A 200 Yuan Xuande Censer

Huo Xuan kept a poker face as he approached. X-ray vision revealed the iron censer's hollow interior—a bronze censer nested within, the gap stuffed with paraffin wax.

Forging this decoy took serious effort, he mused. Whatever's inside must be valuable—even if it's not Xuande era.

"Dude," he tapped the iron lump. "What's the scrap metal rate per kilo?"

The vendor clutched his chest dramatically. "Dude, you buying cabbage here? This here's genuine antique!"

"Cut the crap, boss. We both know what's real here." Huo Xuan crossed his arms. "Name your price—but overcharge me and I'll just carve one from granite."

The vendor cursed his luck. This eyesore had gathered dust for eight months—originally bought for 100 yuan from some village hoarder.

"Five hundred," the vendor ventured weakly.

Huo Xuan pivoted sharply. "Wait! Four hundred!" the vendor yelped.

"Two hundred. Take it or watch me leave."

The vendor gnashed his teeth. 100 percent profit's better than nothing. "Fine! Consider it charity since I haven't sold squat today."

Grinning like a lottery winner, Huo Xuan tossed two crumpled bills and scooped up his prize. "Professor! Scored a treasure!" he announced, bouncing over with the clanking metal.

Professor Guo glanced up from a jade pendant. "How much lightened your wallet?"

"Two Hundred," Huo Xuan beamed.

"Smart move." The professor deadpanned. "With steel prices rising, you'll break even in a few years."

Nearby stallholders snickered. Huo Xuan chuckled along, clutching his iron baby tighter.

The professor's smile faded. "Getting scammed here builds character. Each mistake hones your eye."

Huo Xuan nodded repeatedly. "Professor Guo, let me ask a question—how much is a Xuande censer worth?"

Guo Lan walked over, hearing this. She shook her head and sighed deliberately: "Vulgar, utterly vulgar. How can you ask such a question in front of an archaeologist?"

Professor Guo glared at his daughter, then told Huo Xuan: "Authentic Xuande censers are extremely rare. Exquisitely crafted, Emperor Xuande only had three thousand made. Today, only a few pieces in the Palace Museum and two in the British Museum are considered genuine by some. The rest have vanished without trace."

"Counterfeits emerged as early as the Ming and Qing dynasties, in great quantities. Even these replicas can fetch seven to eight hundred thousand. Later imitations became even more numerous—Republican era, modern times, all varieties. Look around any antique street—every shop displays several 'Xuande censers', but they're all fakes."

"As for genuine Xuande censers, they're priceless national treasures—no one would sell them. Even if someone produced a true Xuande-era censer, no one in the world could definitively authenticate it."

Huo Xuan grew anxious: "What? So there's no way to verify authenticity?" His plans to profit from the object in his arms crumbled.

Professor Guo looked at him with a half-smile: "Why? From your expression, could you be holding a real Xuande censer?"

The latter let out a dry chuckle, naturally refusing to disclose anything in public.

Professor Guo then explained in detail: "When Emperor Xuande of the Ming Dynasty commissioned censers, he ordered imperial artisans to reference styles from the palace's collection—Chai, Ru, Guan, Ge, Jun, and Ding kiln porcelains—along with historical records like the Kaogu Tu, to design and supervise production."

"To ensure quality, craftsmen selected dozens of precious metals including gold and silver, subjecting them to over a dozen meticulous casting processes with red copper. The finished bronze censers had a crystalline, warm luster, becoming such cherished artifacts that 'Xuande censer' became synonymous with bronze censers for centuries."

"However, only three thousand were cast in the third year of Xuande, with no further production. These were kept deep within the imperial palace, known to commoners only by name. After centuries of turmoil, genuine Xuande-era bronze censers have become exceedingly rare."

"From the Xuande era to the Republican period, antique dealers continuously counterfeited Xuande censers for huge profits. Even after official production ceased, some officials who had overseen casting gathered original artisans to replicate the censers using original blueprints and techniques. These carefully crafted imitations rival genuine pieces, leaving even experts unable to distinguish them. To this day, none of the Xuande censers in major domestic museums have been unanimously authenticated by appraisers. Identifying true Xuande censers remains one of Chinese archaeology's unsolved mysteries."

Huo Xuan said with a bitter laugh: "So even a genuine Xuande-era piece might not fetch top dollar?"

Professor Guo stroked his beard. "Ming Dynasty replicas have sold for 28 million in Hong Kong auctions. Craftsmanship matters more than age sometimes."

Huo Xuan nodded silently. If a mere 28 million RMB was the ceiling, there was no rush to sell the iron mass cradled in his jacket—this grime-caked lump might just be a bonafide Xuande-era bronze censer.

When the professor purchased a bronze mirror, Huo Xuan whispered urgently: "We need to go home. Now."

The old archaeologist's eyebrows shot up but he simply nodded. "Lanlan, start the car."

"We just got here!" Guo Lan griped from the driver's seat. "What's the emergency? Found a time-sensitive treasure?"

"You'll see." Huo Xuan's grave tone silenced further questions, though the professor's fingers drummed impatiently on his knee.

Back at home, Guo Lan slammed her purse down. "Out with it! Did you find the Lost Ark?"

The professor leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "That look means you've unearthed something extraordinary."

Huo Xuan set the iron lump on the tea table with a clang. "Might be worthless even if authentic."

"Xuande censer?" The professor's voice cracked. His magnifying glass already hovered over the corroded surface.

Huo Xuan nodded, dead serious. "Meet my 200-yuan investment."

Guo Lan's teacup froze mid-sip.

Oolong tea sprayed across the rosewood table as she burst out laughing. "You dragged us home for this scrap metal?!"

Even the professor chuckled, poking the rusted mass with his pen. "A fine joke, lad. Now where's the real find?"

Huo Xuan simply crossed his arms. "Got an angle grinder?"

The father-daughter duo, initially dismissing Huo Xuan's antics, now buzzed with anticipation. Professor Guo led him to a workshop cluttered with archaeology tools, gesturing to an angle grinder: "This slices ceramics—steel's no problem. What's the plan?"

Huo Xuan tested the machine's weight, then clamped the iron censer with vise grips. Sparks erupted as the blade bit into metal.

Guo Lan's nails dug into her palms. The professor's magnifying glass trembled. Both leaned closer as the grinding wheel inched toward the hollow chamber.

Clang!

A severed ear of the censer hit the floor, paraffin wax oozing from its hollow core like molten amber.

"Wax seals?" The professor's voice cracked. "Nested artifacts—Xiao Huo, you might've struck archaeological gold!"

Huo Xuan smirked silently, his X-ray guided cuts avoiding the bronze core. Thirty minutes later: a chrysalis of wax revealed curvaceous bronze contours.

The professor scraped wax with dental tools, bathed the relic in gasoline, then subjected it to acetone baths. Final polish came from soft cotton pads and silk threads reserved for Ming porcelain.

Bronze emerged with an amber glow—russet undertones shimmering beneath velvety patina. Intricate lotus motifs circled its belly, every chased line crisp as the day it left the imperial forge.

"Even if not Xuande's personal commission..." The professor's voice quivered, fingertips tracing dragon patterns, "this is a Ministry of Works masterpiece from the imperial foundry."

Guo Lan stared at the censer's aurora-like luster. "I didn't know metal could... sing."

The professor's eyes glistened. "To share such a find—this is a scholar's ultimate trust."

Huo Xuan shrugged. "Could be fancy scrap metal. Need your old fox eyes on this."

"Truth is," Professor Guo adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, "no one alive has laid eyes on a verified Xuande-era bronze censer. But if you'll trust this old academic, I'll summon Capital's top-tier bronze authentication squad—we'll conduct a joint evaluation with infrared spectrometers and Ming Dynasty casting manuals."

The professor's fingers trembled around his tea cup. For a career archaeologist, the chance to study a legendary artifact was the ultimate career climax—he'd trade ten years of his life for this moment.

Huo Xuan tossed the bronze censer onto the workbench like a used soda can. "No sweat. Keep it here—just ping me when your crew cracks the code."