75: Chapter 75 Little Hu, the old man, I've really seen something amazing today.

He was slightly taken aback, not expecting time to pass so quickly; it felt as if it had been but a flick of the finger.

Just then, the door to the operating room was gently knocked twice, then pushed open a crack. Director Zhang's head poked in from the side, looking exactly like a scouting soldier "poking his head around." "Mr. Hu, how is everything going over here? Is it about..."

Before he could finish, he suddenly paused, pricked up his ears, and cast a subtle look at Hu Tian, his expression seemingly asking, "Could it be that you've already finished?"

Hu Tian's face was calm, his level of composure comparable to "an old monk in meditation." "It's done."

Director Zhang nodded. Just as he was about to say something, Su Huairen and Fang Jiye also followed from the corridor. The two of them stood at the doorway, their posture resembling "door gods" standing guard.

Fang Jiye peered inside, his gaze falling on the small, sealed ceramic bottle on the corner of the table. He asked, "Is it processed?"

"Yes," Hu Tian said, his tone as steady as "Mount Tai pressing down." "Let it sit for an hour, and it will be ready to use later."

Su Huairen walked in, leaned over to get close to the ceramic bottle, and sniffed it through the cotton paper. His movements were as gentle as "smelling fragrance to identify a beauty." He didn't speak, just narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression thoughtful, as if lost in "meditations."

At this moment, Fang Jiye suddenly turned his head, looked at the clock on the wall, and then looked at Director Zhang. His gaze was as sharp as "a death warrant." "It's already past twelve."

Director Zhang slapped his forehead, the action exaggerated as if he had "suddenly realized the truth." A look of regret appeared on his face, his expression even more bitter than "a bitter melon." "Look at me, I was so focused on this side that I forgot about this. Truly, 'haste makes waste.'"

He waved his hands at Hu Tian repeatedly, the gesture like "a rattling drum." "Little Hu, from this morning until now, you haven't even had a few sips of water in there, have you? This is my negligence, my negligence; I have neglected you."

Hu Tian waved his hand, his attitude as modest as "an elementary school student." "It's fine, I can't pay attention to that when I'm working on things."

"That still won't do," Director Zhang had already walked out two steps, then turned back to call out, his voice as loud as "a megaphone." "Let's go, let's go, let's go eat first. Our Museum's cafeteria is decent enough; it won't treat you poorly."

The group walked out together, leaving the restoration area and heading down the corridor toward the cafeteria. The procession was grand, looking like "leaders on an inspection."

The Museum's cafeteria was on the east side of the first floor. Pushing open the door, there were already many people sitting inside, mostly staff members of the Museum. The sounds of talking and clinking tableware intertwined, bringing with them a steaming, lively atmosphere that was completely different from the quiet of the restoration area; the contrast was greater than "ice and fire."

Director Zhang busied himself finding a table by the window and waved for someone to come over to list the dishes. While inviting everyone to sit, he said to Hu Tian, his attitude as respectful as "a waiter at an inn," "There's nothing special, just home-style cooking. Little Hu, please make do."

Hu Tian sat down in the chair, his posture as elegant as "an aristocrat." He glanced out the window; the sunlight was just right, shining on a few old trees in the courtyard, the dappled shadows falling across the ground. He slowly exhaled, his whole person finally relaxing, the feeling like "a heavy load lifted."

The dishes were quickly brought up, all ordinary home-style meals: braised pork, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, a pot of hot soup, and a few small side dishes. They filled the table, and the richness was not inferior to "a Manchu-Han feast."

Fang Jiye picked up his chopsticks and sighed with emotion, his tone as profound as "lamenting life." "After hearing Little Hu say so much this morning, I still haven't quite recovered."

Director Zhang ladled a bowl of soup for Hu Tian and pushed it over, smiling. The smile was as bright as "sunshine." "Indeed, I've seen many restorers in this line of work, but this is the first time I've met someone like Mr. Hu, who can explain so clearly why every material is used, how it is used, and to what extent. It truly is 'a single conversation with you is worth ten years of study.'"

Su Huairen picked up a bite of food and chewed slowly, his movements as refined as "an old scholar." He didn't join the conversation, just raised his eyes to look at Hu Tian, his gaze calm and his eyes as deep as "the ocean."

Hu Tian picked up the soup bowl and took a sip, the movement as elegant as "tasting tea." He just responded faintly without saying much else, his attitude as low-key as "an invisible person."

Fang Jiye put down his chopsticks, leaned back against the chair, looked at Hu Tian, and asked, his expression as curious as "one hundred thousand whys," "Little Hu, this old man has really had his eyes opened today; it is truly 'a stroke of great luck.'"

Fang Jiye gave Hu Tian a big thumbs up, the gesture more standard than "a thumb."

Hu Tian drank a mouthful of soup, put down the bowl, and said casually, his tone as modest as "a humble gentleman," "I've just dabbled in them a bit, nothing deep. I've embarrassed myself."

Fang Jiye smiled, his grin as hearty as "a laughing auntie." "Then let me ask a presumptuous question: what do you think of that batch of bronze ware on our long table that has already been appraised? When you passed by this morning, I noticed you stopped to look for quite a while. That was truly 'standing and watching.'"

Hu Tian raised his eyes to look at him, his gaze as sharp as "an eagle's eye." He had indeed looked at that batch of bronzes—and not just looked; his Treasure Hunting Radar had also quietly scanned them. He already had a count in his heart regarding the origins, dates, and craftsmanship of several of the items.

He thought for a moment and said, his tone as steady as "an old Chinese medicine doctor," "In that batch, there are two items worth noting."

Fang Jiye's eyes lit up, his expression as excited as if he had "discovered a new continent." "Which two? Hurry up and tell me."

"The jue in the second row on the right in the east corner, and the fangyi in the middle."

Fang Jiye and Su Huairen exchanged a look, the eye contact like "exchanging meaningful glances." Su Huairen slowly put down his chopsticks, his expression shifting slightly, looking as surprised as "seeing a ghost."

Hu Tian continued, his tone as professional as "an appraisal expert." "That jue has extremely stable streamlining, and the arc of the three legs is very correct. The taotie pattern on the belly is mold-cast, not later-engraved; the patterns are one with the body. This craftsmanship, for the late Shang Dynasty, is quite mature—it is simply 'supernatural workmanship.' More importantly, its rust color is genuine raw-pit rust, green tinged with blue, with partial cinnabar patina. This kind of patina cannot be faked, nor can it be imitated."

Director Zhang held his soup bowl, listening intently. His expression was as focused as "listening to a story," and he even forgot to drink his soup, simply "forgetting to eat or sleep."

Hu Tian paused, then continued, his tone as mysterious as "a storyteller." "That fangyi is even more interesting. The shape of the cover knob is rare, and the layout of the patterns on the four sides of the belly is very neat. But if you look closely, there are subtle differences between the patterns on the east and west sides. It's not an issue of the craftsman's skill, but an issue of two sets of molds. This shows that when this item was cast, at least two groups of craftsmen were responsible for different sides, and then the molds were joined. In Shang and Zhou bronzes, this specification is usually only done for important ritual vessels. Its rank as a ritual vessel is not low; it is truly 'a heavy national treasure.'"

Fang Jiye stared at him for several seconds before speaking, his tone full of admiration. "Little Hu, what you just said basically matches the appraisal opinions we gave when we collected these two items. In fact, in a few places, you described them in even more detail than our appraisal. It is truly 'the blue coming from the indigo and surpassing it.'"

Su Huairen spoke up at this moment, his voice not loud but very steady. His tone was as serious as "a judge passing sentence." "How did you see the difference between mold-casting and later-engraving? That is truly 'a pair of fiery eyes.'"

"Touch," Hu Tian said, his tone as definitive as "the final hammer blow." "The patterns of mold-casting have a sense of wholeness when touched from the side; the cross-section of the pattern lines grows out from the body, not attached to the surface. Later-engraved patterns, no matter how good the engraving work is, always have a subtle interface between them and the body. The naked eye might not see it, but the fingers can feel it. A miss is as good as a mile."

Su Huairen was silent for a moment, nodded, picked up his chopsticks again, and took a bite of food. He didn't speak again, but his expression revealed some genuine approval, the feeling like "wholehearted conviction."

Before the meal was finished, the conversation naturally turned to porcelain; the topic changed faster than "turning the pages of a book."

The cause was Director Zhang. He picked up a piece of braised pork, remembered something, and said, his tone as casual as "chatting about family matters." "That's right, Little Hu, our Museum has recently acquired a few pieces of porcelain, all collected from the public. There is still some controversy over their authenticity. Are you interested in taking a look after the meal? It's a good opportunity to 'pick up a bargain.'"

Hu Tian said, his tone as decisive as "a sharp knife cutting through a tangled mess." "Sure."

Fang Jiye interjected with a smile, his grin as cunning as "an old fox." "Speaking of porcelain, I'm curious, Mr. Hu, what do you think is the most important point in identifying Ru Kiln? This is 'the finishing touch.'"

Hu Tian thought for a moment and said, his tone as professional as "a textbook." "Glaze color is the first thing you see, but glaze color is the easiest thing to imitate; among imitations, there are many that get the glaze color right. So, glaze color is just the entry level. What you really need to look at is the thickness of the glaze layer and the logic of the crazing."

"The logic of the crazing?" Fang Jiye repeated, his expression as confused as "a lost lamb."

"The crazing on genuine Ru Kiln is not random," Hu Tian said, his tone as certain as "the truth." "It has its own directional patterns. In industry jargon, it's called 'crab claw patterns.' But 'crab claw patterns' doesn't mean the lines look like crab claws; it means the direction has branching. After each main line reaches a certain length, it will split into two or three fine lines at the end. This branching is naturally formed and is related to the direction of the body's shrinkage; there is an inherent logic to it. The crazing on imitations is mostly man-made or fired, and the direction of the lines lacks this logic. It looks chaotic, or too regular, which instead makes it fake."