in a sense, although Director Li Yun had officially hired only Chen Mo, it was tantamount to recruiting an entire team of security guards for the museum.
Indeed, when Chen Mo first took up his night shift duties, Ye Rong unexpectedly showed up with Pighead Three in tow to "support" him—not to mention the four concealed, sentient electrical appliances lurking in the shadows.
What should have been a solemn patrol duty had now devolved into a jovial picnic gathering—and not just any picnic, but a full-fledged DIY barbecue.
"Come on, isn't this a bit much?" Chen Mo blinked incredulously at Ye Rong, who was setting up a makeshift grill amid priceless artifacts. "Sister Rong, let me be clear! If you burn this place down, you'd have to sell your house, your land, your body, and your talents—and it still wouldn't be enough to pay for the damage!"
"Relax! I've taken all necessary precautions!" Ye Rong cheerfully basted chicken wings while proudly gesturing to the fire extinguisher at her feet.
While Chen Mo looked on with tears in his eyes, Pighead Three was bouncing around excitedly, drooling and mumbling, "Eh? Why only chicken wings? I'd rather have pig liver…"
"Damn it!" Chen Mo rolled his eyes in exasperation. It finally dawned on him—none of the creatures around him were remotely normal.
Ye Rong treating a patrol shift like a vacation was one thing, but a pig demon craving pork? Ridiculous. Tomorrow, he resolved, that guy was going to be punished by copying the phrase "Beans are boiled by the beanstalk's flame" a hundred times.
Shaking his head in defeat, Chen Mo muttered as he switched on his flashlight, deciding to patrol the museum properly.
Yet he had barely taken a few steps when an ominous chill crept up his spine. Whipping around, he saw—
Sure enough! Ye Rong had stuck incense sticks into the Terracotta Army exhibit and was solemnly clasping her hands in prayer, murmuring something incomprehensible.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Chen Mo glanced from the statues' solemn faces to Ye Rong's pious expression and sighed, "Sister Rong, these aren't deities. Are you sure you're not worshipping the wrong figures?"
"What does it matter? More prayers can't hurt!" Ye Rong blinked innocently, still bowing reverently. "But wait—aren't they semi-divine? Didn't the history books say Qin Shi Huang sent them to seek the elixir of immortality?"
"Ugh…" Chen Mo was once again on the verge of tears. But explaining history to someone this clueless was hopeless, so he simply rolled his eyes and walked past the exhibit.
Holding a patrol manual he'd received from the old director that morning, Chen Mo swept his flashlight down the museum's labyrinthine halls. His crisp footsteps echoed faintly into the night…
"This job seems pretty chill, boss!" Having slipped away from Ye Rong's line of sight, the four miniaturized appliances finally reappeared.
Chen Mo nodded in agreement. "Chill, yes—but also kind of creepy, don't you think?"
Truth be told, it was a little eerie—anyone who's walked past a lifelike statue or stuffed animal knows the sensation: that fleeting, skin-crawling suspicion that it might suddenly spring to life.
Technically, this was a quirk unique to humans—a primal instinct. Like how portrait paintings seem to stare at you no matter where you stand.
"Forget it, let's not scare ourselves. Let's finish the round quickly—huh?" Chen Mo halted as he passed the art exhibition area, an odd expression settling on his face.
He shone his flashlight back behind him. Something felt… off. But everything appeared normal. "Wait a minute. Don't you guys feel like something's missing?"
"Missing?" The appliances glanced around, scanning the calligraphy, antiques, and scrolls displayed on the walls. Benben even pulled up the museum's collection records.
"Nope, everything's here," said Cheche after a circuit around the room. "Thirty-six paintings, twenty-seven artifacts, thirty-one jade carvings—wait, what the—"
He suddenly skidded to a halt, engine sputtering like it'd hit a pothole.
At the same moment, everyone's gaze locked on the famous Riverside Scene at Qingming Festival—and they collectively gaped in utter disbelief.
Unthinkable! Though the painting's landscapes, architecture, and seals remained intact, every single Song dynasty figure had vanished—without a trace.
The streets on the scroll were now strewn with overturned furniture and scattered debris, as if the Song era had never heard of public sanitation.
"How is this possible?" Chen Mo's mind flooded with questions, nearly dropping his flashlight. "Can anyone explain this?"
If someone had tampered with the scroll, there would be tears or gouges in the fabric—but no, the artwork was immaculate, as though it had always been this way.
"Boss! I've got it!" In the heavy silence, Nuonuo's screen flashed excitedly as it stared at the chaotic streetscape.
"It's simple!" it declared proudly. "Just look at that mess—who else could have done this but the city management officers?"
"…What?" Chen Mo wiped sweat from his brow, then turned back to the scroll. Fine, he'd admit that those officers could be destructive—but how on earth had they gotten into the painting?
"Boss, I've figured it out…" Benben suddenly began, just as Chen Mo was deep in thought.
"Stop right there! I don't want to hear about city officers or temp workers!" he snapped, raising a hand.
"It's not that," Benben murmured nervously. "I just meant… maybe you should look to your left."
Following its gaze, Chen Mo and the others turned—and instantly turned to stone.
There, in the wide, polished corridor, hundreds of miniature figures dressed in Song dynasty attire were bustling across the marble floor—recreating a vivid, living tapestry of ancient city life.
They were the exact size they'd appeared in the scroll—tiny enough to require kneeling for a closer look—bringing to mind the Lilliputians from Gulliver's Travels.
Just as in the painting, these paper people treated the corridor as Bianliang's main street, going about their hawking, chatting, and wandering as if nothing were amiss.
"Boss… what do we do now?" Cheche eventually mumbled, still dazed.
"I… I don't know," Chen Mo said slowly, blinking hard. "But maybe we should start by asking them why they left the scroll."
So saying, he tiptoed forward carefully, as if not to startle the tiny townsfolk.
But his caution proved unnecessary—the paper figures paid him no mind, too absorbed in their own bustling.
Only a bun seller looked up, evidently thrilled to have a customer after a long dry spell. "Steamed buns! Three for a wen!"
Touching his stomach and eyeing the thimble-sized steamer basket, Chen Mo seriously doubted it could satiate him.
Still, grateful for someone willing to talk, he forced a smile and bent down. "Excuse me, may I ask how you came to leave the—"
"Steamed buns! Three for a wen!" the vendor repeated cheerily, ignoring the question.
Chen Mo sighed, then tried again: "I'm not here to buy buns. I just want to—"
"Steamed buns! Three for a wen!"
"He's like a broken record," Nuonuo remarked. "Maybe buy some first, then ask?"
"…Fine." Chen Mo accepted the tiny basket and tossed a bun into his mouth with mild resignation.
"Three wen! Three wen!" the vendor beamed, extending a hand.
Chen Mo sighed. This was beginning to feel like a children's game. Still, he reached for his wallet.
But as he fumbled in his pocket, a strange expression crossed his face. "Hey, Guoguo… you didn't happen to steal any ancient coins, did you?"
"No!" Guoguo replied earnestly, shaking its head. "That one, I swear I didn't!"
"Well, maybe you should have," Chen Mo groaned, staring at the miniature merchant. "Because I'm out of wen coins…"
Reluctantly, he fished out his modern wallet. "Look, I've only got paper money—just take ten yuan and keep the change, okay?"
The bun seller froze, eyeing the banknote with suspicion. Then he shook his head stubbornly. "Three wen! I only take copper coins!"
"I don't have copper coins!" Chen Mo spread his pockets helplessly. "Do you want me to mint some on the spot?"
"No money?" The vendor's expression darkened. "Then why'd you eat the buns?"
"Oh, come on!" Chen Mo rolled his eyes. He hadn't even wanted the damn bun—it was shoved on him!
But there was no point arguing now. As the vendor grew louder, a crowd of paper townsfolk gathered around, curiosity burning in their inky eyes.
Several elegant scholars fanned themselves and sighed, "Alas! What has become of society's morals? Even a man of such stature—"
"Stuff it!" growled Cheche, who could stand it no longer. It revved its engine and surged forward a few feet.
Benben backed him up by projecting a scene from Little Soldier Zhang Ga, in which a Japanese officer declared smugly, "Forget stealing melons—I dine at restaurants without paying!"
The effect was immediate. The entire crowd fell silent, every paper person frozen like a puppet with its strings cut.
But before the quiet could settle, a sudden clang of bells and drums broke out, followed by a booming voice:
"Outrageous! Who dares to insult the citizens of my kingdom?"