Chapter 114: The Engraved Tang Sword

A millennium of history conceals untold secrets. Once, upon this barren land, swords clashed and heroes were everywhere. Which general escorted the princess of the previous dynasty? Why was she buried beneath this sea of yellow sand? Was it love? If so, I believe it must have been a tragic kind.

The city of Yangguan no longer bore the grandeur of old. Cha Wenbin rose and said, “Spending the rest of my days here wouldn’t be such a bad choice.”

I stood beside him, just as our brotherhood had accompanied us on this journey, and said, “Why be so desolate? I firmly believe he is still alive.”

“Absolutely!”

In the silent night, the two of us were sleepless. By the time we returned to Nanhu Township, dawn had broken. Early that morning, someone was already waiting—an old man clutching a long cloth bundle. Upon seeing Cha Wenbin, he was visibly delighted and eagerly took his hand, saying, “Young brothers, come into my house. I want to show you a treasure.” While patting the cloth bundle, he led Cha Wenbin into his courtyard; I had no choice but to follow.

Inside, the old man brewed a pot of tea. The steam rising was just enough to chase away the chill of the previous night. He said the water came from the snow mountains. Though the tea itself was average, the water was exceptional. I took a sip; a sweetness spread from the back of my tongue, and I felt immediately invigorated.

The cloth bundle was unwrapped to reveal a long, narrow brocade box. The old man carefully closed the doors and windows before cautiously opening it, heightening my anticipation. Inside lay a sword without a scabbard.

It was called a sword, yet not quite one—a resemblance to a Japanese katana. The handle measured half the length of the blade. Unlike the katana, it was perfectly straight, single-edged, with a triangular tip. I had never seen such a peculiar weapon before. The old man gingerly lifted it and presented it before Cha Wenbin: “Gentlemen, have a look. If it pleases you, give me a price.”

I have no affinity for weapons, but perhaps Fatty would have liked it. Cha Wenbin weighed the sword in his hand; it was quite heavy. The blade gleamed pure white with a faint black sheen, its decoration minimal—only two white jade beads the size of ordinary Go stones adorned the handle. Cha Wenbin took a piece of newspaper and gently sliced it along the blade; instantly, the paper split into two—remarkably sharp.

After examining it, Cha Wenbin returned the sword to the old man and said, “This is a Tang sword, isn’t it? A fine blade indeed. Why do you wish to sell it, sir?”

The old man blushed slightly and spoke nervously, “My father passed this down to me. When he was young, he tended sheep for a wealthy family and found this at an antique stall. If not for my wife’s illness, waiting for money for her treatment, I wouldn’t part with this relic. Years ago, someone offered me ten thousand yuan, but I refused.”

I remarked, “Ten thousand is not a small sum.”

“That was then, this is now. Selling this could bring trouble. I’m about to retire after a lifetime in local government, and I don’t want to end up a criminal for trading cultural relics. So I rarely mention it to anyone.” He leaned closer to Cha Wenbin and whispered, “You seem honest, and from Hong Kong, so I thought I’d ask. If you’re interested, offer a price and help save my wife’s life.”

Cha Wenbin turned to me, silently asking my opinion. I directly addressed Zhu Zihao: “The craftsmanship of Tang swords has long been lost. They were the strongest cold weapons of their time. With such weapons, the Tang Empire marched victorious across the land. To my knowledge, few Tang swords remain so intact in the entire country.”

Zhu Zihao slapped his thigh with delight. “Then buy it!”

Since he wasn’t short of money—still angry about the mess in Hong Kong—I thought to let him be a benefactor, supporting the lives of people in remote, impoverished areas. I said, “This sword is rare; how about one hundred thousand yuan? What do you think, Brother Zhu?”

“One hundred thousand?” Zhu Zihao hesitated slightly. Then Cha Wenbin interjected, “Let’s make it two hundred thousand. I noticed an inscription on one side: ‘Imperially Bestowed General of Huaihua.’ This means the sword was a gift from the emperor, a royal craft, presented to a third-rank general. Two hundred thousand is not excessive.”

“Really?” Zhu Zihao stood and picked up the sword for a closer look. Everyone in the antiques world knows the difference an inscription makes—each character could be worth a fortune.

“Indeed. Very well, two hundred thousand it is. Sir, will you sell at this price?”

“Two hundred thousand?” The old man was stunned, perhaps never having seen so much money in his life. Tears welled as he clasped Cha Wenbin’s hand, “My wife can be saved. Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Oh, there’s a line of characters here.” As he read them aloud, I felt as if struck by lightning: “Shi, Gan, Dang! Isn’t that Brother Shi’s name? What a coincidence!”

“Where?” Cha Wenbin and I both reached out to grab it, almost cutting ourselves on the blade. Zhu Zihao pointed to a white jade bead on the handle: “Here. It looks like it was carved by hand.”

The characters were etched on the jade, almost invisible at a glance, seemingly carved with a small, sharp blade, the script crooked and uneven. I took one look and my head spun. Having worked with Fatty for years, I had seen his signature many times; his handwriting was even messier than mine. I could swear these characters were his!

“It’s his, no doubt!”

Cha Wenbin was also excited, repeatedly asking, “Are you sure?” “Absolutely sure!”

“Sir, has anyone else ever held or handled this Tang sword before?”

“No,” the old man confirmed. “It has always been in my possession. Even if others wanted to see it, they could only look from afar. As for the inscription, that’s what puzzles me. When my father found this sword, the characters were already there. The biggest contradiction is that while the sword is clearly from the early Tang dynasty, the inscription uses modern simplified Chinese characters. But I swear, this sword is no fake. If it’s forged, may heaven strike me down!”

The sword was genuine—I was certain. Some things cannot be forged: the aura, the sediment of time. I didn’t know how to describe my feelings. I preferred to believe it was a coincidence. Fatty had never been here, nor had he had the chance to touch this sword. Perhaps someone else with the same name once existed.

“We’ll take the sword, and the money will be delivered this afternoon.” Cha Wenbin took the sword and started to leave. Though hesitant, the old man didn’t stop him. Two hundred thousand yuan—an astronomical sum for that era. It could buy a viewing pavilion by West Lake in any city.

Cha Wenbin got into the car without looking back and urged, “To the museum, quickly!”

I asked, “Why? To verify its authenticity?”

“No, I know it’s real. The moment I held it, I knew it was an antique and stained with blood. I want to find out when the inscription was carved and whether there was a general named Shi Gandang in history.”

Zhu Zihao sat in the passenger seat. He was my card now; having a Hong Kong businessman made official visits much easier. Noticing him glancing at the rearview mirror, I said, “Brother Zihao, how about I count the sword’s price as a loan to you?”

He was perceptive and generous. “No need to borrow. Besides, what’s yours is mine. If it weren’t for you and Brother Cha, I might have fallen so low as to sell my ancestral home. Tell me what you want; anything money can solve isn’t a problem.”

“Then I won’t be polite. Consider this a gift to Wenbin. Don’t worry, he won’t let you lose out.” I smiled at him. “Later, have him cast a fortune for you—he’ll predict a path to wealth that will multiply your investment many times over.”

Zhu Zihao laughed heartily. “Absolutely!”

With such a patron, things went smoothly. Dunhuang, a city rich in culture and history, boasted a much larger museum than average. Two officials from the county cultural bureau were already waiting and escorted us directly to the office, where local experts had gathered.

The office was oval-shaped, filled with various artifacts awaiting restoration. Several elderly men in white coats and thick glasses were meticulously examining the Tang sword we brought. The one nodding frequently was the museum’s authority, a renowned professor from Beijing, specially assigned to Dunhuang’s cultural relics: Su Qing.

He set down his magnifying glass and gave us a wary look. Tapping the table, he said, “Our country has strict laws: all underground artifacts belong to the state. No private individuals or organizations may possess or trade them.”

I thought, “What a bore—why not stroll through those street antique markets? No wonder I don’t like this old man.” But since we needed his help, I explained, “Professor Su, we are not relic dealers. This is a treasured sword passed down through a friend’s family.”

“Whether it’s ancestral, I don’t know. What evidence do you have?”

I retorted, “And what proof do you have that it isn’t?”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense. The two accompanying officials quickly intervened, “Professor Su is a nationally appointed senior scholar. We’ve suffered severe cultural losses here in Dunhuang. Professor Su’s visit has been heartfelt. These gentlemen are patriotic Hong Kong investors, here to support Dunhuang’s economic development. They came specifically to consult you.”

That flattery was well placed, giving both sides a graceful way out and satisfying the professor’s pride. He finally spoke, “This item is indeed from the early Tang dynasty, made with folded steel technology. Crafting such a sword requires folding steel sheets millions of times to achieve excellent toughness. Even a skilled craftsman would need five years to complete one.”

He reluctantly set the sword down. “This folding steel technique has been lost for centuries. The blade is not forged from a single piece but composed of many layered blades, yet the joints are invisible to the naked eye—a rare masterpiece. The inscription clearly states ‘Imperially Bestowed,’ indicating this sword came from the royal court’s swordsmiths. The handle uses thousand-year-old cold iron decorated with Hetian jade. The wielder was a third-rank general. If I were to judge firmly, I’d say no comparable Tang royal sword with such preservation, design, and craftsmanship has appeared in the country. It can be classified as a national treasure.”

Cha Wenbin asked, “Professor Su, did you notice the characters carved on the jade?”

Su Qing’s expression darkened. “I was about to ask—who would deface a national treasure by carving their name on it?”

“It wasn’t us. We were told that the characters and the sword have coexisted since its discovery.”

Su Qing shook his head repeatedly. “Impossible. Those are modern simplified Chinese characters, clearly carved later.”

I stood and said, “This is one reason we came today: to ask Professor Su to carefully examine whether he can determine when the inscription was added. Also, whether there was a general named Shi Gandang in Dunhuang’s history.”