-The Lost Scholar

Lex led the way to the third floor, pushing open the glass-paneled doors to the sunroom. The warm afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the delicately arranged space.

Jonathan stepped in behind him, still clutching his notes—until he saw the walls.

Then, without warning—

He staggered back, caught the edge of a chair, and promptly collapsed into it.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Aw, hell. Not again."

Noah, already adjusting his camera, smirked. "At this rate, we're gonna need a medic on standby for this guy."

Jonathan's hands were gripping the arms of the chair, his breathing uneven as he stared—wide-eyed—at the massive calligraphy scrolls lining the sunroom walls.

Bold. Timeless. Perfectly preserved.

Lex followed his gaze, taking in the pieces that had always been there, yet somehow never truly examined. Then, he spotted the seal in the lower corner of the largest scroll—a symbol burned into his memory since childhood.

His eyes darkened slightly.

"Oh. Great-grandfather."

Jason blinked. "Wait—your great-grandpa did these?"

Jonathan was still in shock. "Lex… do you understand what you're saying?"

Lex raised an eyebrow. "That my great-grandfather was apparently a scholar and calligrapher? Yeah, I got that."

Jonathan shook his head, his voice nearly breathless. "Lex, these are works by Lei Yongzhi."

Jason frowned. "Okay… and?"

Jonathan turned to him, half in disbelief. "Lei Yongzhi was one of the most renowned literary scholars of the late Qing Dynasty. His calligraphy wasn't just admired—it was historically significant."

Noah whistled. "So, what, we just stumbled onto another hidden fortune?"

Jonathan let out a shaky breath. "Noah… if authenticated, these wouldn't just be valuable. They would be priceless."

Lex took a slow step forward, his gaze lingering on the elegant brushstrokes that covered the sunroom walls.

A memory flickered—his grandmother sitting by this very window, tracing the same strokes with her own brush, whispering stories of her father.

Slowly, Lex reached into his wallet, pulling out an old, slightly faded photograph. He flipped it onto the table, letting it land softly in front of Jonathan.

The image showed four people sitting together in the sunroom.

Mei Lei Maddox, young but already carrying the sharp, intelligent gaze of a master. Lei Yongzhi, her father, an older but elegant man, his brush poised mid-stroke, a quiet authority in his posture. Lian Mei Latham, Lex's mother, seated beside them, watching with quiet amusement. And finally, a baby Lex, barely a year old, perched on his grandmother's lap, gripping a tiny brush in his chubby fingers.

Jonathan's hand trembled slightly as he picked up the photo, staring at it as if it had just rewritten history.

Jason leaned over. "Damn. Look at baby Latham. Already scheming."

Lex smirked but didn't look away from the walls of calligraphy. "You know, I think very few people knew Grandma and Great-Grandfather were related. She took her mother's last name after he remarried."

Jonathan snapped his head up. "Wait—what?"

Lex nodded. "He got famous after she married my grandfather. But at the time, people weren't exactly welcoming to the idea of a renowned scholar's daughter marrying a foreign businessman."

Jonathan's lips parted slightly. "So she kept her distance?"

Lex smirked. "Smart, wasn't she?"

Jonathan exhaled sharply, staring at the scrolls on the wall again. "Lex, do you understand what this means?"

Lex tilted his head. "Enlighten me."

Jonathan rubbed his temple. "It means your grandmother and great-grandfather didn't just preserve art—they hid an entire historical legacy in this house. And no one ever knew."

Lex moved toward the far end of the sunroom, where a long wooden chest sat beneath the window. He knelt, brushing a thin layer of dust from the brass latch, before carefully pulling it open.

Jonathan, Jason, and Noah watched in silence, waiting.

Inside, wrapped in silk fabric, was a single scroll—larger than the others, thicker, heavier. Lex unrolled it slowly, laying it flat on the mahogany table in the center of the room.

The ink hadn't faded at all.

The composition was seamless—three distinct styles, yet perfectly woven together.

The base work—strong, structured strokes, deeply rooted in tradition. The unmistakable hand of Lei Yongzhi, 91 years old at the time. The movement—flowing, effortless, filled with emotion. The elegance of Mei Lei, 74, in her prime. The final touch—bold yet uncertain, a child's pure instinct meeting raw talent. The ink strokes of a three-year-old Lex.

Jonathan exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against the table.

Lex wasn't done. He reached into the chest again and pulled out a small, faded photograph. He set it gently beside the painting.

In the photo:

A frail but smiling Lei Yongzhi sat with a young Mei Lei at his side, guiding the tiny hands of a three-year-old Lex as he clutched a calligraphy brush. Their hands were stacked together, the ink still wet on the canvas before them.

Jason let out a low whistle. "Man. That's—that's something else."

Jonathan's voice was tight, disbelieving. "Lex… this is… this is beyond rare. This isn't just a painting." He swallowed. "This is a historical event captured in ink."

Lex smirked slightly, but his eyes lingered on the painting.

"I think it's time," he murmured. "Three painters together. This one goes to market."

Jonathan's head snapped up. "You're selling this?"

Lex's black eyes gleamed. "One piece. Just one."

He exhaled slowly. "Let's see who really wants it."

Jonathan barely had time to process what Lex had just said before his phone exploded with notifications.

The first buzz was followed by another. Then another. Then a full-on digital assault.

He pulled it out, glanced at the screen—then let out a low curse.

Jason, seeing his reaction, smirked. "Let me guess. People want a piece of Latham's homework."

Jonathan rubbed his temple. "That's an understatement." He scrolled through his messages, his voice growing more strained with each name he read aloud.

"Christie's. Sotheby's. Two private Hong Kong collectors. The Chinese embassy just sent an inquiry."

Jonathan stared at his phone, his mind racing. The calls, the messages, the sheer frenzy happening in real-time—it was already madness.

But Lex?

Lex was watching it all with amusement, like a man who had just tipped over the first domino and was waiting for the cascade.

Jonathan exhaled sharply. "Alright. Screw it."

He lifted his phone, snapped a high-resolution shot of the painting and the old photograph beside it, and with precise, deliberate movements, he crafted a post.

No caption. No explanation. Just an image.

Then, he hit upload.

Jason, watching over his shoulder, smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Noah, adjusting his camera rig, chuckled. "How long do you think before people lose their minds?"

Lex checked his watch. "Ten minutes."

Jason grinned. "You're betting on that?"

Lex smirked. "I don't bet. I know."

And sure enough—

Within two minutes, the post had 1,000 shares.

By the five-minute mark, it was all over private collectors' circles.

By eight minutes, museum curators were commenting in confusion and excitement.