Chapter Thirty-Nine: The False Hand and the Lucky Find—The Lion’s Head Plaque

The stall owner had clearly noticed the fat sheep next door, the type who looked half full, half empty—a mark ripe for picking. These half-baked collectors, you might think they're clueless, but they've got just enough knowledge to speak convincingly about certain things. Yet, their understanding is always partial, and they're prone to spending lavishly on the strength of their half-wisdom, daydreaming about striking it rich in the world of hidden treasures.

Each one is like a clueless roe deer; their money is the easiest to earn! What they don’t realize is that all those stories about artifact appraisals and miraculous stone gambling come from antique and jade merchants themselves. They're bait, nothing more.

Whenever he saw this sort of person, the stall owner couldn’t help but light up, greeting them with enthusiasm. But when Wang Cheng heard him say, “I’ll take a loss on this,” he instinctively leaned back, adopting a tactical retreat.

In the realm of human interaction, there are three underlying messages: when someone says, “It’s not about the money,” you know they’re about to extort you. If they say, “Let me speak fairly,” it means they’ve already been bought by the other side. And when someone says, “I’ll take a loss,” they're about to weep as they empty your wallet.

Wang Cheng, determined to hone his eye for valuables, didn’t immediately use his talent for discerning rare goods. But even without inspecting the merchandise, he knew something was off.

His gaze fell upon the stall owner—a rugged man, unkempt beard and appearance, yet his eyes still youthful, and his hands more delicate and refined than a maiden’s. Wang Cheng lingered on those white hands, as if he'd uncovered a secret.

He then glanced again at the lion-headed board, which in his spiritual vision shimmered faintly with treasure light, appearing almost genuine. A knowing gleam flickered in his eyes.

Since the stall owner had sincerely invited him over, Wang Cheng, along with Zhang Wen, strode confidently to the stall, his sharp gaze locked onto the merchant’s eyes as he spoke bluntly:

“Five hundred taels? Why don’t you just rob people instead?”

The stall owner was unfazed, inwardly scoffing, ‘Think I’m beneath you? Robbing people doesn’t pay as fast as fleecing fat sheep like you!’ Yet outwardly, he continued to boast:

“I, Zhou Sanpao, am nothing like those antique dealers who just talk big and spin tales. This is a lion-head board passed down through generations, a genuine old piece. It once sailed with a treasure ship’s navigator to the seas. It’s only cheap now because age and poor storage have worn it down. You can check the market yourself: a brand new lion-head board for a place of honor, even if it’s not particularly powerful or well-made, would cost eight hundred, a thousand taels easily. Five hundred is a bargain! If I hadn’t just arrived in Yue Harbor and spent all my travel money, I’d never sell this treasure. Friend, if you don’t know the trade, if you can’t recognize jade in gold, there’s no need to speak further.”

From ancient times, antique dealers and auctioneers have been two extremes: one desperately hypes junk as treasure, the other tries to devalue genuine treasures to nothing. This lion-head board, faintly glowing with spiritual energy and paired with a good pedigree and story, was not overpriced at five hundred taels.

Everything else seemed fine—except this was a fake.

Wang Cheng neither continued bargaining nor spared another glance at the “scrap wood.” Instead, he fixed his gaze on the stall owner’s beautiful hands, half-smiling, half-serious, and said:

“You really are different from ordinary antique dealers, as you say. Boss, you’re not just a slick talker—you’re handy with your hands, and quite skilled at that.”

The stall owner noticed Wang Cheng’s gaze and instinctively hid his hands inside his wide sleeves, a hint of caution rising in his eyes.

But it was already too late.

Rare Goods discerned his secrets as soon as Wang Cheng drew close.

【Rare Goods: Zhou Sanpao, ground-level official ‘Forger’s Hand.’
Since childhood, he practiced the ‘Thousand Mechanisms Hand,’ adept at crafting fakes—antiques and place-honor artifacts so convincing they rival the real thing. Skilled forgers can even imbue their creations with abilities comparable to genuine items. Most are single-use, the raw materials costly, but in critical moments, they might reverse fate. Obsession: fooling foolish, wealthy sheep! This rank is filled with professional con artists in the antiques industry—the more people they scam, the greater the transaction, the deeper their skill. Taboo: being exposed in public, caught with evidence, the more thoroughly their method is revealed, the harsher the backlash. Most severe is a truth wager: if a buyer purchases and destroys a fake in front of witnesses, revealing the truth on the spot, the forger loses most of their skill.】

Just looking at the stall owner’s profession revealed that every item on his stall, including the lion-head board, was deliberately crafted as a fake.

This Forger’s Hand had painstakingly made an item that seemed ordinary to mortals but could fool low-level talisman practitioners and officials into thinking it was extraordinary.

It did have spiritual light, but only on the surface, not in its essence.

Coupled with a heavily discounted price, it was bait to hook the fat sheep, making them believe they’d found a real bargain and willingly hand over their money.

He hadn’t expected Wang Cheng to play by different rules, using Rare Goods to see through his act.

Ignoring the merchant’s wary look, Wang Cheng maintained his enigmatic smile, running his finger over the lion-head board, as if across the stall owner’s throat:

“Let me see. You’re not lying—the raw material did come from an old ship, a genuine relic, and the craftsmanship is careful. But the source of this composite material is at least four places, isn’t it?”

The stall owner’s heart skipped a beat.

“How did you…”

When Wang Cheng commented on his skill, Zhou Sanpao, the Forger’s Hand, already sensed trouble. Hearing this, he began sweating.

Wang Cheng was spot on!

He nearly confessed inadvertently, finally realizing he’d chosen the wrong target and hit a steel wall.

He tried to keep calm, but inwardly he was praying fervently to all the coastal spirits he knew: Great Needle General, Stone Clamp Deity, Water-Changer Boy, Holy Water Lamp, Guardian of Directions, Heavenly Consort, Prince Jing…keep me safe, this is my first deal after graduation, please don’t let me fail!

If he was exposed now, it would all be over.

Still, he clung to a sliver of hope: if the other really had absolute certainty, wouldn’t he have already smashed my fake? Why bother talking so much?

Hold steady for now.

Then Wang Cheng’s tone softened:

“Of course, no one says a lion-head board can’t be made from composite materials, right, brother?”

In theory, using composite material for a lion-head board isn’t forbidden.

But when materials with different spiritual qualities are used, it’s ten times harder for them to gain spiritual efficacy from wishes and history, becoming a place-honor artifact.

“Yes…yes, I suppose.” Zhou Sanpao could only agree, his confidence waning, his expression faltering, stammering.

He didn’t notice the flash of determination in Wang Cheng’s eyes.

‘This item is just like that plaque with “Great Ming Gate” on one side and “Great Qing Gate” on the other—genuine old material, except that plaque only had two sides. If it were the China Gate, it could have lasted centuries more. The wood elsewhere on this lion-head board is merely old, but the unicorn horn on the lion’s head is the real deal! Just like the “Great Ming Gate” inscription, the words are worth far more than the plaque itself.’

Wang Cheng, with his talent for money and vision, clearly saw ancient rune traces faintly glowing.

【Rare Goods: Damaged Lion-Head Board, from a treasure ship in the fleet of navigators a century ago. After storms and tsunamis, it is broken and battered, leaving only the horn, yet its power remains. Treasure obscured, pearls cast into darkness. Taboo: Offer a threefold sacrifice for twelve hours to break the seal and restore its former state. Value: One thousand incense-coin magic money (despite the severe damage and diminished power, it remains a treasure, worthy of Rare Goods).】

One thousand incense-coin magic money equaled more than a thousand taels of silver, showing how powerful the horn had once been.

Zhou Sanpao, inexperienced in conning, had crafted something old from something older, picking up sesame seeds and throwing away watermelons.

While Zhou Sanpao’s heart soared and crashed, Wang Cheng whispered an offer only the two could hear:

“Friend, you wouldn’t want word of your forgery to spread, would you?
We’ve met by fate—give me five taels of silver, and I’ll help you dispose of these fake scraps on your stall. How about it?”