The museum stood like a quiet fortress of stone and glass near the city center. Carvings of ancient beasts decorated its façade, and a line of statues flanked the entrance. Lin Hao stared at it with wide eyes as they approached, holding tightly to his mother's hand.
"This place is huge…" his father muttered, clearly uneasy.
"It'll be fine," Lin Hao said with a smile. "We're just going to look."
They stepped inside.
Cool air greeted them. The scent of old parchment, polished wood, and incense filled the halls. The marble floor reflected the golden light filtering in through stained glass. Relics, weapons, ancient robes, and paintings were displayed behind crystal cases. Children whispered in awe. Scholars took notes. Guards stood silently by the walls.
And in the middle of the main corridor… an old man swept the floor with a wide wooden broom.
His robes were plain. His hair was long, white, tied behind his back. His posture was slightly hunched, but his eyes sparkled with the sharpness of someone who saw much more than he let on.
Lin Hao recognized him instantly.
Master Yuan.
Retired cultivator. Wealthy collector. Founder of the museum. And, in his past life, the man who bought the obsidian dragon without hesitation.
The old man glanced at them as they passed. Then he looked down at Lin Hao and smiled.
"Do you like the museum, young one?"
Lin Hao's face lit up.
"I love it! Everything here is amazing. I want to be an adventurer when I grow up. I want to find relics and learn their stories. I'll sell them to museums like this—so people don't forget. And with the money, I'll take care of my parents!"
The old man chuckled, leaning on his broom. "What a noble dream. A heart that values family and history—rare these days."
He studied Lin Hao for a long moment, then nodded. "If you ever find a true treasure, bring it to me. I'll help you sell it fairly. No tricks. No thieves."
Lin Hao beamed. "I found one already!"
His parents stiffened.
"Wait—Hao'er—"
"Lin, don't—!"
But the boy was already unwrapping the cloth bundle from his coat pocket.
"It's okay, he's the museum guy!" Lin Hao said cheerfully, holding it up.
The moment the old man saw the gleam of emerald and obsidian, his expression changed.
His smile faded. His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and swiftly covered the sculpture with both hands, hiding it from view.
"Wrap that again," he said quietly. "Quickly."
Lin Hao obeyed, a little confused.
The old man turned to his parents.
"Please. Follow me."
Without waiting, he led them down a side hallway, past velvet ropes and quiet exhibits, toward a large door at the end of the corridor.
A plaque beside it read: Curator's Office.
He unlocked it and waved them inside.
Bookshelves lined the walls. A low table sat in the center beside a leather chair and a long wooden desk filled with scrolls and fragments. There was no guard, no assistant, no pretense.
Just the quiet authority of someone who needed none.
"Sit," he said gently.
They obeyed.
He turned to Lin Hao, eyes focused now, deeper than before.
"Where did you find this sculpture?"
"In the park," Lin Hao said honestly. "Buried. I was playing, and I found it under a tree."
The old man nodded slowly.
He carefully unwrapped the cloth and studied the sculpture beneath the lamplight. His fingers traced its curves with reverence.
"This piece… is older than most of the city itself. It's carved from obsidian mined before the first beast wave. The emerald is soul-tempered.
Lin Hao's parents looked pale.
The old man looked at them.
"This sculpture is worth a fortune."
He paused.
"But also, if word of it spreads… it could bring danger."
Lin Hao's father swallowed hard. "We… we didn't know what to do. We were going to leave it. He—he insisted on bringing it here."
The old man turned back to Lin Hao and smiled again.
"You made the right choice, boy. You're smart. Brave. And you trust your heart."
Then, for the first time, he bowed.
"To you, young adventurer—I owe a debt. And perhaps… a future."