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墨書 Inktalez
Lin Xiaofan felt a tightness in his throat. The father in the painting looked much younger than he remembered, but those eyes could never be mistaken—resolute yet gentle, gazing out at the world beyond the canvas.
Zhao Tianming's voice came from the television: "...special thanks to Teacher Zhou Guoan for this masterpiece. This painting was created in 1999, capturing the passionate era..." His fingers gently brushed the frame, "The miner brother depicted in this painting unfortunately passed away later; we will establish a special fund in his name..."
"Bullshit!" Old Zhou shouted on the other end of the phone, "That painting was stolen! It depicts your father reporting Zhao Tianming for embezzling compensation funds from the mining disaster!"
Lin Xiaofan's mind buzzed. Fragments of memory suddenly pieced together—the note his father had pressed into his hand before passing: "The evidence is in the painting..." He had thought his father was delirious at the time; now he realized it referred to Old Zhou's artwork!
"Teacher Zhou, what’s special about that painting?" Su Yuqing leaned closer to the microphone and asked.
"The paint..." Old Zhou's voice became muffled, as if someone were interfering with the call, "I used special paint... to write data on the miner's uniform..." The call abruptly cut off, leaving only a busy signal.
Lin Xiaofan and Su Yuqing exchanged glances. On the television, Zhao Tianming smiled at the camera, his fingers subtly covering the miner's chest area in the painting.
"We need to get that painting," Lin Xiaofan jumped up. "If what Old Zhou said is true..."
"That's too dangerous," Su Yuqing stopped him. "Zhao Tianming is clearly fishing for you to walk into a trap."
Suddenly, a new prompt appeared on Lin Xiaofan's system:
[Truth Mission Updated]
[Obtain Original of "Son of the Miner"]
[Reward: Lift All Penalties]
[Risk Warning: Extremely High]
Lin Xiaofan turned his phone toward Su Yuqing: "Looks like we have no choice."
Su Yuqing bit her lip, small indentations appearing on her pale skin. She suddenly turned and walked toward the wardrobe, dragging out a black backpack from the bottom. "I’ll go with you." She pulled out a camera with a long lens and two miniature listening devices. "These are just some old gadgets from my days as an investigative journalist."
Lin Xiaofan was taken aback: "Why are you helping me? After I confessed those things..."
Su Yuqing paused her movements, her gaze falling on scattered photographs. "Because that girl with the fertilizer bag wrote to say you were the kindest person she had ever met." She smiled bitterly, "Children don’t lie."
Outside, rain began to fall again, gently tapping against the glass. Lin Xiaofan’s phone lit up with a message from Zhang Hao: "Cousin, President Zhao is holding an appreciation event at a private gallery tomorrow night, only inviting VIPs. 'Son of the Miner' will be auctioned live, starting at 5 million."
A second message followed: "I overheard the secretary say there’s something in that painting."
Lin Xiaofan and Su Yuqing exchanged a knowing glance. A plan silently took shape—this would be a dangerous gamble, with stakes not only for their survival but also for the buried truth from twenty years ago.
[System Prompt]
[Trust Relationship Restored]
Lin Xiaofan turned off the notification, his gaze fixed on the paused image on the television. Zhao Tianming's hand rested on his father's chest in the painting, the emerald ring glinting coldly under the spotlight.
"We need to find someone who understands art," Su Yuqing mused. "Old Zhou is unreachable right now; we need to consult another expert."
Suddenly, Lin Xiaofan recalled someone—the bakery owner. During their last casual conversation, she had mentioned that her ex-husband was an art restorer...
The clock struck three in the morning, and the sound of rain outside grew heavier. In some corner of the city, Zhao Tianming might be standing before that painting, using a special light source to examine the secrets hidden beneath the paint. Lin Xiaofan knew that in twenty-four hours, an unavoidable confrontation awaited them.
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