Early in the morning, Mrs. Huntington and Nanny left the estate. Liyan’s long-awaited “estate treasure hunt” was finally about to begin.

　　“Do you remember which room Grandpa said this key was for?”

　　“I forgot a long time ago.”

　　“Was it a room on the second floor or the third floor?”

　　“I don’t remember.”

　　“Think harder.”

　　John shook his head.

　　“We have to open 92 doors,” Liyan said, exasperated. “You were really unreliable as a kid.”

　　“Isn’t it enough that I’m reliable now?”

　　They decided to start on the second floor, unlocking doors in a clockwise direction. The morning flew by, and the key couldn’t open any of the 44 doors on the second floor.

　　Liyan was a bit discouraged. “Are you sure this key is for the Huntington estate? It’s not for something else?”

　　John was certain. “Would Grandpa joke about something so serious with me?”

　　“Let me see if there’s any mark on this key,” Liyan said, taking the key from John’s hand. It had five faint letters on it. After examining it for a while, she finally made out “sinae.” “This isn’t English.”

　　“It’s Latin for ‘China,’” John said proudly. “Finally, something you didn’t know! Do you still want to continue the treasure hunt?”

　　Liyan, tired and hungry, nodded weakly.

　　They moved to the third floor, repeating the monotonous task. The doors seemed to test their patience, remaining firmly shut, and their sense of adventure was slowly being eroded by frustration.

　　Liyan suggested, “Let’s take a break and have Viara inform the chef to prepare a quick meal. We can continue the treasure hunt afterward.”

　　John disagreed. “Let’s try one more door. If it still doesn’t open, we’ll call it a day.”

　　They stood before a door on the north side of the third floor. It looked like any other door, but the room behind it seemed larger than usual. John inserted the key into the lock and turned it slightly. A crisp “click” sounded, and the door handle turned.

　　John and Liyan looked at each other, and Liyan nervously grabbed John’s hand.

　　“Here we go,” John said, slowly pushing the door open.

　　With a crash, peeling wall fragments and years of accumulated dust cascaded down, covering them and making them cough. Once the dust settled, Liyan could finally see the full expanse of the room. It was made up of three adjoining rooms with the walls in between removed, supported by four thick steel columns. The massive room housed over thirty towering oak shelves, filled with bronze wares, porcelain, pottery, scrolls, and stone Buddhas. Many of the Buddhas were just heads without bodies. The sheer quantity and variety of artifacts in this room could easily form a high-end medium-sized museum in any major city worldwide.

　　Liyan was stunned, standing there with her mouth agape, unable to move her feet. Her attention was entirely on the Buddha heads and bronze wares on the shelves, not noticing the several simple wooden boxes on the floor. Suddenly, she tripped and stumbled forward, almost falling before catching herself on the edge of a wooden box. The box she tripped over was filled with lacquerware, small bronze Buddhas, jade artifacts, and gold and silver coins. The box she steadied herself on was partially open, and through the gap in the lid, she saw a few Chinese characters. She doubted her eyes for a moment, but there was no mistaking the unique square-shaped characters of Chinese. To confirm her suspicion, she lifted the lid and took out a piece of lacquerware, discovering that the wrapping paper was indeed covered in simplified Chinese characters.

　　Liyan carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, gently shaking off the dust. This wasn’t just any wrapping paper; it was a yellowed old newspaper. She saw three prominent characters: "华商报" ("Hua Shang Bao"). Below that, in smaller print, was the date: December 3, 1985. In another wooden box, she found a copy of "河南日报" ("Henan Daily"), dated February 11, 1993.

　　John took the old newspaper from Liyan's hand. "It's all dusty. Don't look at it anymore, or you'll start coughing again."

　　He stepped over the wooden boxes and moved deeper into the room. Liyan, feeling a bit dazed, could vaguely make out his words: "Let's see what other treasures we can find."

　　They reached a row of shelves near the window, filled with stone reliefs. John picked up one to examine. The relief depicted an emperor, wearing a crown and ceremonial robes, moving slowly, surrounded by princes, eunuchs, and guards holding parasols, feather fans, and long swords. Another relief showed an empress with a lotus crown and robes, holding incense, followed by two noblewomen with lotus crowns and a group of palace maids. These two reliefs were originally one piece, split in half by a sharp tool. The emperor's relief had a dark stain on the front, as if it had been soaked in a thick dark liquid.

　　"Such a pity that this beautiful piece has been ruined," John said regretfully, pointing to the stain.

　　Liyan took the relief from John's hand. The "dark stain" mostly had a flowing pattern with some wiped traces. The stain had seeped into the stone, visible from the side. These exquisite stone reliefs were the missing "Emperor and Empress Worshiping Buddha" panels from the Longmen Grottoes in Luoyang, China, lost fifteen years ago.

　　Images of Huntington Manor's mysterious delivery trucks, old Tom's solemn vows, the suspicious housekeeper, anonymous auction consignments, deliberately damaged Buddha statues, and the tight-lipped manager Hopkins swirled in Liyan's mind. Overwhelmed, she fainted.

　　"Liyan, wake up."

　　Liyan opened her eyes and found herself lying on the bed in the bedroom, with John gently calling her. She struggled to sit up.

　　John helped her sit up and gestured to Viola to bring a glass of water.

　　"Are you feeling okay?" John asked.

　　"The air in that room was stifling. I couldn't breathe."

　　"You scared me to death! No more treasure hunts from now on," John said, still shaken. "Should we go to the hospital for a checkup?"

　　"It's just the bad air. I'm not unwell," Liyan said, noticing the setting sun and realizing it was already evening.

　　"Did you lock that room?" Liyan asked John.

　　“Locked. And you're still thinking about it,” John said.

　　“Please, don’t tell Mom about today,” Liyan pleaded with John, then turned to Viola, “And you, don’t tell Mrs. Huntington about any of this.”

　　“Of course not. If Mom found out, she'd blame us both,” John reassured her.

　　“I promise not to say a word,” Viola agreed.

　　Relieved by their promises, Liyan sighed deeply.

　　That night, Liyan dreamt of a girl walking along a stone path in the faint morning light. To her left was a quietly flowing river, and to her right, a steep cliff. After walking for a while, she saw someone lying face down on the ground, a large pool of blood around their head. The girl's hair was matted with blood. She wanted to wake the man because he was still warm. She thought that if she shook him hard enough, he would wake up. She shook and shouted, “Wake up! Wake up!”

　　John gently nudged Liyan. “Wake up.”

　　Liyan looked at John, dazed.

　　“Did you have a nightmare? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken you on that treasure hunt,” John said, half-joking to comfort her. “You’re not cursed, are you?”

　　John didn’t know it wasn’t a curse; it was fate.

　　When Liyan was twelve, her father had a business trip to Luoyang. As a key researcher at the Shanghai Museum, Shen Mingde was collaborating with colleagues from the Henan Provincial Museum on a project titled "The Representation of Ethnic Integration in the Longmen Grottoes."

　　“I want to go too,” Liyan asked tentatively.

　　“Daddy's going for work. You’d just be in the way,” her mother disagreed.

　　“Liyan will be good, Mom. Let her go,” her father said, pretending to be his daughter and pleading with her mother. “School will get really busy when she starts junior high. Let her relax this summer. There will be plenty of time for studying later.”

　　Liyan chimed in, “Daddy’s right. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

　　“You two are impossible,” her mother sighed, resigned.

　　Father and daughter took an overnight train to Luoyang.

　　In the mornings, Liyan did her homework at the Longmen Grottoes Research Institute. In the afternoons, she followed her father to the grottoes, watching them photograph, measure, label, sketch, and restore the statues. The largest Buddha in the grottoes had a plump, round face, crescent-shaped eyebrows, and serene eyes gazing down wisely and lovingly. Liyan loved to sit on a small stool at its feet and sketch it. The smallest statue, a few centimeters high, seemed to be smiling at her, as if it had grown out of the stone itself. Her father gave her a Seagull camera and taught her how to photograph the statues. Liyan learned quickly, mastering the technique after just a few shots. Soon, her photos were good enough to be used as reference materials, and everyone praised her for being such a helpful little assistant.

　　That week, it was her dad’s turn to be on duty, and when his colleagues returned to the city of Luoyang for the night, the two of them stayed behind. The Longmen Grottoes Research Institute had a few simple rooms that were humorously called a guesthouse but were really just a security room for the night shift workers. It was especially hot, and the cicadas were buzzing loudly in the trees. Liyan couldn't sleep because of the heat, so her dad sat at the edge of her bed, fanning her with a bamboo fan. Suddenly, they heard intermittent, clear tapping sounds coming from a distance. It seemed like her dad had a good idea of what it was. He told his daughter, “Liyan, I’m going out to check. Stay in the room, and promise me you won’t come out.”

　　“Okay, Dad, come back soon,” Liyan said, her eyes heavy with sleep.

　　Her dad took a flashlight and went out. She didn't know how much time had passed, but he hadn't returned. Succumbing to sleep, Liyan dozed off. When she woke up, it was early dawn, and her dad still wasn’t back. Gathering her courage, she ventured out in the dim light to find him. She walked along the Yi River until she reached the grottoes and found her father lying in a pool of blood. Nearby, there was a flashlight, broken stone fragments, and several small Buddha heads. She sobbed as she ran back to the “guesthouse” to call the police.

　　Later, all Liyan could remember was her mother constantly crying, and her father’s superior coming to console them: “If it weren't for Shen Mingde, the damage to the Longmen Grottoes would have been much worse.”

　　At that time in Henan, looting grottoes and tombs was a side job for many people. By day, they were farmers, toiling in the fields, but by night, they transformed into skilled tomb raiders. The culprits disappeared into the night, blending in with the masses, never to be caught.

　　Young Liyan became the daughter of a martyr, a title she despised. When classmates jokingly remarked that her scores on the entrance exams would be boosted by 20 points because of it, she snapped back fiercely, asking if they would like those 20 points instead.

　　In the six months following her father's death, his belongings remained untouched in their original places. Young Liyan grew quieter, no longer wanting to play with children her age during school holidays. She secluded herself at home, sitting quietly at her desk, looking at photos with her father and reading his books. Whenever her mother inadvertently moved any of her father’s belongings while cleaning—like a pair of glasses or a work notebook—Liyan would immediately point it out and insist that they be returned to their original spots.

　　To Liyan’s mother, these objects, once comforting, became unbearable. They felt like a heavy burden on her daughter, extending her grief. Worried that Liyan might never overcome this shadow, her mother took advantage of a trip Liyan made to her grandmother's house and resolutely disposed of most of her husband's belongings, even locking away the family photos.

　　When Liyan returned to a transformed room, she surprisingly showed no sadness or anger. It seemed she was already mentally prepared to accept the change (perhaps her grandmother had hinted at it?). She didn’t even ask where her father’s things had gone. Her mother’s elaborate comforting words went unsaid, as she believed Liyan understood her intentions and felt she had freed her daughter from the past.

　　A year later, young Liyan had a new stepfather who treated her as his own, but she always remained distant.

　　Grief is a river of flowing tears. Establishing herself in England, she thought she had reached the shores of happiness. But fate had other plans. The mysteries of Huntington Manor swallowed her like a giant wave, dragging her into a darker abyss. Liyan had thought those memories would fade with time. Fifteen years later, she unexpectedly reunited with the Empress Worshipping Buddha relief in a way she never imagined.