The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 144 You'd better really be in Japan right now.

@EatingMelon007: "Where are the people you organized, blogger? Didn't you say you were going to hold up signs at the scene? I've been waiting all morning, and I haven't seen a single one. Oh, and by the way, people like you only dare to shout online."

Zhao Zhiqiang's mind went blank for a moment: "What letter? What Sheng Haizhou? Who is Sheng Haizhou?"

He quickly scrolled down. Finally, he saw the comment that had been pushed to the top, along with a picture.

The picture showed a display board with an enlarged photograph of a letter and a few lines of explanatory text next to it. He zoomed in on the picture and squinted to read the contents of the letter.

The characters are elegant and fluent, but written in the Japanese style. Although some information is obscured, the content is still crystal clear, including the signature seal and the identity of the seal's owner.

"Katsu Kaishu, a naval magistrate of the late shogunate."

His fingers froze on the mouse. The letter was incomplete, containing a lot of information that had been obscured, thus blocking out a lot of important private information, such as who was supposed to receive it.

In other words, the ancestors of the actual owners behind those two artifacts. But judging from the appearance of these things and the fact that they are displayed here, it is highly unlikely that they are fake.

Moreover, judging from the meaning of this letter, the existence of this thing and the reason why the Japanese side stopped speaking out completely correspond to the meaning of the letter. The letter is very clear: this knife and this gun were given to us back then. And the person who gave them to us was clearly a big shot in the late Edo period of Japan.

In other words, not only does the official side not want to repay the debt, but it also has no obligation to follow anyone's opinion to do so. Logically speaking, there is no reason for it to repay the debt.

The comments below are still refreshing: @JinlingHuaigu: "It's hard to say whether that place in Japan is civilized or not now. In the early days, when important figures and nobles were still using Chinese characters extensively, it seems that there were indeed a few civilized people with some brains."

No matter how much you boast about your knowledge, your perspective is nowhere near that of an ancient scholar.

This belongs to the rationalists, and there are also the radicals:

@LingnanLaoGuang: "Why didn't your Japanese father say anything? Now you know, right? They themselves know that what belongs to others should be returned, but you, the dog, are still barking."

@Save20YearsOfDetours: "The blogger is silent now? Keep pondering? Keep reflecting?"

Zhao Zhiqiang looked at these contents, and one screenshot after another from different people, but with similar content. He kept scrolling down, but he couldn't scroll through them all.

The message keeps popping up, 999+, increasing every second.

There was nothing he could do. The level of attention was too much for him to ignore. And even if he wanted to argue back, what could he say?

Is the letter fake? Is the seal forged? Or does it reflect something about what's going on over there?

No matter how he wanted to respond, it couldn't stop the comments, one after another, relentlessly attacking him. The light from the computer screen shone on his face, making it appear deathly pale.

His phone vibrated on the table; someone had tagged him in the group chat.

But he was only startled because at the same time the tremor came, there was a sudden knock on the door of his rented room.

His gaze then fell upon a comment on the screen.

The blogger's name is no longer important; what matters is the content: "This blogger should really be in Japan right now."

At the entrance of the Guangdong Museum, Zhang Chang'an slowly walked forward with the flow of people.

The sun is shining brightly today, a rare sight in Guangdong, a sunny day that doesn't make you feel like you need thick flip-flops and shorts.

He squinted at the long queue in front of him; it was indeed incredibly long, stretching from the entrance all the way to the edge of the square, and after turning a corner, it stretched for dozens of meters further.

However, the scene was completely different from the noisy online discussions. Everything was orderly.

There were many college students carrying cameras, young people wearing Hanfu, and occasionally elderly people and children. The number of visitors was much larger than usual, but because of the good preparations in advance, the situation on site was well controlled by the police and the route arrangement.

The same pattern continued as the crowd slowly moved forward until the exhibition opened.

Of course, things inevitably get a bit chaotic after the first exhibit appears at the entrance.

Sheng Haizhou's letter, the original cover plate well protected by guards and the exhibition panel, enlarged photographs, clear digital text, very—

It quickly attracted the attention of the crowd.

There is also a small explanatory board next to it, which reads "Katsu Kaishu (1823-1899), an enlightened politician in the late Edo period, teacher of Sakamoto Ryoma, and a promoter of the bloodless surrender of Edo."

"Holy crap, this was written by someone from Japan!"

"Given it over a hundred years ago? Doesn't that mean it's returning the favor?"

"What? This is a gift for an individual? Which ancient person was so awesome as to go there and retrieve national treasures back in that era?"

"Take a picture, take a picture, take a picture quickly!"

In an instant, countless mobile phones and cameras were raised higher than people in the crowd, layer upon layer. Even the rare cameras with flashes made a continuous cacophony of sound, like a press conference.

The people behind were pushing and shoving, and those in front, though feeling uncomfortable from the jostling, were reluctant to leave. Their eyes were still fixed on the letter.

Standing at the back of the crowd, Zhang Chang'an quickly understood what was going on by taking a quick look with his excellent eyesight.

The crowd didn't swarm for long; the spacious venue, the large number of security guards deployed in advance, and the on-site control immediately took effect: "Don't push! Take your time! Everyone can see!"

"Relevant cultural relics and documents have been published on the official online account! You can view photos of the original documents online!"

"Don't push those in the back! Those in the front, move forward! The exhibition is free all day, and you can come back to see it later."

Watch your step! Don't step on it!

The security guards were sweating profusely, shouting and using their bodies to block the crowd. Although the crowd was still surging, it had at least started to move forward.

It can only be said that, being in China, despite the large population, they have a wealth of experience in dealing with overcrowding in places like scenic spots and exhibitions.

Zhang Chang'an also started walking in with the flow of people; he wasn't interested in the exhibition of letters.

After all, the family tree actually has control over these things that he has recovered. Once he enters the spacetime rift, he can summon these things at will, look at them for as long as he wants, and even handle and play with them.

After rounding a bend, the view suddenly opened up. Several people were already standing in the exhibition hall before the crowd entered.

Leading the group was Qin Zhengxue, who was wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit today, his hair neatly combed, giving him an even more scholarly air than usual.

Beside him stood Chen Jianping, still wearing a smiling expression. Next to him stood several people he didn't recognize; some wore executive jackets, others suits—clearly big shots.

Zhang Chang'an glanced at it and immediately became serious.

As Qin Zhengxue looked up, he saw him and exclaimed, "Mr. Zhang!"

The voice was as warm as if they were seeing a close relative. The group moved slightly and went to greet Zhang Chang'an, who was walking towards them.

Teacher Qin walked at the front, grasped Zhang Chang'an's hand, and shook it three times: "Here you are! Great!"

Chen Jianping laughed from the side: "Teacher Qin has been talking about it since six o'clock in the morning, asking when Mr. Zhang will arrive. We were still wondering if you had arrived yet and whether we needed to send a car over."

Another elderly gentleman with silver hair stepped forward and extended his hand: "Mr. Zhang, I've long admired your name. I'm from the State Administration of Cultural Heritage, my surname is Zhou, and I came all the way from Yanjing."

Zhang Chang'an immediately raised his hand to shake his: "Teacher Zhou, you're too kind. I just offered something."

"No, no, no." Old Zhou shook his head: "It's not just being polite. Besides the cultural relics, you also gave us some advice online. When it comes to media matters, you young people really know how to handle things."

Zhang Chang'an shook his head helplessly: "It's not that bad. I'm just giving you a general idea. The specific operations are still arranged by the higher-ups."

He knew exactly what Mr. Zhou was talking about.

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