Chapter Twenty-One: My God, It's Actually the Original

“What?” Qin Muxue hadn’t quite caught what Su Xiaoling had just muttered, so her curiosity was piqued.

However, speaking of Chen Yang’s piano performance just now, it had indeed been beautiful—like flowing clouds and water. Silently comparing, Qin Muxue thought to herself that Chen Yang’s playing this time was even more delightful than Su Xiaoling’s earlier piece, and seemed to be executed with greater skill.

When Chen Yang finished his piece, he emerged from the mood of the music and slowly opened his eyes.

For a brief moment, Su Xiaoling actually found Chen Yang rather charming as he opened his eyes.

But almost instantly, she remembered that Chen Yang delivered takeout for a living, and she shook her head, telling herself she must be crazy—how could she think Chen Yang was handsome?

Chen Yang, smiling, walked up to Qin Muxue and said calmly, “I hope my humble performance didn’t offend your ears.”

Qin Muxue, however, smiled and replied, “No, your playing was wonderful—truly impressive.”

Su Xiaoling felt a pang of discomfort. After all, she had just mocked Chen Yang, thinking a delivery boy couldn’t possibly play the piano. Who could have guessed he would perform with such perfection?

A bit resentful, Su Xiaoling said, “You must’ve just gotten lucky to play so well.”

“Indeed, I’m lucky—lucky enough to play this well by chance,” Chen Yang teased her.

In truth, he didn’t care at all about Su Xiaoling’s slightly sour tone.

This understated confidence suited him quite well.

At this moment, Qin Muxue laughed and said, “Chen Yang, I really had no idea you could play the piano.”

Chen Yang scratched the back of his head and grinned. “Of course, I learned it back in the day.”

“Really? I never knew about that,” Qin Muxue said.

Chen Yang chuckled. “It’s normal—I tend to keep a low profile.”

“Why are you so immodest? We say you cough, and you start panting,” Su Xiaoling muttered, still irritated.

Chen Yang just smiled and said nothing further, unwilling to argue with a little sister like Su Xiaoling.

Soon after, Chen Yang, Qin Muxue, and Su Xiaoling continued their meal, and the piano incident passed as if it had never happened.

In any case, Chen Yang didn’t care.

His piano playing was at a master’s level; there was no need to let the whole world know.

When the meal was finally over, Qin Muxue handed her car keys to Chen Yang and said, “Chen Yang, why don’t you go start the car?”

Chen Yang understood that Qin Muxue and Su Xiaoling probably wanted to have a private conversation. Besides, being trusted with the car keys was, in itself, a sign of trust from Qin Muxue.

He had no interest in the private chatter between the two women, so he took the keys and said with a smile, “Alright, I’ll get the car ready.”

He left the restaurant to start the car, and a few minutes later, Qin Muxue and Su Xiaoling walked out together.

The two women got in, and Chen Yang cheerfully drove them back home.

When Chen Yang returned, his father-in-law, Qin Guoshan, was sitting on the sofa, scrutinizing a rolled-up ancient painting in his hands. “Chen Yang, come here.”

Since his retirement, Qin Guoshan had developed a passion for collecting antiques. He often spent his free time wandering the antique markets, picking up old curiosities.

At this moment, the painting in his hands was clearly one of his latest finds from the antique market.

Chen Yang was a little surprised that Qin Guoshan would call him over to admire a painting he’d found—perhaps he wanted to show off?

Approaching him, Chen Yang saw that the painting Qin Guoshan held was “Ink Plum Blossoms” by Tang Bohu.

Although “Ink Plum Blossoms” was not as famous as Tang Bohu’s “Hundred Birds Paying Court to the Phoenix” or “Spring Trees and Autumn Frost,” it was still a piece by Tang Bohu. If it were genuine, it would be extraordinary.

However, Chen Yang had been exposed to many famous works since childhood, thanks to his mother’s careful cultivation. He had developed a discerning eye for authentic and counterfeit works.

Nowadays, nine out of ten Tang Bohu paintings on the market are forgeries. Seeing how Qin Guoshan was treating this one as a treasure, Chen Yang wondered if he had mistaken it for an original.

Qin Guoshan, admiring the painting, turned to Chen Yang and asked, “Chen Yang, what do you think of this painting I picked up at the antique market?”

Chen Yang smiled and said, “Dad, isn’t this a Tang Bohu? How much did you pay for it?”

Qin Guoshan replied, “Not much—one hundred thousand. I bought it from a street vendor who looked like a tomb-raider. I feel this painting is genuine. Look at the texture, and the signature below. If it’s an original, it would be worth a fortune. Even if not, it’s still a fine collector’s piece to keep at home.”

Chen Yang couldn’t help but smile wryly at that—his father-in-law really was generous, spending a hundred thousand yuan on a fake.

Just then, Qin Muxue and Su Xiaoling walked over.

Hearing that her uncle had spent a hundred thousand at the antique market on a painting, Su Xiaoling immediately praised, “Uncle, I think this painting looks real. Even if it isn’t, it must be quite old—you’ve definitely made a profit.”

Qin Muxue, however, was distressed at the money spent and complained, “Dad, what kind of painting is worth that much? You really don’t treat money as money, do you?” Qin Guoshan shot her a dissatisfied look and said, “I like it. Besides, as Xiaoling said, even if it’s not an original, if it’s an old imitation, it’s still valuable.”

“But what if it isn’t even an old imitation? Then you’ve spent a hundred thousand on a sheet of useless paper,” Qin Muxue thought inwardly.

Qin Guoshan looked displeased. “You don’t understand.”

“Sister Xue, I think the painting is quite old. Look at the paper—it really seems ancient,” Su Xiaoling chimed in on his behalf.

Qin Muxue grew anxious. “Aren’t there enough counterfeit antiques nowadays?”

“It’s old, yes, but I’d say it’s at most ten years. And it’s been made with modern techniques—take it to an auction, and no one would even want it,” Chen Yang suddenly interjected.

His words immediately changed everyone’s expressions.

Su Xiaoling, Qin Muxue, and Qin Guoshan all turned to stare at him.

Even Han Qin and Han Xiang, who had been whispering in the bedroom, came out.

As soon as Han Qin emerged, she shot Qin Guoshan a hard look.

Qin Guoshan had spent a hundred thousand on a worthless painting—how could she not mind?

If it weren’t for her own sister staying with them for a few days, Han Qin would have already blown up at Qin Guoshan. Now she was doing her best to restrain herself.

Qin Guoshan was unhappy with Chen Yang’s verdict and frowned. “What do you know?”

“Exactly,” Su Xiaoling echoed. “Chen Yang, what do you know? Uncle has been collecting antiques for years—how could you know more than him?”

Qin Muxue furrowed her brow, too tired to argue.

But Chen Yang persisted, smiling. “Dad, you really lost out this time, and lost big.”

“What do you know? I dare say this painting is at least three hundred years old!” Qin Guoshan roared.

Chen Yang continued, “Dad, if you don’t believe me, look at the two seals at the bottom of the painting—they’re in Sanskrit. You can’t read them, but I can. The two seals say, ‘Liu Shijie’ and ‘Made in ‘99.’”

“Dad, if this were truly an old imitation or a valuable piece, would someone randomly stamp seals on it? So this painting was clearly made around 1999. I’m not making this up.”

Upon hearing this, Qin Guoshan immediately examined the dozen or so seals at the bottom of the painting.

He had thought all the seals were ancient, some in archaic scripts and some in Sanskrit, which he didn’t recognize, so he had never looked closely.

Now, following Chen Yang’s words, he looked at the two Sanskrit seals. Though he couldn’t read them, there were indeed two characters resembling the number nine.

This suggested that the seal really could read “Made in ‘99.”

In that instant, Qin Guoshan felt his heart sink. If the painting was made in 1999, it was worthless—no antique, just an old New Year’s print at best.

A wave of suffocation overwhelmed him.

Seeing his father’s expression, Qin Muxue grew anxious and chided Chen Yang, “Why did you have to say that to Dad? Don’t you know he has a heart condition?”

“Exactly,” Su Xiaoling also scolded.

Just then, Chen Yang suddenly took the painting from Qin Guoshan’s hands and, with a ripping sound, tore it in two.

Everyone was stunned.

Qin Guoshan clutched his chest, bellowing at Chen Yang, “Are you crazy?”

Qin Muxue was furious, “Chen Yang, do you want to make more trouble at home?”

Han Qin also blamed him, “Even if it’s a fake, it cost a hundred thousand. If we found that vendor, maybe we could get some money back. Now that you’ve torn it, who can we ask for compensation?”

But Chen Yang was calm and confident.

He hadn’t torn the painting for nothing. As he’d observed earlier, he had noticed a faint outline of another sheet hidden inside.

With his experience, he’d immediately guessed that there might be a second painting concealed within—a painting within a painting.

Although he didn’t know who had hidden another work inside this forgery, since it was hidden, it was surely not an ordinary item.

So, Qin Guoshan hadn’t wasted his money—he might have actually stumbled upon a real treasure.

As Chen Yang tore apart the painting, he indeed found a smaller painting hidden inside, which he carefully drew out.

Everyone gasped in astonishment.

Chen Yang looked at this hidden artwork—it was also by Tang Yin, the “Ink Bamboo.”

And this one, incredibly, was genuine.