160: Chapter 160 Extra Edition, Extra Edition

(Li Xin: The following are all fictional events; any resemblance is purely coincidental.)

2030, Tokyo.

Routine inspections at the National Museum encountered a problem.

Tanaka Shoichi, a bronze restorer, performed carbon-14 dating and discovered that the organic residue on a Tang Dynasty Buddha statue was from after the year 2000.

He could not believe it, so he tested a piece of Song Dynasty porcelain; the trace element distribution in the clay body was abnormal and did not match the craftsmanship characteristics of the Song Dynasty.

He reported the results. The director held an emergency meeting overnight to spot-check the artifacts in the storage facility.

A week later, the results were in.

At the Tokyo National Museum, the forgery rate for Chinese artifacts was 100%.

At the Kyoto National Museum, the forgery rate was 98%.

At the Nara National Museum, the forgery rate was 97%.

The Chinese artifacts in the collection of the Imperial Household Agency had a forgery rate of 100%.

The news leaked, making the front page of the UK's The Times, the US's The New York Times, and France's Le Monde.

"Large quantities of forgeries discovered at the Japanese Military National Museum"

"Japanese Military artifact preservation becomes a global laughingstock."

The Chinese Cultural Relics Bureau issued an official statement: "We hope the Japanese Military side will thoroughly investigate this matter and provide an explanation to the international community."

The Japanese Military Agency for Cultural Affairs also issued a statement: "We are currently investigating." But no one believed them.

International artifact exchanges were suspended. The British Museum, the Guimet Museum in France, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the US successively suspended all artifact exchange programs with the Japanese Military.

Overnight, the credibility of the Japanese Military's cultural artifact sector plummeted to zero.

A reporter went to interview the old clerk who had been responsible for artifact registration back then. The old man was retired and living in the countryside of Chiba, with persimmon trees planted in his yard. When the reporter knocked and entered, he was pruning the trees.

The reporter asked him if he had noticed anything unusual when those artifacts were first put into storage.

The old man put down his shears, wiped his hands on his apron, and thought for a moment.

"No, I didn't find anything."

He paused and added: "They were checked when they were put into storage; they were all genuine. When they were checked later, they had changed. Who swapped them? I don't know. When were they swapped? I don't know that either."

The reporter pressed, asking if it could have been an inside job. The old man shook his head, looking at the persimmon trees in the yard.

"An insider? If they had that kind of ability, why would they waste their life at a museum? The storage room keys were held by multiple people, and there were lapses in surveillance, but to swap out tens of thousands of artifacts is definitely not something one person could do."

"This requires a criminal group; you need experts to forge them, specialized channels for transport, and people to act as secret contacts. It's simply impossible for a single insider to pull this off."

The reporter pressed: Then could it have been an outsider? The old man was silent for a long time.

"It's even less likely to be an outsider. The storage room is underground, with security guards, access control, and surveillance. Outsiders couldn't even get in."

The reporter went back and wrote a report titled "Even Insiders Don't Know When the Artifacts Were Swapped." After the article was published, the comments were one-sided.

"The Japanese Military can't even figure it out themselves, and they expect others to believe them?"

This turmoil lasted for a full year. During that time, countless press conferences were held, three directors were replaced, and five investigation committees were established. Each investigation started with a bang and ended in silence. Experts argued incessantly in conference rooms; some said it was an inside job, some said it was infiltration by an external organization, and others claimed they were forgeries from the moment they were put into storage.

The final conclusion was: "The fact that the artifacts were swapped is true, but the time of the crime, the method of the crime, and the perpetrators cannot be determined."

The report was submitted and then sent back. Four characters were written on it: "Continue to investigate."

They investigated for another half year and still could not find anything. In the end, it was left unsettled.

2031, Tokyo.

The International Monetary Fund requested an audit of the Japanese Military's gold reserves. The Japanese Military side dragged it out for half a year, but eventually gave in. The reason was simple: their international credit rating had already been downgraded twice. If they did not cooperate with the audit, they might be downgraded to junk status. If that happened, they would not be able to issue government bonds, and the economy would be completely finished.

The audit team entered the vault—three levels underground, gray-white walls, rows of gold bars on metal shelves. They randomly spot-checked fifty bars. The appearance and dimensions were all compliant, but the weight was wrong.

The translator relayed this to the accompanying Japanese Military official. The official's expression changed for a moment but quickly recovered.

The inspector did not reply; he picked up a gold bar and weighed it in his hand. The weight was indeed wrong.

After hesitating for a moment, he took a file out of his toolkit and gently filed the side of the gold bar.

A small piece of the golden skin fell off. It was not a scratch; the whole layer peeled off, as thin as paper. What was revealed inside was earthy yellow.

It was not gold; it was mud.

He was stunned. He flipped the gold bar over and filed the other side. It was still earthy yellow.

He put down the file, crouched down, and examined the peeled-off skin carefully. It was gold, extremely thin, attached to a layer of primer. That was electroplating—a product of an industrial assembly line, not an ancient technique, nor a normal gold bar casting process.

He stood up and looked at the shelves full of gold bars.

"Spot-check all of them."

The Japanese Military official's face turned completely pale. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back. He took out his phone and walked to the corner to make a call. His voice was kept very low, but in the empty vault, it could still be heard.

"Something happened. There's a problem with the gold bars."

Whatever was said on the other end of the line made his expression even worse.

The audit team worked for three days. All the gold bars underwent destructive testing; every single one was filed open, and every one contained yellow mud inside. The gold skin on the surface was less than 0.3 millimeters thick.

When the news got out, the global financial markets had not reacted yet. The Japanese Military stock exchange was still trading normally, and the Nikkei index was still fluctuating slightly. Gold traders were still watching the market as usual.

By the afternoon, Reuters released a flash report.

"Exclusive: Japanese Military gold reserves exposed as fake; over 800 tons of gold bars are actually gold-plated yellow mud."

The global market exploded instantly. The price of gold skyrocketed, surging 12% within half an hour. A trader said.

"This is the largest single-day increase I have ever seen in my life."

Japanese Military government bond futures hit the limit down, and the Japanese Military currency exchange rate against the US dollar plummeted by 8%. The Tokyo Stock Exchange suspended trading in an emergency.

The Japanese Military Minister of Finance bowed to apologize at a press conference. Ninety degrees, waist bent, he did not straighten up for a full half-minute. Two rows of microphones were set up in front of him, and flashbulbs were popping everywhere.

"This matter is under investigation. We express our deepest apologies for the huge trouble caused to our citizens and the international community."

Reporters pressed: When were the gold bars swapped? Who swapped them? Where were they taken? He could not answer. He bowed again.

A reporter was relentless: "Over 800 tons of gold, the volume is equivalent to a small building, and transporting it would require dozens of trucks. How could something so large be swapped out without anyone knowing?"

He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"It is currently still under investigation."

The press conference lasted forty minutes, and he bowed a dozen times. Every time he bowed, the flashes went off. The next day, that photo of him bowing appeared on the front pages of hundreds of media outlets around the world.

International rating agencies took action that same day. S&P downgraded the Japanese Military's sovereign credit rating from A+ to BBB with a negative outlook; Moody's followed, and Fitch followed. The three major rating agencies unanimously judged.

"The credit of the Japanese Military is no longer reliable."

The Japanese Military economy, from that day on, slumped and never recovered.

The stock market fell by 40%—not in one day, but slowly. Every time bad news came out, it dropped a wave, then consolidated, then dropped again after a few days of sideways movement. It was like a frog in boiling water. By the end of the year, the Nikkei index had fallen below its lowest point since the bubble economy.

The real estate market collapsed. In Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya, housing prices in core areas fell by 60%. The suburbs fell even worse, with some places dropping by 80%. Houses could not be sold, loans could not be repaid, and foreclosed properties piled up like mountains. Some people mailed their keys back to the bank, left, and never came back.

Companies went bankrupt on a massive scale. Small and medium-sized enterprises bore the brunt; orders were gone, loans were cut off, and cash flow dried up. Large companies were not much better off—stock prices fell, financing was difficult, and overseas markets shrank. Even those century-old shops could not hold on.

Young people could not find jobs. The employment rate for fresh graduates fell below 50%. Many people worked odd jobs in convenience stores and restaurants, earning less than 200,000 Japanese Military currency a month. Some people posted online saying that there were long lines in front of bank ATMs; everyone was withdrawing cash, afraid that the banks would also have problems.

A retired old man was interviewed, saying he had deposited his life savings in the bank and did not know what to do now. He stood in front of the camera, tears streaming down the wrinkles on his face. His wife was beside him, head bowed, saying nothing.

That video spread on the Chinese internet. In the comments section, some said "It's quite heartbreaking to watch," and others wrote, "History cannot be forgotten, but the civilians are indeed innocent." Others said this was all karma of their own making. There were all kinds of comments.

But life had to go on. The Japanese Military public went from initial panic to later numbness, and finally to resignation. It took less than half a year. Supermarket shelves were still stocked, trains were still running on time, and garbage sorting was still being done as usual. On the surface, everything was normal. But everyone knew in their hearts: this country was no longer the same as it was before.

2032, Qilian Mountains.

An archaeological team conducting field surveys on the northern foothills of the Qilian Mountains discovered a cave sealed off by rubble.

The team was led by Professor Chen from Northwest University, fifty-six years old, who had been in archaeology his whole life and had mentored several doctoral students. This trip was originally intended to investigate a branch of the northern Silk Road, but unexpectedly, they turned into a dry riverbed, walked for two days, and arrived in a no-man's-land.

On the evening of the third day, team member Xiao Zhang discovered a cave entrance under the cliff wall.

It was blocked by rubble, but looking into the gap, one could see that it was empty inside. Xiao Zhang lay at the entrance and shouted, the echo long and muffled, traveling deep inside.

Professor Chen crouched down and shone his flashlight. The entrance was not large, and the rubble was piled tight, but he could feel air flowing from inside. This indicated that the space inside was not small, and there was more than one exit.

"Dig it open and take a look."

Several people used hand trowels and shovels, digging for nearly two hours. The rubble was cleared layer by layer, and it got wider the further they dug. When the opening was cleared enough for one person to crouch and enter, a cold breeze rushed out, carrying the smell of mold and metal.

Professor Chen was the first to enter.

The beam of the flashlight swept across.

He was stunned.

The entire cave was filled with gold bars, stacked neatly, from the entrance all the way to the very back, packed tight. Some gold bars were stacked three or four layers high, the top ones almost touching the ceiling of the cave. Next to them were wooden boxes and iron boxes; some boxes had already decayed, the wood rotted, and the contents were exposed.

Bronze ware, porcelain, Buddha statues, ancient books, calligraphy, and paintings. Some porcelain glazes still reflected light; even after hundreds of years, they were like new.

Professor Chen crouched down and picked up a gold bar. It was very heavy; it took two hands to lift. There were no markings on the surface of the gold bar, no serial numbers, no stamps; it was clean. He flipped it over to look at the other side, and it was also clean.

He frowned. There were no markings on the gold bars, which was illogical. Ancient official gold always had inscriptions, and modern gold bars had serial numbers. This batch of gold bars, however, had nothing, as if all traces had been deliberately erased.

"Professor Chen, how much is this?" Xiao Zhang's voice was trembling.

Professor Chen stood up and shone the flashlight around. The cave was huge, several hundred square meters, and full of items. Gold and artifacts were piled like mountains. Some boxes were stacked three or four layers high, the top ones almost touching the ceiling.

"I don't know. Let's get out first."

He walked out of the cave entrance, leaned against the rock wall, and lit a cigarette. His hands were still shaking.

"Make the call and report it up the chain."

Three days later, people from the capital arrived. Another week passed, and the news reached the relevant departments. The experts looked at the photos and videos taken at the scene and all fell silent.

The surface of the gold bricks bore no markings, and all traceable signs had been erased. The artifacts covered all the dynasties of China, from the bronzeware of the Shang and Zhou dynasties to the paintings and calligraphy of the Tang and Song dynasties, and from the Buddha statues of the Wei and Jin dynasties to the porcelain of the Ming and Qing dynasties. Spanning over two thousand years, every single piece was genuine, and every single piece was perfectly preserved.

The quantity was simply too large: over 1,500 tons of gold and more than 280,000 artifacts.

Such a large quantity and scale could not possibly be the work of an individual. Yet, there were no records in official archives, and the intelligence systems had no leads. This batch of items seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

No one knew who had hidden it, no one knew when it had been hidden, and no one knew how it had been transported in.

The expert group held a meeting for an entire day, and finally produced an internal report with a very cautious conclusion.

"Preliminary assessment suggests it may be related to the Qing dynasty official Heshen. When Heshen's house was raided, some of his assets went missing, and there have always been folk legends about hidden treasure. The location, scale, and characteristics of this discovery align with some historical records."

But this conclusion could not withstand scrutiny. In Heshen's era, what was the annual gold production of China? Where would he have gotten over a thousand tons of gold? And where would he have gathered hundreds of thousands of artifacts?

The report was distributed, but whether those below believed it was another matter entirely.

Some young researchers discussed it privately.

"This is too absurd. No matter how greedy Heshen was, he couldn't have embezzled over a thousand tons of gold. What was the annual fiscal revenue of the Qing dynasty anyway?"

The senior researcher glared at him: "Then you tell me, who hid it?"

The young researcher opened his mouth but couldn't say a word.

No one could say.

The news was suppressed; there was no public announcement, no news, and no reports. It wasn't that they didn't want to announce it, but that it was impossible to explain. The items were discovered within China, their total value was incalculable, yet their origin was a complete mystery. The higher-ups made the final decision.

"Protect it first, and study it slowly."

The gold bricks were transported to the national treasury and stored alongside China's existing gold reserves. The artifacts were dispersed and sent to the storage rooms of major museums for safekeeping. However, all entry records noted the source.

"Unearthed from a cave in the northern foothills of the Qilian Mountains; specific era and ownership pending investigation."

It wasn't said to be Heshen's, nor was it attributed to anyone else; it was just left hanging, perpetually hanging.

Over a decade later, when people discussed the gold reserve scandal and artifact forgery scandal of the Japanese Military, someone linked these two events together.

The timeline matched.

"The gold and artifacts of the Japanese Military were swapped during those years, and the treasure in the Qilian Mountains was also discovered during those years."

Someone posted online, listing the timeline point by point, and asked: "Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence?"

Someone replied below: "What coincidence? The gold reserves of the Japanese Military are fake, what does that have to do with us? Our gold is real, audited every year, and passes every year."

Another person replied: "You didn't understand. His point is, could the things the Japanese Military lost have ended up here with us?"

The first person replied again: "Ended up here? Over a thousand tons of gold, hundreds of thousands of artifacts—how would they get here? Did they fly over?"

The post quickly sank, and no one discussed it further.

Some things cannot be scrutinized too deeply.

And those gold bricks and artifacts had been quietly removed from the Japanese Military by one person many years ago. Swapped for yellow mud, swapped for forgeries. The people in the museums didn't know, the guards in the vaults didn't know, and the customs, police, and intelligence agencies didn't have a clue.

The Japanese Military's official gold reserves of 847 tons, plus over 660 tons of secret gold hidden in various places, totaling 1,507 tons, had all been transferred to that cave in the Qilian Mountains using the Transfer Card. The hundreds of thousands of artifacts followed the same path.

All traces were wiped clean; the markings on the gold bricks were melted off, and the provenance of the artifacts didn't exist to begin with. After the system acted, there wasn't even any potential energy fluctuation left behind.

This secret was known to only one person from beginning to end.

If he didn't say anything, no one would ever know.

2038, the east coast of Honshu, Japanese Military.

That massive earthquake came without warning.

3:12 AM, magnitude 8.9. The epicenter was on the seabed, less than 50 kilometers from the coast. By the time the tsunami warning sounded, it was already too late. The first wave rushed ashore, over ten meters high, sweeping away the harbor, fishing boats, and houses along the coast. Some were swept away in their sleep, while others didn't even have time to run.

In the news footage, seawater mixed with mud, debris, and cars surged inland. A woman in pajamas stood on a rooftop holding her child, the water already rising to her feet. A helicopter lowered a rope ladder; the child went up first. She had climbed halfway when she turned back to look at her house—only half the roof remained.

The death toll rose day by day. Three hundred, two thousand, eight thousand, fifteen thousand. The number of missing was even higher; some villages were completely gone, impossible to account for. Rescue teams dug through the ruins with shovels and their bare hands. An Old Lady was carried out, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes vacant.

The international community sent messages of condolence. China sent them as well.

Someone online said: "Although history cannot be forgotten, civilians are innocent. May the deceased rest in peace."

Others said: "Earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear pollution—even the heavens can't stand it anymore."

There were all sorts of comments.

But the earthquakes didn't stop. These weren't small tremors, but major quakes over magnitude seven, once a month, sometimes twice. Geologists said it was intensified plate activity that would continue for the next few years.

An expert said on television that the Japanese Military archipelago was in a geologically active period, and such large-scale earthquakes "might continue for another five to ten years."

The host asked him: "What should the public do?"

The expert was silent for a moment and said: "Prepare for long-term countermeasures."

The host pressed: What counts as long-term countermeasures?

The expert said: "Stockpile supplies, reinforce houses, and develop evacuation plans. Those with the means can consider moving abroad."

Once these words were spoken, it triggered another wave of emigration.

2039, Japanese Military.

A nuclear power plant had another accident. It wasn't one of the Fukushima ones, but another. The cooling system failed, the core melted down, and radioactive material leaked.

The authorities released a statement.

"The impact on the surrounding environment is limited."

A month later, agricultural products in the surrounding area tested positive for excessive radioactive material. A month after that, it was detected in the groundwater too.

The public began to panic; bottled water in supermarkets was snatched up, and water purifiers sold out. Some started moving south, west, or abroad. The lines of people dragging suitcases at the airport stretched on endlessly.

But most people couldn't leave; those without money, the elderly who couldn't move, and those who couldn't bear to leave had to stay.

The news said the government was taking measures to purify the contaminated water and soil. But experts said that the half-life of radioactive material was very long, and it wouldn't disappear for decades.

A farmer living near Fukushima was interviewed, saying he had farmed his whole life, but now the things grown on his land couldn't be sold, and he didn't dare to eat them himself.

"I don't know what to do in the future." He squatted on the ridge of the field, looking at the lush green crops, his eyes devoid of light.

That video spread across the Chinese internet. In the comments section, some said, "It's quite heartbreaking to watch," while others wrote, "History cannot be forgotten, but civilians are indeed innocent."

The same sentiment as before.

March 2040.

News flash: "A massive 9.1 magnitude earthquake occurred in the northeastern part of Honshu, Japanese Military, with a focal depth of 20 kilometers, triggering a large-scale tsunami. It has caused millions of deaths and tens of millions of victims."

The footage showed towering waves crashing through levees and surging into the city. Houses were knocked down like building blocks, and cars were swept away like toys. People were running, but couldn't escape, swept away by the waves.

A reporter stood in front of the ruins doing a live broadcast and started crying mid-sentence. He said his house was gone too, and he couldn't contact his family. "I don't know if they are still alive."

June 2040.

News flash: "Volcanic activity at Mount Fuji in the Japanese Military has intensified; experts say it may erupt in the coming months."

August 2040.

News flash: "Mount Fuji in the Japanese Military erupted on a massive scale early this morning. Volcanic ash covered the Tokyo metropolitan area, traffic was paralyzed, and hundreds of thousands of people were urgently evacuated."

The footage showed grey-black volcanic ash clouds blocking out the sun. Red lava surged from the mountainside, burning down forests, houses, and roads. The distant city was covered in ash, plunged into darkness.

A Chinese tourist at the foot of Mount Fuji filmed a video and posted it online. In the footage, ash fell like snow, piling up in a thick layer on the ground.

He said: "When I woke up this morning, my car was buried, and I couldn't even push the door open. The airport is closed now, so I can't leave. I don't know how many days I'll have to wait."

Someone commented below: "Stay safe and come back to the country soon."

Others said: "Told you to go to the Japanese Military to play; now look at you, you're eating ash."

2041.

The Japanese Military was still experiencing earthquakes, volcanoes were still erupting, and nuclear pollution was still spreading.

The authorities said in the news that they were "taking measures," but the measures were useless. Earthquakes are natural phenomena that humans cannot stop, and volcanoes are the same. Nuclear pollution is even more troublesome and cannot be cleaned up for decades.

The public began to emigrate on a large scale; those with money went to Europe, America, Australia, and Southeast Asia; those without money moved south, to Okinawa or Kyushu, as far away from Honshu as possible. Those who stayed were mostly the elderly who couldn't leave.

They were seventy or eighty years old; they couldn't bear to throw away the family assets they had saved all their lives, nor could they move them.

The population of the Japanese Military dropped from its peak of 120 million to less than 40 million. And it was still dropping; major cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya had seen their populations cut by more than half. Many neighborhoods had become ghost towns; houses stood empty, shops were closed, and no one walked the streets. Stray cats ran around, and no one bothered to pick up tipped-over trash cans.

The economy was even worse; earthquakes destroyed factories, volcanic ash covered farmland, and nuclear pollution ruined the fishing, agricultural, and tourism industries. No one bought government bonds, no one wanted the Japanese Military currency, and foreign capital withdrew one after another. The Japanese Military fell from the world's third-largest economy to outside the top ten, even Brazil had surpassed them.

International media began using words like "collapse" and "demise" to describe the Japanese Military.

Some said it was divine retribution.

Some said it was a man-made disaster.

Some said, this is history.

And those gold bricks and artifacts had been quietly removed by one person many years ago. Swapped for yellow mud, swapped for forgeries. The people in the museums didn't know, the guards in the vaults didn't know, and the customs, police, and intelligence agencies didn't have a clue.

The person who knew this secret from beginning to end was currently staying in a luxury mansion at One Shenzhen Bay in 2018, planning to travel far to Russia for treasure hunting.