Chapter Twenty: The Web of Mortal Ties, Arrival of a Beauty

Since the “Thunderstrike Needle” incident, the Lin family had become the sturdiest shield for Anhe Hall. Lin Zhennan had mobilized all his connections to shield me from most of the media’s harassment and the unnecessary “attention” from the authorities, granting me a rare chance to catch my breath.

That afternoon, just as I picked up Yiyi from school, a sleek red sports car glided silently to a stop at the entrance of Anhe Hall, utterly out of place amid the simplicity of this old street.

The car door opened and a woman stepped out.

She appeared to be about twenty-five or twenty-six, dressed in a perfectly tailored white dress. Though she wore no makeup, her face radiated a stunning, breathtaking beauty—not the kind that dazzles on the surface, but a luminous glow born of intellect and quiet confidence. Her eyes were clear and serene, as if they could see straight through to one’s soul.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Jiang Xiuyuan?” Her voice was like a mountain spring, clear and melodious.

I nodded, gently drawing Yiyi behind me.

“My name is Lin Qinghan,” she introduced herself with a gentle smile. “Lin Zhennan is my grandfather. I just returned from studying abroad, and I’m here on his behalf to offer you our family’s sincerest gratitude.”

So, she was Lin Zhennan’s granddaughter. I understood immediately.

“It was nothing, really. You needn’t mention it.” My reply, as always, was polite but distant.

Lin Qinghan didn’t seem bothered by my reserve. Her gaze drifted to my side, landing on Yiyi, who had peeked out curiously from behind me.

“You must be Yiyi? How adorable.” Lin Qinghan’s smile grew impossibly gentle as she crouched down to meet Yiyi at eye level. “I brought you a gift—would you like it?”

She retrieved a beautifully wrapped box from the car and opened it, revealing a complete set of top-quality children’s art supplies: paints, brushes, and even a sketchpad.

Yiyi’s eyes lit up at once, but she still looked up at me for approval.

I wanted to refuse, but when I saw the pure longing in my daughter’s eyes, the words caught in my throat. I couldn’t let my own principles deprive her of the right to accept kindness.

“Take it, and thank your sister,” I decided for her.

“Thank you, Sister Qinghan!” Yiyi accepted the gift happily.

“Mr. Jiang,” Lin Qinghan straightened, her gaze returning to me with a hint of curiosity in those beautiful eyes, “my grandfather told me you neither accept gold nor seek fame. I thought you might be interested in this instead.”

She handed me a simple sandalwood box.

When I opened it, my pupils contracted slightly.

Inside was no jewel or precious jade, but a scroll of yellowed bamboo slips. Though timeworn and incomplete, I recognized at a glance the small seal script carved upon them—the lost Pre-Qin medical classic, a surviving fragment of the Suwen: Discussion of Needling Methods.

For those with the knowledge, this artifact was worth far more than gold.

“My academic focus was archaeology and the restoration of ancient texts,” Lin Qinghan explained. “I acquired this bamboo slip by chance at an overseas auction. I believe that only in the hands of someone like you, Mr. Jiang, can its true value be revealed.”

This woman was frighteningly astute. She hadn’t tried to “buy” me with wealth, but had instead offered knowledge—something I could not refuse—as her key to the door.

This time, I did not turn it down.

“Thank you.” I accepted the bamboo slip. For the first time, I spoke these words to someone from the Lin family.

Lin Qinghan smiled—a smile as fresh as a lotus after rain. “Mr. Jiang, may I… come in and sit for a while? I’d also love to hear your insights about this bamboo slip.”

Looking into her sincere and open gaze, I found myself unable to refuse.

“Please, come in.”