Shen Qiufeng carried The Skyward Collection down the ladder, sat at the old wooden table in the side room, and forced herself to stay calm. She opened the pages with trembling care. The calligraphy was bold and forceful鈥攆ine regular script in brush and ink, the strokes weathered and powerful, clearly the work of someone who had seen much in life.



The opening lines stated their origin directly: In the third year of Tongzhi, the Heavenly Capital fell, war and fire consumed the land. Ancestor Shen Wance was originally a craftsman from Guiping, Guangxi. He had followed the Righteous Army for many years, and seeing that the cause was lost, refused to be consumed by the flames of war. He took his younger brother Shen Wanxi and his family, fleeing the conflict all the way to the foot of Camel Peak Mountain in Huaixi. They settled on the fertile banks of the Yang River, felled timber to build their home, and established the Shen family's guiding principle: future generations must never become entangled in court politics. Guard the house, live in peace, and keep a low profile.



She had only read halfway when she heard a man's voice calling from outside: "Suhui... Suhui..." Qiufeng quickly closed the book and left the room. It was Uncle Zhao from the east end of the village, calling for her mother. Seeing no response from her mother, Qiufeng went out to greet him.



"Uncle Zhao."



Uncle Zhao was a sent-down educated youth from earlier years. He had married a Zhao family girl from the east end of the village and settled here permanently. Local custom dictated that a son-in-law marrying into the family had to take the Zhao name. What his original surname was, no one remembered-nd no one seemed to care. Uncle Zhao was in his late forties or early fifties, short, lean, and somewhat educated. His wife had died of a lung disease shortly after giving birth to their son, leaving just the two of them. He was extremely low-key and honest. Whenever Qiufeng's family needed help, he was always there. The villagers gossiped that he had feelings for Qiufeng's mother, but her mother was too traditional to ever cross that line. In a village where gossip could drown a person, stepping out of line meant endless stories. Raising two children alone was never easy for Qiufeng's mother, and Uncle Zhao had helped more than his share.



"Qiufeng, what've you been up to? You've got cobwebs and dust all over your head鈥攕pring cleaning?"



"Oh, yes. Just got back and thought I'd tidy up. My mother can't clean such a big house on her own," Qiufeng replied.



"I came to check. I heard that director brought that antique dealer by again? They didn't give you any trouble, did they?"



"Antique dealer? You mean Chen Wenyuan is an antique dealer?" Qiufeng, who had been brushing off dust, looked up sharply.



"I can't say for sure. But he keeps going on about ancient architecture and cultural relics, offering two hundred thousand for the house. Since when does a tourism developer know so much about these things?"



"Uncle Zhao, you're a town teacher with plenty of connections. Can you help me find out if the county actually has a policy about demolishing old or hazardous buildings?"



"There is one, but your house isn't covered. A hazardous building is one that has already collapsed or partially collapsed and needs to be torn down. The policy doesn't specify a time limit."



"And this tourism development project Chen Wenyuan is talking about鈥攈as the county approved it?"



"Probably not. The town said it's been submitted for review, but that's as far as it's gone."



Just then, Qiufeng's mother returned from the backyard vegetable patch, a hoe over her right shoulder and some okra, peppers, and eggplant in her left hand. Though in her forties, Qiufeng's mother didn't look her age at all鈥攏ot too thin, not too heavy, her skin darkened by farm work but still betraying the fairness beneath. She had the charm of a mature woman and the warmth of a devoted mother and wife. The object of desire for every man past fifty. No wonder Uncle Zhao had harbored feelings for her all these years.



Seeing Old Zhao there, Qiufeng's mother quickly portioned out some of her vegetables for him.



Uncle Zhao made a show of declining before accepting. He usually stayed in town and only came back to the village during summer break. Normally he returned in the evenings and didn't have time to tend a garden.



Before leaving, he said politely, "Let me know if you need anything. If I'm not around, Feiyang will be."



Zhao Feiyang was his son, two years younger than Qiufeng. His mother died when he was young, so he dropped out after middle school and now worked in decoration and renovation in town. The two families had been close for years, so she and Feiyang were hardly strangers.



After seeing Uncle Zhao off, Qiufeng didn't tell her mother about what she'd found in the west wing.



After lunch, Qiufeng hid herself away again and continued reading The Skyward Collection page by page.



The book recorded that Shen Wance knew well that wealth in chaotic times invited disaster. So he had hidden the family's accumulated riches away securely. The key to finding the hidden treasure and resolving danger lay in two bronze mirrors鈥攐ne half a chi in diameter, the other one chi. All secrets resided in these mirrors. The book specifically noted that the mirrors were passed down through generations, and in times of danger, they could turn misfortune into fortune.



Reading this, Shen Qiufeng recalled scattered childhood memories. When her father was alive, every morning he would polish a round piece of iron. Later, when he fell ill, the object disappeared without a trace.



She flipped to the end of the scroll. It read: "Without the wisdom, you cannot possess the wealth." The final page had considerable blank space, with only a single concluding line: This is the first volume of The Skyward Collection.



Closing the book, Shen Qiufeng rubbed her fingertips across the rough paper, pondering the phrase: Without the wisdom, you cannot possess the wealth. The ancestor had made it clear enough: the treasure exists, but you need the wisdom to claim it safely. Without that wisdom, you don't deserve it-nd it would only bring disaster.



And this was only the first volume! The ancestor had deliberately split the text in two. The first volume was hidden in the old house's beam, but the second was somewhere else entirely. If you could find the second volume, you would be worthy of the fortune. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to handle it.



Now Chen Wenyuan was offering a fortune, Zhou Dehou was pressing in, and her ancestors had met with successive tragedies. Outsiders clearly already knew the secret. What they were after wasn't just the old house鈥攊t was the wealth hidden behind it.



She carefully put the ancient book away, returned it to the camphorwood case, pushed it back into the beam cavity, and restored the mechanism.



She would need to search for new clues. Standing on the ladder, she felt lost again. She'd thought she'd cracked the ancestor's mechanism, only to hit a dead end. On reflection, if it had been that easy, it wouldn't have remained a mystery for over a century.



As she turned to climb down from the ladder, her gaze swept past the window's circular hole. Through the hole, the boulder on the smaller Camel Peak in the distance loomed large and prominent鈥攕o large that she could see only the stone, not the mountain. As if the stone had been designed specifically for that circular frame.



She realized that standing on the ladder, her eye, the circular hole, and the stone formed a perfect straight line.



The stone. Could the clue be on that peak...? Her intuition told her yes.