"Bang!"
A thunderous noise exploded in Mu Feng’s ears. The blinding glare of headlights, like the eyes of the Grim Reaper, swallowed him whole. A sharp, searing pain struck, the world spun dizzily, and darkness surged in like a tide.
"Am I... dead?"
He did not know how much time had passed, but Mu Feng suddenly snapped his eyes open, gasping for air. Subconsciously, he reached for his chest, but the expected pain and blood were nowhere to be found. In their place was a cheap, dust-covered T-shirt.
"What is going on? Didn't that truck..."
Mu Feng looked around in confusion, discovering that he was standing on a bustling street. All around him were buildings with an antique flair, and vendors were hawking their wares, shouting about "antiques and collectibles." The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and old books.
Suddenly, a piercing pain shot through his temples, and a flood of unfamiliar memories rushed into his mind.
"Mu Feng, 25 years old, parents both deceased, college dropout, living paycheck to paycheck on odd jobs... his greatest hobby is browsing the antique market... Wait, these aren't my memories!"
Shocked, Mu Feng looked down at his hands—they were rough and covered in calluses, not at all the well-maintained hands he remembered. He was a modern-day antique appraiser who had been on his way to an auction; how could he have...
"Did I transmigrate?" The absurd thought flashed through his mind, but it was the only logical explanation.
He scanned his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the items on the various stalls. Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a blue-and-white porcelain vase. A strange phenomenon occurred: his eyes began to grow warm, and a faint halo of light appeared around the vase, with the characters "Made in the Qianlong Era of the Great Qing Dynasty" vaguely visible at the base.
"This... this is..."
Mu Feng’s heart began to race. He hurried to another stall and looked at a copper coin. The same phenomenon repeated: the characters "Kaiyuan Tongbao" appeared above the coin, surrounded by a pale yellow halo.
"I can see through the authenticity and era of antiques?" Mu Feng’s hands trembled with excitement. "Is this the legendary golden finger?"
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. According to the original owner’s memories, this world was similar to his own, but the craze for antique collecting was higher, while the appraisal techniques remained relatively primitive. This meant his ability would have endless applications.
"Since heaven has given me a second chance at life, complete with such an heaven-defying ability..." A sharp, piercing light flashed in Mu Feng’s eyes. "In this life, I will live magnificently!"
He patted his pockets, finding only three hundred crumpled yuan. This was the original owner’s entire fortune.
"I need to find a way to turn this three hundred into my first bucket of gold."
Mu Feng began to weave through the market, his Mystic Pupil ability fully engaged. Most of the items on the stalls emitted a weak halo, indicating they were modern imitations. Occasionally, there were genuine pieces, but their prices were outrageously high.
Just as he was about to give up, an inconspicuous corner caught his attention.
It was a stall run by an old man, piled high with various worn-out stationery items. Among the clutter, a gray, dusty brush washer was emitting a dazzling cyan glow, and within the light, the characters "Official Kiln of the Great Song" were faintly visible.
Mu Feng’s heart nearly stopped. A Song Dynasty official kiln brush washer would be worth at least ten million in his original world!
He suppressed his excitement, pretending to be nonchalant as he crouched down to flip through other items.
"Old sir, how much for this brush washer?"
The old man glanced up. "That thing? Take it for eighty. It’s been sitting there for years; nobody wanted it."
Mu Feng almost laughed out loud. He feigned hesitation. "How about fifty? I just like the shape; I’ll buy it to use as a decoration."
The old man waved his hand. "Fine, fine, pay up and take it."
After the transaction was complete, Mu Feng carefully wrapped the brush washer in newspaper and was just about to leave when a booming voice came from behind him:
"Yo, isn’t this Mu Feng? Out scavenging for trash again?"
Mu Feng turned to see a middle-aged man in a traditional Tang suit, his face covered in fat, approaching with two bodyguards. His memory immediately identified him as Master Xu San, the boss of Jubao Zhai and a local tyrant of the Antique City known for fraud and swindling.
"Boss Xu." Mu Feng nodded coldly, preparing to leave.
Master Xu San blocked his path, his gaze falling on the newspaper parcel in his hand. "Bought something good? Why not let Master Xu have a look?"
Without waiting for a response, Master Xu San snatched the parcel and ripped it open crudely. When he saw the dusty brush washer, he burst into laughter.
"This? How much did you pay for this? Fifty? I wouldn't even pay five for it!"
A few nearby vendors and passersby gathered to watch the spectacle, letting out bursts of mockery.
Mu Feng calmly retrieved the brush washer. "Boss Xu has such a discerning eye—why don't we make a bet?"
"Bet on what?" Master Xu San narrowed his eyes.
"We bet on the value of this brush washer. If it’s authentic, you eat the pair of stone lions in front of Jubao Zhai; if it’s a fake, I will never set foot in this Antique City again."
The crowd erupted in laughter. Master Xu San’s expression turned grim. "Kid, tired of living? How dare you talk to me like that?"
Unfazed, Mu Feng pulled a small knife from his pocket and gently scraped the bottom of the brush washer. The accumulated grime fell away, revealing an ice-crack pattern and a glaze of sky-blue beneath.
"This pattern..." An elderly man with white hair suddenly pushed through the crowd, tremblingly putting on his reading glasses. "May I take a look?"
Mu Feng generously handed it over. After studying it closely for a moment, the old man suddenly shouted in excitement, "Ice-crack pattern! This is the unique ice-crack pattern of the Song Dynasty official kiln! My heavens, this glaze... this sky-blue... it’s authentic! Absolutely authentic!"
The entire market fell silent, and everyone’s gaze focused on the inconspicuous brush washer.
Master Xu San’s face turned from red to blue. "Bullshit! Old Li, are your eyes failing you? How could this street-stall junk be a Song official kiln piece?"
The old man glared at him. "Xu San! I, Li Qingshan, have been in the antique business for sixty years and have handled no fewer than a hundred official kiln pieces. You think I’d get this wrong?"
He turned to Mu Feng, his attitude suddenly turning respectful. "Young man, I’m willing to pay three million for this brush washer. What do you think..."
"Five million!" A crisp female voice came from behind the crowd. The crowd parted automatically as a young woman in a cheongsam walked over gracefully. She was about twenty-four or twenty-five, with exquisite features and an elegant temperament, followed by two bodyguards in suits.
"Su... Miss Su?" Master Xu San’s face instantly turned deathly pale.
The woman didn't even glance at Master Xu San, walking straight to Mu Feng and extending a slender, delicate hand. "Su Yuqing, manager of Baoyun Pavilion. For this brush washer, our Baoyun Pavilion offers five million. Cash transfer is fine."
Mu Feng was ecstatic inside, but remained calm on the surface. He took Su Yuqing’s hand; it felt soft and slightly cool. "I'm Mu Feng. However, I haven't decided whether to sell it yet."