Chapter Nine: Hidden Depths

I wandered several times among the dazzling array of collectibles, my gaze settling on a porcelain vase. The decoration was painted onto the porcelain body using copper-based pigments, then covered with a transparent glaze. Fired in a high-temperature reducing atmosphere, the glaze revealed red patterns beneath the surface. Copper only turns red in this specific environment, making the production of underglaze red porcelain extremely demanding with a very low success rate. The Yongzheng period saw the most successful firing of underglaze red, with stable coloration and vivid red tones.

I had just picked it up when Zhong Weiguo, holding his teapot, took a sip and approached with an air of satisfaction.

“Excellent eye! What you’re holding is a Qing Dynasty Yongzheng blue-and-white underglaze red ‘Cloud and Dragon’ celestial sphere vase.”

“Mr. Zhong, you seem to have a particular fondness for porcelain. I suppose this piece must be your favorite?” I asked, carelessly, without looking up.

Zhong Weiguo made no effort to hide his affection, coming over and pointing at the vase.

“Especially noteworthy are pieces with both blue-and-white and underglaze red applied together—the so-called ‘blue-and-white underglaze red.’ Since their firing atmospheres differ, achieving both colors vividly is possible only in the Yongzheng era. The one in your hand is a rare treasure. As far as I know, fewer than five of this size exist: two in the Palace Museum, one in the National Palace Museum in Taiwan, another in the British Museum, and the last is right here in your hand.”

Having spoken at length, Zhong Weiguo noticed Yue Leiting and Xiao Lianshan standing with blank expressions. He quickly offered a polite smile.

“Anyone who comes here is a valued guest of mine. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Don’t stand on ceremony—sit wherever you like.”

Xiao Lianshan, with no interest in antiques, had been standing so long he was tired. He moved toward a chair opposite Yue Leiting, just about to sit down.

“Wait! You can’t sit there!” Zhong Weiguo pointed anxiously at the chair. “It’s a Hainan rosewood dragon-carved flower-inlaid chair from the Yongle reign of the early Ming. There are few left in such good condition. Honestly, I care more about this chair than my own ancestors—I polish it several times a day. Please, find another seat.”

Xiao Lianshan shot Zhong Weiguo an annoyed glance and quickly stepped away, fearful that the chair might collapse before him, given Zhong’s tone and the potential compensation involved.

As Xiao Lianshan retreated, Zhong Weiguo hurried over. I’d never seen a heavyset man move so nimbly, each step leaving him breathless.

“Don’t move!”

Xiao Lianshan reacted instinctively, freezing in place, as if he’d stepped on a landmine and disaster was imminent.

“Don’t move!” Zhong Weiguo repeated, carefully stooping to move an object from the floor.

Turning, I saw it was a large blue-and-white double-handled floor vase. Xiao Lianshan, unimpressed, remarked, “It’s just a broken vase. Why the fuss? I thought I’d stepped on your tail.”

“Don’t underestimate this vase—it’s a rare piece from the Qianlong imperial kiln. I rarely let anyone in here, so things are arranged exactly as I like them. One more step and my treasure would be under your feet.”

“Calling this junk a treasure? You can’t eat it, can’t drink it, and it’s so bulky I wouldn’t even want it as a gift,” Xiao Lianshan scoffed, sitting on the steps.

Zhong Weiguo carefully replaced the floor vase, then turned to see me examining a porcelain plate I’d taken from the rosewood bookshelf. His expression was unusually agitated, and I realized I’d breached etiquette.

Antique circles have their rules. ‘Please appreciate’ is a courtesy; you may look but not touch. Unless the host hands the item directly to you, you must only observe. If the host wants your appraisal, they’ll hand you the item and tap it three times, indicating it’s complete. If it gets damaged, whoever receives it must compensate. I’d simply picked it up, and though Zhong Weiguo said nothing, I could sense his displeasure—he was constrained only by Yue Leiting’s presence.

I weighed the plate, noting its patterns. Since the Yuan Dynasty’s Yanyou era, motifs like “double-horned five-clawed dragons,” “qilin, phoenix, white rabbits, lingzhi,” were restricted from use by commoners, reserved for official kilns. I said to Zhong Weiguo, “You even have a Yuan blue-and-white plate with flying phoenix and qilin motifs.”

Zhong Weiguo’s eyes lit up with pride. “Sharp eye! You spotted Yuan blue-and-white at a glance!”

I wondered where he found the confidence to smile so broadly. I tapped the plate with my finger. “It is Yuan blue-and-white, but it’s a replica.”

Zhong Weiguo’s face fell, displeased as he took the plate from me. He insisted that every piece here was an authentic treasure, acquired at great cost and all authenticated. Reputation is everything in the antiques world—if word got out I’d called one a replica, his standing would be ruined.

“You talk of credibility, yet we came all this way and the first thing you show us is a fake helmet. Who knows how much more fake stuff is in this room?” Xiao Lianshan said, still sitting on the steps.

I ignored him, circling the rosewood bookshelf as Zhong Weiguo silently followed. As I examined each item, I shook my head, and Zhong Weiguo’s face grew darker.

Xiao Lianshan’s comment about there being other fakes in the room was almost generous; after a thorough look, I realized not only was the Yuan blue-and-white plate a replica, but none of the other items were genuine either.

I told this to Yue Leiting, and Zhong Weiguo stormed over, demanding what I meant by my remarks.

I pointed to the chair he’d forbidden Xiao Lianshan to sit on. “It is rosewood, but not Hainan rosewood. It’s likely Cambodian ebony. During the early Ming Yongle reign, ebony was cheap and not valued; this chair’s dragon-carved motif suggests it was for royalty, yet there’s no reason to use ebony. Ebony only became prized later—this chair isn’t nearly as old as claimed.”

Xiao Lianshan didn’t grasp all my jargon, but seeing Zhong Weiguo’s pale face brought him palpable delight. Yue Leiting had stayed quiet throughout, but now, hearing me declare there were no genuine items, he turned to Zhong Weiguo with a curious smile. Zhong Weiguo avoided his gaze, wiping sweat from his brow.

My attention returned to the blue-and-white plate. I weighed it again, confident in my assessment.

“The Yuan blue-and-white phoenix and qilin plate—Yuan blue-and-white porcelain is notoriously unstable in color, the blue-and-white pigment diffuses erratically. There are two types of pigment: one vivid and rich, with deep green hues and black specks known as ‘black flaws’; it feels uneven to the touch, a hallmark of imported Sumatra cobalt. The other is domestic pigment, which produces a blue-grey tone, sometimes blue with greyish hints. During the Yanyou period, peony patterns penetrated deep into the body, appearing cloud-like and three-dimensional. This plate’s blue patterns float on the glaze, the diffuse blue exploding outward. The blue-and-white is tightly adhered to the glaze, with dark streaks and dots, but it’s not the pure color of authentic Yuan blue-and-white.”

Zhong Weiguo was silent. I saw sweat soaking his undershirt. Yue Leiting, unfazed, nodded for me to continue.

“As the saying goes, ‘If the robe fits the bone, the bone must fit the robe.’ In porcelain, the ‘robe’ is the glaze, the ‘bone’ is the body. Yuan blue-and-white glaze is whitish-blue, similar to early Song blue-white porcelain. This transparent glaze’s color is affected by the iron content of the body; during firing, iron migrates into the glaze, and the reducing atmosphere gives the finished surface a bright blue-white. This plate’s body lacks sufficient iron, so its glaze appears insufficiently blue.”

Zhong Weiguo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—if I remembered correctly, it was his seventh time doing so. His expression was peculiar; though I’d exposed all his basement items as worthless, his face didn’t look as terrible as expected. I couldn’t tell if he was simply well-mannered or if he didn’t care about my critique.

“The chair’s age is wrong, the qilin plate is a high-quality replica…it seems there’s nothing here that meets your standards,” Zhong Weiguo said, returning the handkerchief to his pocket with a self-deprecating smile.

I didn’t respond, instead taking another careful circuit around the basement, glancing at each item with casual indifference. It wasn’t that I was being difficult—there genuinely wasn’t a single authentic piece in the whole room. If anything could be said to be remarkable, it was the sheer quality of these replicas; they were so expertly crafted they could easily pass for the real thing. Finding such high-level fakes was itself an extraordinary feat.