129: Chapter 129 Moving Furniture?

"Hand trowel." He reached out his hand.

He Hai handed over the trowel.

Jiang Chen took it and cleared the surrounding soil inch by inch along the edge of the plaster layer.

His movements were very light, like peeling away an aged shell.

Beneath the Tung Oil Lime, a hard curve gradually emerged.

The color of iron rust.

It wasn't copper rails, nor was it brick or stone; it was cast iron.

Jiang Chen set the trowel aside and pressed his palm against the curve, feeling along its path to both sides.

The outline of the Iron Chest became clearer bit by bit under his palm.

It was about a foot and a half long, less than a foot wide, with a curved lid. The cast iron felt coarse and solid, carrying the chill of being buried underground for over seventy years.

Even colder were his hands.

From the moment he felt the outline of the Iron Chest, his fingers hadn't trembled once.

"Clear the soil."

"Clear the soil from the top and sides. Prepare to lift the chest."

Lu Zheng and the other five gathered around, squatting by the edge of the pit, using trowels and fingers to peel away the soil bit by bit.

No one spoke; there was only the sound of soil rustling down and the faint rustle of plane tree leaves overhead.

The people Lu Zheng brought had an unspoken understanding between them.

Zhang Heng was responsible for clearing the top of the chest, his technique steady and experienced.

He Hai cleared the sides; the young man had sharp eyes and didn't miss even the loose soil in the brick joints.

The other three stood guard in the remaining directions. The soil cleared out was gathered by Zhao Yiming handful by handful onto a canvas, piled neatly.

The outline of the Iron Chest became clearer and clearer.

The surface of the cast iron was covered in a layer of dark brown rust—coarse and heavy, like a stone growing out of the ground.

The Tung Oil Lime layer sealed the seams of the entire chest, tightly binding the inner and outer layers together.

When He Hai was clearing the side of the Iron Chest, his fingertips touched a protrusion.

He brushed away the loose soil and found a copper latch; it was so rusted it had fused with the chest, but its shape remained.

"Mr. Jiang, the latch is here."

Jiang Chen glanced at it and nodded.

He moved his gaze from the Iron Chest and looked up along the courtyard wall.

The afternoon sun was already heading west, its light shining in at an angle, stretching the shadows of the plane trees.

The sound of a television came from outside the neighboring wall, muffled by the wall as if through a layer of water.

A bicycle bell rang once deep in the alley, then silence returned.

No one noticed what was happening beneath this wall.

Jiang Chen withdrew his gaze and squatted down again, his palm against the top of the Iron Chest, fingertips slowly tracing the patterns on the cast iron surface.

It felt cold and coarse, like touching a piece of old time buried underground.

He gave an extremely faint, light smile, the curve of his lips vanishing in a flash.

"Lift it out."

Lu Zheng and Zhang Heng jumped into the pit, one at each end, their hands gripping the bottom of the Iron Chest.

The other four assisted from above.

Lu Zheng softly counted "Lift," and the six of them exerted force simultaneously. The Iron Chest was steadily raised from the bottom of the pit.

The weight of the cast iron was heavier than it looked. Their arm muscles tightened together, but their movements didn't falter at all. The Iron Chest was steadily lifted out of the pit and placed onto the canvas spread nearby.

It made a heavy, muffled thud as it landed.

Jiang Chen squatted down and ran his palm around the lid of the Iron Chest.

The Tung Oil Lime layer sealed the seams tightly; seventy-plus years of underground moisture hadn't seeped in.

He brushed the soil off his hands and stood up.

"Fill the pit," he said. "Restore it to its original state."

The six men picked up their shovels again.

The soil piled on the canvas, along with countless tree roots, were shoveled back into the pit one by one.

The sound of the soil falling was muffled and rhythmic, echoing one after another in the empty backyard.

When it was half-filled, Lu Zheng stopped, tamped the soil layer firm with the back of his shovel, and then continued filling.

A layer of soil, a layer of tamping—the technique was as steady as when they were digging.

When the soil was level with the ground, Zhao Yiming picked up the old backfill mixed with broken bricks and lime chunks from the canvas.

He spread it evenly on top, smoothing the surface with his fingers until it blended with the surrounding ground.

Finally, the Blue Bricks.

The few bricks that had been pried up earlier were pressed back into their original positions by He Hai, one by one.

He compacted the loose soil in the brick joints with his fingertips, aligning the gaps perfectly.

After laying them, he scooped a handful of aged dust from the corner of the wall, sprinkled it over the bricks, and spread it with his palm.

The northeast corner of the courtyard wall, two meters west of the tree roots.

The blue brick ground had returned to its original appearance.

The dust, the traces of humus, the sense of age accumulated over years—everything was there.

Without looking closely...

No, even with a close look, one couldn't tell that the ground beneath had been disturbed. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

The group straightened up, brushed the soil off their hands, and looked at Jiang Chen.

Jiang Chen glanced at the ground and nodded.

Then he turned his head, his gaze sweeping across each of their faces.

"About today..."

Just as he started, He Hai cut in.

"What happened today?"

He Hai brushed the soil off his hands and looked around blankly. "Weren't we here to help Mr. Jiang move furniture?"

Zhao Yiming leaned his shovel against the base of the wall and adjusted his glasses, his tone even more serious than He Hai's. "Moved things all afternoon, I'm exhausted. Brother Zhang, what's for dinner?"

Zhang Heng didn't respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

He bent over to gather the loose soil on the canvas into a pile, not even looking up. "Moving furniture."

Liu Wei stuffed the remaining tools into a bag and chuckled.

Sun Yi stood at the very edge; he didn't speak, but his eyes crinkled behind his lenses.

All five had voiced their stance, leaving only Lu Zheng standing beside Jiang Chen.

He glanced at Jiang Chen, then at his comrades, a rare smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.

"Go on," he said. "I've made a reservation. You guys go first; I'll be there later."

Zhang Heng gave an affirmative grunt and led the four men through the Main Hall toward the back door.

Their steps were lighter than when they arrived. As He Hai reached the door of the Main Hall, he even hummed half a song, but the tune was cut short when Zhao Yiming slapped him on the back.

Liu Wei followed behind, his laughter kept very low, like muffled thunder rolling in his throat.

The courtyard gate closed, and the sounds of footsteps and laughter faded into the distance of the alley, finally swallowed completely by the twilight.

Only Jiang Chen and Lu Zheng remained in the backyard.

Jiang Chen was still standing by the canvas, unmoving.

Lu Zheng stood beside him, also unmoving.

The Iron Chest sat on the canvas, its dark brown cast iron surface reflecting a faint light leaking from the cracks in the Main Hall's windows.

The plane tree leaves rustled overhead, softer than before, as if lowering their voices.

After a long while, Jiang Chen finally squatted down.

He took a flat-head chisel and a small hammer from his pocket.

He aimed the chisel blade at the thinnest seam in the Tung Oil Lime layer. The hammer fell—not heavily, but with extreme precision.

One, two, three strikes—the grayish-white plaster layer cracked open into a fine seam.

He pushed the chisel forward along the crack, and the plaster layer peeled off piece by piece, revealing the original color of the cast iron beneath.

Once the seam was fully exposed, he inserted the chisel into the crack, lowered his wrist, and pried upward.

The lid of the Iron Chest gave a very low, muffled sound, like a sigh coming from deep within the earth.