocodiles. It is launched by a powerful spring and can fire ten arrows at the same time. Xiao Lai, if you have read reports of strange events during the Vietnam War, you will have some impression of it. Its Chinese name is 'poisonous dove'."

Xiao Lai nodded in sudden realization: "It's a secret technique of the Kalaira tribe in the Philippine jungle! I understand now. The toxin applied to it is made from a unique plant called 'arrow grass' found in the Kalaira tribe's territory. It's a natural toxin, which is why the silver needle can't detect it."

The toxin of the arrowhead grass is similar to the ancient Chinese "heartbreak grass." Once it enters the heart of any animal through the bloodstream, it instantly produces a severe paralyzing effect, causing the blood vessel walls to constrict violently, and within seconds, the flowing blood will coagulate into a solid. This plant is extremely rare, found only in the very heart of the Kalala tribe's camp.

The tycoon made his fortune in South and Southeast Asia, so among his close followers were a considerable number of jungle natives who were absolutely loyal to him, forming a slave-master relationship.

"They're the tycoon's men!" Xiao Lai looked around with lingering fear.

One can imagine that somewhere in the shadows, more than a dozen pairs of eyes are secretly watching us every moment. All the news will be passed on to the tycoon immediately—"He cares so much about Guan Baoling, their relationship..." I am increasingly suspicious of the "sugar daddy" rumors in the media.

The Southeast Asian natives fighting against the Japanese ninjas should be evenly matched, with neither side able to gain a decisive advantage. The only advantage is that I can slightly relax my protection of Guan Baoling; the tycoon has undoubtedly given a death order to stop anyone from harming her.

With turmoil raging at Fengge Temple, things are unlikely to remain calm at Xunfu Garden either. Given the tycoon's iron fist, he'll probably never be satisfied until the mastermind behind the extortion case is brought to justice. At his level of influence in the underworld, he doesn't care about the gains or losses of 1.5 billion or 2.5 billion US dollars; what truly enrages him is anyone who dares to challenge his authority. To consolidate his position, he has no choice but to mobilize all his energy to suppress any underworld forces that might be detrimental to him.

"When you're in the world of martial arts, you're not in control of your own destiny"—this is a saying that the Chinese have been saying for thousands of years, and perhaps will continue to say for a long time, until the day humanity perishes.

I repeated to Xiao Lai again: "Don't leave this courtyard. Even if the sky falls outside, don't make any rash moves. Protect Miss Guan well."

Xiao Lai's taciturn nature and quick wit impressed me greatly.

When I returned to the room, Guan Baoling was sitting on the bed, carefully tuning the guqin. Her long hair was gathered behind her shoulders with a black ribbon, hanging down to her waist.

I walked to the table and looked at the strange sign. When I first discovered in Youhuang Water Town that its engraved patterns could change, I thought it resembled the neon billboards most commonly seen in cities. This was another strange sixth sense; the billboard automatically changed its surface pattern, and as long as the program settings allowed, it could switch between dozens or even hundreds of images without limit, becoming the most beautiful scenery in the night.

If you imagine the metal sign as a three-dimensional billboard, the cutout patterns on it are like neon tubes that make up the designs, constantly changing in a way we can't understand. So far, it has changed four times: the words Resika mentioned, the image of Hou Yi shooting down the sun, a six-armed god, and a combination of a human and a fish. Of course, it may change again, under special circumstances and causes.

I admit my idea is somewhat far-fetched, but under certain conditions, such a change is absolutely possible, just like an "amoeba" under a microscope.

The intermittent piano music didn't disturb my thoughts; on the contrary, it gradually calmed my mind and made my thoughts clearer.

The engraved pattern can be changed, but its function is never that of a notice board; rather, it conveys some extremely important information.

"Or should we send it to the Special Research Laboratory at the University of Tokyo to analyze the metal's composition? At least none of the metals discovered on Earth have the property of being able to deform at room temperature."

I think I've grasped the key point! "Nameplates? They're used to provide a concise description of a tool or building. Could what's written on this be the purpose and origin of that glass box?"

Could it be explained that it's embedded in a tower-shaped structure inside a glass box? Resica witnessed the writing appear on it, obtained all the related information, and then discovered a special way to escape from the box.

If my deduction is correct, given the right external environment, the writing on the metal plaque will surely reappear, allowing me to freely enter the glass box.

I gently tapped my temples, while stroking the half-human, half-fish monster with my other hand. It was hard to associate it with the legendary mermaid. After all, the image of a mermaid in pictures and movies is beautiful and amorous, and even the extra fish tail is smooth and graceful, without causing any adverse reaction in one's stomach.

My thoughts jumped to the great man's words about "mermaids' lungs." Right before the Yugaku Mizuki district, he mentioned a Chinese man surnamed Yang who had gone to consult Watanabe Konosuke about "mermaids." Perhaps next time this great man visits Fuukaji Temple, I could use his connections to meet Watanabe Konosuke.

The phone rang again, abruptly interrupting my train of thought.

That was a call from Gu Zhijin—"Feng, I didn't receive your fax, what's going on? Are you not selling it to me?"

I have to admire the efficiency of businessmen. He couldn't wait any longer than half an hour. This shows that the famous saying "time is money" applies to businessmen in any city around the world.

"I haven't had a chance to take pictures yet, but I'll definitely send them over this afternoon or evening." Something that could pique Gu Zhijin's interest so much must be worth at least a million Hong Kong dollars. Knowing him as I do, he wouldn't rush into a business that isn't incredibly lucrative.

The music continued to flow from Guan Baoling's fingers. Gu Zhijin listened carefully for a while, then, as if making a great decision, said loudly, "Feng, aren't we friends? True friends who would stand by each other through thick and thin?"

The fourth super weapon

— Chapter 6 — The Gu Siblings —

I smiled silently, knowing that he was about to throw me another beautiful red embroidered ball next.

"Yes, of course." I inserted my index finger into a relatively large round hole in the upper left corner of the sign, and subconsciously rotated it, hoping to find something on the inner wall of the hole.

In my opinion, since the pattern on the sign is constantly changing, Fujika's understanding must have limitations. At the very least, she saw the huge cubic structure, but couldn't clearly state how to enter it—"Where did the writing seen in the water of Youhuang Water County come from? The idea of entering the 'Underwater Divine Tomb' through the 'Well of Spirit Escape' has existed since ancient times, but how credible is it? What are the chances of success?"

“Feng, I’ll offer you an astronomical price. If you don’t agree, don’t say I don’t care about my friends. How about five million Hong Kong dollars? I’ll give you the check in one hand and the instrument in the other. I don’t care if it’s a fake or a counterfeit, I’ll take it all. How about it?” Gu Zhijin’s tone was as if he were wielding a big knife to cut his own flesh, and he kept hissing and gasping for breath.

Five million Hong Kong dollars, fifty times more than the "one hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars" he casually mentioned at the beginning, but in my mind, it was still a number that did not arouse any interest whatsoever.

"Xiao Gu, you've misunderstood me. Price isn't an issue, and besides, the zither doesn't belong to me. If you can't tell me its origin, then just pretend I didn't say anything. Sorry for bothering you."

Guan Baoling suddenly looked up and asked thoughtfully, "What? Is Xiao Gu offering you a price to buy this guqin?" As fellow celebrities in Hong Kong, she and Gu Zhijin should have had some interaction and were not strangers to each other.

"Yes, five million Hong Kong dollars—"

Guan Baoling's right hand traced a series of high notes on the strings, her large eyes blinking as she gave a slightly mischievous smile: "Tell him that without a bid of at least thirty million US dollars, he doesn't even deserve to take a look at this guqin. In recent years, Xiao Gu has completely become a businessman who buys low and sells high; his eye for detail and his hearing have declined considerably. If this continues, I'm afraid he won't have a place among antique dealers anymore."

Her voice came through the receiver, and Gu Zhijin asked in surprise, "Feng, who's speaking? Who are you with?"

I avoided the question and asked directly, "Xiao Gu, I'll give you five more minutes. You're a smart person; you don't need anyone to tell you how to do it, right?"

In the tomb raiding trade, there's a saying: "Gold has a price, but it's more valuable in times of chaos; antiques are priceless and enjoyed in times of peace."

A truly fine antique might only be worth a few meals in times of chaos, but in times of peace and prosperity, its value can increase a hundredfold or even a thousandfold in the blink of an eye. In less than an hour, Gu Zhijin's asking price for the guqin had risen from HK$100,000 to HK$5 million, while Guan Baoling pushed the price even higher, reaching a staggering US$30 million.

"Alright, thirty million US dollars it is, I'll take it." Gu Zhijin hesitated for only five seconds before immediately agreeing to the offer.

The guqin is a relic of Fujika, but I don't want to simply hand it over to Fuki-ji Temple or return it to the Japanese Imperial Family. If it were truly to be returned to its rightful owner, it should belong to the Chinese and be displayed properly in the National Museum of China.

I said "Oh," and remained silent, neither agreeing nor refusing.

"The wind, its origins, you don't seem to need to know, right? You sell, I buy, money and goods are settled, that's the rule in the antique trade, you should understand—"

I interrupted him impatiently, "Xiao Gu, time is running out. You're willing to offer 30 million, but I think others might be able to offer 50 million or 80 million." The more he refused to reveal the origin of the guqin, the more suspicious I became.