Eunuch King's sinister grin faded a little, his expression turning suspicious. Just as Quentin Bennett was about to be dragged away, he suddenly shouted, "Wait."

　　Although these lackeys of the eunuchs were unmoved by Quentin Bennett's pleas for mercy, they treated Eunuch King's words as an imperial edict and immediately stopped what they were doing.

　　"Bring him back!" Eunuch King's eyes narrowed, his face unspeakably terrifying.

　　Quentin Bennett was brought back into the hall and let out a sigh of relief. Luckily, he had sensed something odd about this calligraphy, or else even if he didn't die today, he would have been skinned alive.

　　"What did you just say? You said this calligraphy is a fake?"

　　Quentin Bennett took a few deep breaths and said, "That's right, it is indeed a fake. If you don't believe me, you can have someone examine it."

　　Eunuch King sneered, "Are you just grasping at straws, trying to deceive me on purpose?"

　　This was a deliberate test. Quentin Bennett quickly replied, "How would I dare deceive you? If I say even one wrong word, I am willing to accept punishment."

　　Eunuch King's expression grew even more grave. He pondered for a moment, then waved at the guards, "You all, leave."

　　The guards filed out one after another.

　　Only Eunuch King and Quentin Bennett were left in the hall.

　　Quentin Bennett thought to himself, it's just a matter of a fake calligraphy, but Eunuch King is being way too nervous. This only confirmed Quentin Bennett's suspicion: this calligraphy was closely tied to Eunuch King, and if word got out, Eunuch King would be affected.

　　Thinking of this, Quentin Bennett felt a surge of hope—he might be saved.

　　Eunuch King looked at Quentin Bennett cautiously and asked, "How did you tell this calligraphy is a fake?"

　　Quentin Bennett replied, "Actually, it's quite simple. Under the candlelight in the hall, this calligraphy clearly casts a shadow."

　　"Hmm?" Eunuch King had no idea that in his previous life, Quentin Bennett had seen more genuine and fake artifacts in museums than Eunuch King had crossed bridges. There were countless ways to identify antiques in later generations, and to Quentin Bennett, fakes from this era were child's play.

　　"Go on," Eunuch King's face grew more and more serious. He even got up from his seat, went to close an open window, then turned around with his hands behind his back to scrutinize Quentin Bennett again. "If you can't give a good reason, I'll have your life."

　　"Dead eunuch, can't you come up with a new line? Always threatening to kill—can't you be a bit more refined?" Quentin Bennett grumbled inwardly, but didn't dare keep him in suspense. He said firmly, "How would I dare deceive you, sir? In fact, it's very hard to distinguish between a genuine piece and a fake unless you look closely. The reason I am certain this is a fake is because of the shadow under the lamp. Sir, most fakes are copies. Since they're copied, the ink tends to build up. That is, the ink on a fake is much thicker and denser than on a genuine piece, especially with running script. Most people write running script in one go, with a single flourish, without hesitation. That's the biggest difference between a genuine work and a copy."

　　Eunuch King's eyes flashed, and he couldn't help but nod. After all, he was a eunuch who had read some books and knew a little about such things. Quentin Bennett didn't seem to be lying. Most people write running script without pausing, usually in one continuous motion, so there's only one layer of ink on the characters. But fakes are different—they require repeated outlining, sometimes even going back to revise, so the ink is often much thicker and denser than the original. This theory sounded novel, but on reflection, it made sense.

　　Quentin Bennett continued, "If you look from a distance, you can't tell the difference between a genuine piece and a fake. But under the lamp, an expert can spot the clues. Because the genuine piece doesn't use much ink, once the ink dries, there aren't many shadows under the light. But with a fake, since the ink is thicker and denser, even after it dries, the shadows are often clearer than on the original. Sir, look at this calligraphy—the ink is so heavy, it must be a copy. If you don't believe me, take it down and see for yourself."

　　At this point, Eunuch King was in a dilemma. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Fine, you take it down."

　　"Me?" Quentin Bennett cursed inwardly. You have so many lackeys in your residence, but you want me to take it down? Why don't you do it yourself?

　　But then Quentin Bennett quickly understood.

　　Just now, Eunuch King had dismissed everyone, which meant this calligraphy was very important. If it really had been swapped, Eunuch King didn't want more people to know. But for him to take it down himself would be beneath his dignity. Besides, with Quentin Bennett right there, who knew if Quentin Bennett might try something.

　　So he had Quentin Bennett take down the calligraphy—both as a precaution and to save himself the trouble.

　　Quentin Bennett had no choice but to obey. Right now, he was the fish on the chopping block, and Eunuch King was the knife. Quentin Bennett wasn't afraid of verbal sparring, but he was afraid of the knife.

　　So Quentin Bennett obediently fetched a stool, placed it on the table against the wall, climbed up, took down the calligraphy, spread it out on the table, examined it carefully for a while, and then tore off the outer layer of mounting paper. Seeing this, Eunuch King shouted angrily, "You dare tear the... my calligraphy before verifying if it's real or fake?"

　　He almost let something slip, but quickly covered it up by saying "my calligraphy."

Chapter Four: Braving Fire and Water