Chapter 1: This Person Is Not Very Pleasing to the Eye.

When Henry Bennett returned from studying abroad, it was also midsummer. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed.

You can't stand still on the streets in midsummer; the heat and the noise mix together, making people irritable and restless. The Cultural Relics Bureau, on the other hand, was cool. The old, smoke-gray building was hidden under lush maple vines, its walls almost invisible, with only rows of square glass windows in sight.

The office air conditioner ran from morning till night. The female colleagues and the older ones couldn't stand the cold air; only the young men in their twenties sat comfortably in the seats facing the vent.

"Henry, I heard you want to go on a business trip to Fujian?" Mr. Stone suddenly asked. "Did you submit your application to Mr. Bolton?"

Mr. Stone was about to retire, the most senior and also the best at coasting along—otherwise, he wouldn't still be just a team leader at his age. He wasn't really curious; he just wanted to kill the last ten minutes before getting off work.

"I submitted it three days ago. Mr. Bolton still hasn't looked at it—probably can't see well."

The one answering was Henry Bennett, a young man who had just turned twenty. He'd been working at the bureau for over half a year, liked to be late but rarely left early. He spent more than he earned; his seat cushion had to be satin with flat embroidery, his pen holder had to be square with fish-egg patterns. His usual posture was lounging with long legs stretched out, brows relaxed, thinking about where to have fun after work.

Mr. Stone knew Henry Bennett and Mr. Bolton didn't get along and said, "Fujian is so far away. If you don't go, you don't go."

Henry Bennett nodded at the consolation and didn't comment further. He wanted to go, not out of love for work, but because there was a batch of marine relics in Fujian that interested him. He simply wanted to satisfy his own curiosity.

As soon as it was time to get off work, Henry Bennett grabbed his bag and left, riding a big crossbar bicycle, unhurried and relaxed, meandering his way home. The days were long in summer; by the time he got home, dinner hadn't started yet. Rather than listen to his mom nag, he'd rather waste time on the lively streets.

Halfway home, he turned the handlebars and sped up on Yingchun Avenue, the wind puffing up his shirt. He only stopped when he passed the entrance of an old, well-known restaurant in the city. Henry Bennett got off, bought some butter chicken wings, hung them on the handlebars, and as he left, he glanced slowly at the "Yu Xiao Ji" across the street.

The city's most particular old jade carving shop, always empty, yet not just one location—there were three in total.

Henry Bennett rode home with the aroma of chicken wings. As he entered Sha'er Street, he saw a figure from behind. The figure was graceful and slender, long hair covering butterfly bones, straight shoulders and legs, a white pleated skirt adding a touch of coolness to the hot summer day.

Henry Bennett rang his bell hard, darting up behind her like a ghost, shouting, "Whose pretty girl is this, standing out so much?"

The person turned around and pretended to hit him. "No manners all day long. I'll tell your mom."

"Oh, turns out it's my little aunt." One of Henry Bennett's greatest joys in life was teasing his mom's family—like how his grandparents had a daughter late in life, and a few years ago, after they both passed away, this little aunt, only three years older than him, was taken in and cared for by their family, just like a sister.

Grace Carter stepped over the threshold, helped him with his bag, and asked, "Bought food again on your way home? How's business at the shop?"

Henry Bennett wheeled his bike into the yard. "Same as always. I just took a look."

The Ding family had a craft passed down through generations—jade carving and stone engraving, the only ones in the city with such skills. "Yu Xiao Ji" had been open for several generations, closed during special times, and after many changes, there were still three shops left. The family rule set by their ancestors was to earn shares by skill—put simply, whoever was the best was the boss, all to ensure the craft would only improve, never decline.

Currently, the best was Henry Bennett's father—Edward Bennett; his uncle Colin Bennett was a bit less skilled.

Henry Bennett was the eldest son and grandson. Before he could walk, he was learning to hold a knife on his father's knee. His talent grew as fast as his height; though his height stopped, he always stood tall and never stooped. His talent reached its peak, and he completely forgot what "humility" meant. Moreover, at the most reckless age, Henry Bennett chose to study abroad, but didn't learn much and wasted a lot of money.

He unbuttoned his shirt as he entered the house, which was full of evidence of his squandered money: a white-glazed porcelain plate for eight-treasure candies, a double-dragon-ear bagua incense burner scented with perfume, and a pair of copper-gilt framed silk-painted figure mirrors on the nightstand.

After changing clothes and washing his face, Henry Bennett went to the main hall in the front yard for dinner. His ancestors had been extremely wealthy—big house, big courtyard, every room filled with jade and stone ornaments, silver dollars tossed around for fun, and even the jars for oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar were made of carved jade with dragon patterns.