On his first day as the curator's secretary, Chen Mo got up extra early. He ironed the shirt he'd bought from a second-hand stall until it was stiff and combed his hair into a neat style in front of the mirror. It wasn't that he valued this job so much—above all, the secretary position allowed him to get close to Zhou Hong and uncover the secrets of the restoration room. After all, finding a way back as soon as possible was far better than being a secretary in the 1980s.
Sister Zhao from the Administration Department took him to familiarize himself with the secretary's work as instructed by Zhou Hong. Sister Zhao was in her thirties, wearing a blue Dacron shirt and a bob, looking capable and kind. She led Chen Mo around the office area and introduced: "Chen Mo, the core work of a secretary is to assist the curator in handling daily affairs, such as receiving and sending documents, arranging meetings, organizing materials, and some personal matters assigned by the curator. Remember, the curator values 'keeping a tight lip' most. Don't ask what you shouldn't ask, don't look at what you shouldn't look at, especially about the restoration room—never inquire too much."
"Thank you, Sister Zhao. I'll remember that." Chen Mo nodded, but thought to himself: "The more they tell me not to inquire, the more problematic it is. "
Sister Zhao led him back to the secretary's office and pointed to the desk drawer: "These are the office supplies left by the previous secretary; you can use them first. By the way, there's a work manual in his drawer with some notes on it—take a look when you have time."
Chen Mo opened the drawer and indeed saw a work manual with a blue cover, along with a few fountain pens and an ink pad box. He flipped through the manual casually, which was densely filled with daily work processes. When he turned to the last page, he saw a line of scribbled handwriting: "Restoration Room, midnight, instrument sounds, enter with caution."
"It seems the previous secretary also noticed something was wrong." Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat. He calmly closed the manual and put it back in the drawer.
Sister Zhao explained a few more details, such as Zhou Hong's habit of drinking strong tea in the morning, smoking for half an hour in the afternoon, and preferring to sit by the window during meetings. Chen Mo noted them down one by one, thinking silently: "This curator has quite a lot of quirks—much harder to please than the bosses in modern companies."
Just as she was speaking, Zhou Hong walked into the secretary's office holding a stack of documents: "Chen Mo, sort out these documents, make three copies—one for filing, one for the Administration Department, and one for my meeting this afternoon. By the way, send a document to the door of the restoration room later. I need to answer a call and will pick it up when I get back."
"Okay, Curator." Chen Mo's heart skipped a beat—opportunity knocks! He pretended to be calm as he took the documents, watching Zhou Hong turn and leave, his palms already sweating.
He quickly sorted out the documents, made the copies, then picked up the document to be delivered and walked toward the restoration room. Along the way, his heart raced with both nervousness and excitement—he was finally going to explore the secrets of the restoration room up close.
The restoration room door was still tightly closed, and the sign "No Entry for Non-Staff" on it was particularly striking. Chen Mo stood at the door, glanced left and right—his colleagues in the office area were all busy at their posts, no one noticing him. He took out the spare key from his pocket, hesitated for a moment, then inserted it into the lock.
"Click"—the lock opened. Chen Mo took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open, just enough for a crack—he didn't dare push it fully open, fearing Zhou Hong might return suddenly.
Through the crack, the scene inside the restoration room came clearly into view. The room was not lit, only the screen of the instrument in the center glowed with a faint blue light, illuminating the surrounding area. The room was small, with shelves lined around the walls, stacked with various cultural relics and tools. The air was filled with a faint smell of anti-rust oil mixed with dust.
The most eye-catching thing was the instrument in the center, which looked like an oversized washing machine. Its metal case was covered with dense knobs and buttons, and the screen flickered with complex lines and data—looking like a molecular structure diagram of a cultural relic. It was somewhat similar to the high-tech scanning instruments Chen Mo had seen in modern documentaries, but with the crudeness of the 1980s.
"Is this the magic weapon Zhou Hong uses to make fakes? Why does it look so much like the old washing machine my grandma discarded?" Chen Mo thought to himself, his eyes not idle as he quickly scanned the shelves.
The shelves held several cultural relics identical to those in the exhibition hall: a Song Dynasty blue and white porcelain, a bronze sword, and a jade bi. Chen Mo narrowed his eyes and looked closely—sure enough, he saw a faint "Zhou" character mark at the bottom of the blue and white porcelain, carved extremely secretly, almost imperceptible if not examined carefully. The hilt of the bronze sword had the same mark, completely different from the genuine one he had seen in the exhibition hall before.
"Wow, these fakes are so realistic! Without this mark, even experts probably couldn't tell the difference." Chen Mo was secretly shocked, becoming more certain that Zhou Hong used this instrument to make fakes, replacing the genuine ones for smuggling.
He quickly took out his mini notepad, and by the blue light of the instrument screen, he quickly sketched the outline of the instrument and the distribution of the knobs, then noted down the characteristics of the fakes and the location of the marks. He wanted to take a photo, but his camera was in the office, so he had to rely on hand-drawing for now.
Just as he was engrossed in drawing, he suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor, getting closer and closer—it was Zhou Hong coming back!
Chen Mo was scared out of his wits. He quickly stuffed the notepad into his pocket, gently closed the door, pulled out the key, and pretended he had just arrived at the door, holding the document with an appropriately smiling face.
"Curator, I've placed the document at the door."
Zhou Hong walked up to him, took the document, and casually glanced at the restoration room door, then smelled Chen Mo's clothes: "Why do you smell like anti-rust oil?"
Chen Mo's heart tightened, his brain racing as he made up an excuse casually: "Maybe when I was copying the documents just now, I accidentally brushed against the tool rack at the warehouse door—there's anti-rust oil on it."
"Oh? Is that so?" Zhou Hong stared into his eyes, his gaze sharp as if judging whether he was telling the truth.
Chen Mo was nervous, but pretended to be calm, meeting Zhou Hong's gaze: "Yes, Curator. If you don't believe me, you can ask Master Zhang from the warehouse—he was oiling the tools yesterday."
He gambled that Zhou Hong wouldn't actually ask—after all, for such a trivial matter, there was no need for the curator to get to the bottom of it.
Sure enough, Zhou Hong looked at him for a few seconds, didn't ask further, nodded: "Alright, go back to work. Don't forget to remind me of the meeting at two o'clock this afternoon."
"Okay, Curator." Chen Mo breathed a sigh of relief, turned around, and walked away quickly, his back already soaked with sweat.
Back in the secretary's office, he sat on the chair, his heart still pounding. Those few minutes were more stressful than the year-end report in a modern company.
"That old fox Zhou Hong is so vigilant." Chen Mo took a sip of water to calm himself down, took out his notepad, and looked at the sketches of the instrument and the characteristics of the fakes, thinking secretly: "This is not enough. I need to find more direct evidence, such as the process of him replacing the cultural relics, or records of transactions with underground dealers."
In the following days, while familiarizing himself with the secretary's work, Chen Mo secretly observed Zhou Hong's movements. He found that Zhou Hong often went to the restoration room alone late at night, staying there for two or three hours each time. When he came out, he was always in a hurry, and sometimes he would let his confidant Lao Zhang come to pick up a black wooden box—no one knew what was inside.
Chen Mo also discovered that Zhou Hong paid special "attention" to several of the museum's treasure pieces, often staying alone in the exhibition hall for a long time under the pretext of inspecting the cultural relics. He guessed that Zhou Hong was taking the opportunity to scan the data of the genuine pieces to make fakes.
To collect evidence, Chen Mo specially borrowed an old-fashioned film camera from a colleague—the kind that required film and manual winding after each shot. It took him half a day to figure out how to use it, thinking to himself: "This thing is a hundred times harder to use than a modern smartphone. Taking a photo is like going to war."
He also secretly copied the museum's cultural relic access list and found that there were loopholes in the access records of several precious cultural relics. The accessor was Zhou Hong, and the reason for access was "restoration", but there were no return records. This further confirmed his guess—these cultural relics must have been replaced by Zhou Hong with fakes, and the genuine ones had already been smuggled out by him.
One afternoon, Zhou Hong asked Chen Mo to go to the warehouse to get a bronze sword, saying he was going to "restore" it at night. Chen Mo's heart moved—he knew the opportunity had come. After picking up the bronze sword, he deliberately made a tiny mark on the hilt—a thin scratch in an inconspicuous place with his fingernail.
"Zhou Hong, if you dare to replace this sword, I'll have evidence!" Chen Mo thought secretly.
That night, Zhou Hong really went to the restoration room and didn't come out until late at night. Chen Mo pretended to work overtime, waiting in the secretary's office the whole time. After seeing Zhou Hong leave, he quietly slipped into the exhibition hall, found the bronze sword, and looked closely—the mark on the hilt was gone!
"Sure enough, it was replaced!" Chen Mo was both shocked and angry. He picked up the camera, took several photos of this "fake" bronze sword, then took photos of the surrounding environment, recording the time and location of the replacement.
Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly heard footsteps at the entrance of the exhibition hall. Chen Mo was shocked, quickly hid behind a showcase, and held his breath.
The footsteps got closer and closer—it was Lao Zhang! He was holding a black wooden box, walked into the exhibition hall, and headed straight for the bronze sword. It seemed he had come to pick up the genuine one!
Chen Mo lay on the ground behind the showcase, his heart almost jumping out of his throat. He watched as Lao Zhang carefully took down the bronze sword, put it into the wooden box, then turned around and left. He wanted to follow, but was afraid of being discovered, so he could only watch helplessly as Lao Zhang left with the genuine sword.
"The cooked duck flew away!" Chen Mo was extremely frustrated, but there was nothing he could do. He had to go back to the secretary's office first.
The next morning, Chen Mo deliberately went to the exhibition hall to "inspect" the cultural relics, and said to Zhou Hong in front of everyone: "Curator, there seems to be something wrong with this bronze sword. It looks like something is missing from the hilt."
Zhou Hong was shocked, but pretended to be calm on the surface: "Oh? Is that so? Let me see." He picked up the bronze sword, looked carefully, and found nothing unusual. His gaze toward Chen Mo was filled with a hint of vigilance: "There's nothing wrong with it. Did you misread it?"
"Maybe I remembered it wrong." Chen Mo pretended to be embarrassed and smiled, thinking to himself: "You old fox, pretending to be ignorant. Wait until I collect enough evidence—then we'll see how you pretend!"
After this incident, Zhou Hong became even more vigilant of Chen Mo, often deliberately testing him. Once, Zhou Hong deliberately talked about cultural relic smuggling in the office, observing Chen Mo's reaction.
"Today's cultural relic dealers are getting more and more rampant, daring to steal national first-class cultural relics—they're really audacious." Zhou Hong took a sip of tea, saying casually.
Chen Mo's heart moved, and he followed his lead: "Yes, Curator. These cultural relic dealers are too abominable, destroying the country's cultural heritage—they should be severely punished. But speaking of which, how can they make such realistic fakes? Sometimes even experts can't tell the difference."
Zhou Hong looked at him, smiled: "You wouldn't understand. Technology is getting more and more advanced now, and some fakes can really pass for the real thing. But as long as you observe carefully, you can still find flaws."
"The Curator knows so much." Chen Mo pretended to be admiring, thinking to himself: "Of course you know—you're the biggest cultural relic dealer!"
Another time, seeing Chen Mo being valued by Zhou Hong, Xiao Li was jealous and deliberately spread rumors in the office, saying that Chen Mo "got promoted by flattering, and must have done something shady with the curator."
When Chen Mo heard this, he wasn't angry. Instead, he found Xiao Li and said with a smile: "Brother Li, you're so envious of me—why don't you flatter the curator too? But I'll remind you, flattering requires skill. For example, you need to know about cultural relics and be able to handle work, unlike some people who only know how to speak ill of others behind their backs."
Xiao Li was left tongue-tied, his face turning red with anger, unable to say a word for a long time. The colleagues around couldn't help laughing, and Xiao Li turned around and left in anger.
Chen Mo was secretly proud: "Playing office politics with me? You're still too young! I didn't watch all those modern workplace palace fight dramas for nothing."
When Sister Zhao saw this, she quietly said to Chen Mo: "Don't lower yourself to Xiao Li's level in the future. He's just petty and jealous. But you also need to be careful—someone like him might trip you up."
"I know, thank you, Sister Zhao." Chen Mo smiled: "I'll be careful."
He knew that although Xiao Li was annoying, he was just a small fry. The real danger was Zhou Hong. That old fox, seemingly elegant on the surface, was actually ruthless. Once he found out his true identity, he would definitely get rid of him by any means necessary.
To collect evidence as soon as possible, Chen Mo decided to take the risk of following Zhou Hong. That night, Zhou Hong asked Lao Zhang to pick up the wooden box again. Chen Mo pretended to get off work and quietly followed behind Lao Zhang.
Lao Zhang rode a 28-inch bicycle, heading toward the suburbs all the way. Chen Mo followed behind, not daring to get too close, only keeping a distance. The street lamps were dim at night, and there were few people on the road. Chen Mo felt a little scared—if he was discovered by Lao Zhang, the consequences would be unthinkable.
After riding for about half an hour, Lao Zhang came to a remote alley in the suburbs, stopped in front of an old wooden door, and knocked. The door opened, and a hunchbacked old craftsman stuck his head out, took the wooden box from Lao Zhang, and the two whispered a few words before Lao Zhang rode away.
Chen Mo hid behind a big tree at the alley entrance. After Lao Zhang left, he slowly approached the wooden door. He wanted to listen to the movement inside, but as soon as he walked to the door, he heard the old craftsman say: "That old bastard, making me make fakes again—he'll get his comeuppance sooner or later."
Chen Mo was overjoyed—it seemed the old craftsman was the fake maker hired by Zhou Hong! He was about to knock on the door when he suddenly heard footsteps inside, so he quickly hid behind a trash can nearby.
The old craftsman opened the door, saw no one outside, looked around in confusion, then closed the door again.
Chen Mo breathed a sigh of relief, thinking: "I need to find a chance to contact the old craftsman. Maybe I can get more evidence from him."
Back at his residence, Chen Mo took out the camera, removed the film, and put it away carefully. These photos were his most powerful evidence so far—he must keep them safe.
He lay on the bed, thinking about his recent discoveries, feeling both excited and nervous. He was getting closer and closer to the truth, but the danger was also increasing. Zhou Hong was very vigilant—he had to be more careful, otherwise once exposed, he wouldn't just be unable to return to the modern era; he might even lose his life.
Just as he was wandering in his thoughts, he suddenly heard a knock on the door. Chen Mo was shocked—who would come to him so late?
He walked to the door and asked softly: "Who is it?"
"It's me, Captain Wang." Captain Wang's voice came from outside the door.
Chen Mo breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door: "Captain Wang, what are you doing here so late?"
Captain Wang walked into the room, looked around, and said in a low voice: "Chen Mo, I know you're a smart person. There are some things you shouldn't ask, and some things you shouldn't meddle in. Curator Zhou is not someone you can afford to offend."
Chen Mo's heart moved—what did Captain Wang mean by this? Could it be that he also knew Zhou Hong's secret?
"Captain Wang, what do you mean by that?" Chen Mo pretended to be confused.
Captain Wang sighed: "I've worked in the museum for more than ten years—what haven't I seen? Curator Zhou has a treasure instrument that can make fakes and replace the genuine ones to sell for money. I'm being threatened by him with my family to keep watch for him. I advise you to resign and leave as soon as possible, don't get involved in these things, otherwise something will happen sooner or later."
Chen Mo was secretly shocked—he didn't expect Captain Wang to know so much. He quickly asked: "Captain Wang, do you know where his instrument is? How many fakes has he made?"
Captain Wang's face changed, and he shook his head: "Don't ask. I can't say too much. In short, take care of yourself." With that, he turned around and left.
Chen Mo watched Captain Wang's back, becoming more certain that Zhou Hong's conspiracy was more serious than he had imagined. Captain Wang's words also made him realize that his situation was becoming more and more dangerous.
But he didn't back down. He thought of his life in the modern era, the unfinished milk tea, and the national treasures smuggled by Zhou Hong. He couldn't give up like this—he had to expose Zhou Hong's conspiracy, protect the national treasures, and find his way back.
He clenched his fists, his eyes firm. Next, he needed to find the old craftsman, obtain more evidence, and then find a way to report Zhou Hong.
What he didn't expect was that the road to reporting would be more difficult than he imagined, and what he was about to face was Zhou Hong's more frantic counterattack...