Escorting the petrified Ye Rong back to the hotel, Chen Mo instructed Lin Lin and the others to prepare a calming decoction. Then, without delay, he turned on his heel and returned to the museum, striding directly into the curator's office.
Yet before he could utter a word, the elderly man slumped over his desk raised his head in a daze, his eyes bleary with drink. "Well?" he mumbled, "Did the antiques scare the wits out of you last night?"
"You knew already?" Chen Mo blinked in astonishment, swallowing the words he had prepared to say.
But on reflection, it made sense—if even the old guard was aware of such secrets, then naturally Director Li Yun would not be in the dark.
Yet that raised another question: if the museum was truly this bizarre, why had he never reported it?
"Report what? That our museum is haunted?" the old man scoffed, waving him off impatiently. He fished out another bottle of liquor, bit off the cap with his teeth, and continued, "If word got out, this place would be shut down in a heartbeat—and then where would we go to drink and dawdle the day away?"
Chen Mo was rendered speechless. Before he could gather his thoughts, the old man nonchalantly added, "Besides, things have been quiet for years. Well, except that one time decades ago when a terracotta warrior managed to escape."
"Escaped? A terracotta warrior?" Chen Mo blinked in confusion, a peculiar image of a statue sprinting down the street forming in his mind. The absurdity of it all struck him with a strange sense of déjà vu.
"That's right," the old man replied lazily, clearly knowing what Chen was imagining. "The incident was even picked up by the tabloids. Later, a director named Cheng was inspired to make a film—A Terra-Cotta Warrior."
"I'll be damned…" If not for the support of the table, Chen Mo might've collapsed. And yet, he truly did collapse—along with the table—when the old man added another line.
"Later, a foreign journalist came to interview me. I was drunk and babbled nonsense. Who would've thought, years later, they'd release Night at the Museum… Plagiarism! Not a single cent in royalties!"
Tears welled in Chen Mo's eyes. In that moment, he understood why last night's events so closely mirrored that film—it all stemmed from this old man's drunken ramblings.
But on second thought, perhaps it was a blessing. Had his words been taken seriously, the museum would have been dismantled brick by brick, with even the dirt sent to laboratories for analysis.
Still, one thing puzzled him—if this was such a closely guarded secret, why was the old man so willing to share it with him? Wasn't he worried about a leak?
"Because Xiaomu says you're trustworthy," the old man replied carelessly, scratching his head. "You know how keen her instincts are. If she says you're reliable… Well, now you know. What do you plan to do about it?"
What could he do? Even ignoring the mysterious jade shard, the mere two-thousand-a-month salary was tempting enough.
And with the promise of that legendary apartment looming in his mind, Chen Mo could only grit his teeth and nod. After all, he was already taking care of those four quirky appliances—what were a few more?
Seeing his assent, the old man didn't waste words. He tilted back the bottle and downed it in one gulp. "That's settled then. Speak to Mu Yun for the specifics. Now turn around…"
Without time to think, Chen Mo instinctively turned his head—only to be startled by the face mere inches from his own.
Mu Yun had appeared without a sound, her expression as blank as ever, silently watching him.
Pressing a hand to his chest, Chen Mo managed a bitter smile. "Officer Mu, could you maybe wear a bell or something when you walk?"
"I'll consider it," she replied flatly, gesturing for him to follow before gliding silently away. "The job is simple—just ensure the relics stay inside and don't wander off."
"I gathered as much. Guan San told me." Chen Mo sighed, glancing at the key at his waist. "But Mu Yun, you seem to know a lot about the museum. Don't tell me…"
"What, do I look like an exhibit to you?" she asked nonchalantly, as if reading his mind. "You probably don't know this, but none of the displays are allowed to leave the museum."
"Why not?" Chen Mo blinked, momentarily convinced that she couldn't possibly be an artifact.
"There is no why," Mu Yun said coolly, glancing at the museum doors. "Any relic that steps beyond these walls only has a single night to exist. Once touched by sunlight, it disintegrates."
"So I'm the gatekeeper now?" Chen Mo eyed the police tape at the door, gripping the key reflexively. "But I still don't understand. Why do the relics come to life? Guan San said it had something to do with…"
"Watch out!"
Before he could finish, Mu Yun's eyes sharpened. Without warning, she lunged at him.
He had no time to react. The next moment, he was knocked to the ground by her soft frame.
The sheer force of the collision sent them tumbling into a crevice beside the stone steps.
What followed was an exquisitely compromising position—Chen Mo, flat on his back, instinctively had his arm around Mu Yun's slender waist; and Mu Yun, with her long hair cascading down, straddled him in a position more fitting for passion than peril.
To make matters worse, her thin uniform skirt had torn slightly, exposing a sliver of porcelain skin.
The near-bare contact triggered an involuntary masculine response—precisely where their bodies were joined…
Silence. An eerie, breathless, and tantalizing silence.
In broad daylight, hundreds of eyes bore witness. Mouths agape, throats swallowed in unison.
A tour guide was in the middle of a speech, enthusiastically gesturing. "Ladies and gentlemen, though our Southern City Museum may be modest in size, our sculptures are famous for their emotional intensity—uh…"
He froze mid-sentence, amplifier slipping from his grasp.
Dozens of tourists exchanged looks, then almost simultaneously gave a collective thumbs-up. "You're right, Guide Li. Quite… passionate indeed."
Tears brimmed in the tour guide's eyes. The crowd teared up. Even Chen Mo, caught in this unseemly embrace, found tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.
Looking at Mu Yun astride him, he awkwardly withdrew his arms and muttered, "Miss, would you mind… choosing a different pose? If Rong-jie saw this…"
"I already did."
A chilling voice cut through the air. A burst of murderous aura swept the scene, scattering the crowd like startled birds.
With a weary gaze, Chen Mo turned to see Ye Rong striding over, her face dark with fury. The lunchbox in her hand creaked ominously, as though ready to shatter in her grip.
"I knew this would happen," Chen Mo muttered, sighing as he glanced at the luck ring on his hand. Then, suddenly flashing a grin, he said, "Rong-jie, you're just in time! Actually, we were discussing yoga—slimming techniques and all…"
"And?" Ye Rong's voice trembled with rage, her fingers twitching as if calling forth Guan Yu himself.
"And we had a disagreement about one of the poses. Neither of us would yield," Chen Mo replied earnestly, blinking innocently. "So, to discover the truth through practice, Officer Mu suggested an on-the-spot demonstration…"
"Excellent. Splendid." Ye Rong's furious gaze turned eerily calm as a smile crept across her lips.
"Dear little Mo-Mo," she cooed as she rolled up her sleeves, "I too know yoga. A style infused with the Bone-Melting Palm and the Nine Yin White Bone Claw. Would you like to practice with me?"
"Not at the moment!" Chen Mo shook his head vigorously, replying with utmost seriousness. "Too much at once is hard to digest. I've learned plenty today—time to retreat and reflect. Farewell!"
Seconds later, the man who could barely jog without panting suddenly moved like a man possessed—leaving behind a cloud of dust and a shrieking war goddess in hot pursuit.
In the stunned silence that followed, the tourists exchanged looks again, before sighing in unison. "So this is what a match made in Jianghu looks like—truly enviable."
Yet amidst the uproar, Mu Yun alone stood still, gazing solemnly toward the southeast.
At the same moment, the faint glint of a scope flickered atop a distant rooftop. A blond sniper exhaled quietly, lowering his rifle.
Moments later, he vanished into the stairwell, sliding into a sleek black car without hesitation.
"Didn't get him, did you?" Thomas asked lazily, swirling a glass of wine and lighting a cigar. "Ah well. I was hoping to injure the guard and slip in our own man. But… if he's that dim, keeping him alive might be more useful."
"Yes, sir." The sniper, Yank, gave a slight nod, grateful to have escaped punishment. "I had him in my sights. If not for that female officer… She's strange. Almost like a clairvoyant—maybe even gifted."
"I know," Thomas said, frowning slightly as he sipped his wine. Then, with a wave of his hand, he added, "But we don't have time for distractions. Yank, I don't want to see a second failure. At the gathering in a few days, I want the target eliminated—from 1,500 meters. Can you do it?"
"Of course." Stroking his left eye, which burned faintly with a crimson glow, Yank smirked. "Sir, I'll turn South City into such chaos, even the police won't find time to sleep."