The moment the bright light wrapped around his body, Chen Mo thought the pain from his shot shoulder would be unbearable. But the next second, the pain disappeared without a trace, replaced by the familiar cool air of an air conditioner—and the smell of the museum's signature coffee wafting from his nose.
"Whoa?" Chen Mo suddenly opened his eyes, finding himself standing in the 1980s cultural relics section of the provincial museum. Under his feet was a polished marble floor, and in his ears were the clicks of tourists taking selfies and the laughter of children. He looked down—he was still wearing his modern hoodie, the wound on his shoulder was gone, and his mini notepad and film camera were bulging in his pocket. In his palm, he still clutched the warm bronze pendant.
"I'm really back!" Chen Mo was so excited he almost jumped, nearly bumping into a woman holding a selfie stick next to him. "Sorry, sorry!"
The woman rolled her eyes: "You look like a polite young man—why are you so reckless?"
Chen Mo grinned. He was overjoyed—this familiar modern complaint was a hundred times more comforting than Xiao Li's sarcasm in the 1980s! He touched his pocket; his backup phone was still there. He turned it on, and the date showed it was a week after the day he traveled through time.
"My milk tea membership is still valid!" Chen Mo was ecstatic. He immediately took out his phone and ordered a full-sugar pearl milk tea, with a note: "Extra pearls to make up for the emotional trauma of time-traveling."
Calming down, Chen Mo realized this wasn't the time for milk tea. He quickly pulled out his film camera, worrying inwardly: "Where can I get this old-fashioned film developed now?" He remembered an old photo studio near his home that had been open for twenty years; the owner was a photography enthusiast—maybe he could handle it.
Sure enough, when the old owner saw the camera, his eyes lit up: "Young man, this is an 1980s Seagull brand, right? Rare that it still works! I can develop the film for you, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow—I don't have ready-made developer here."
"Thank you, boss! Money is no object!" Chen Mo thanked him repeatedly. He then remembered the drawings and jade pendant left by the old craftsman, and quickly went home to dig them out and hide them—these were ironclad evidence to take down the elderly Zhou Hong.
Early the next morning, Chen Mo picked up the developed photos. Although the photos were a bit yellowed, Zhou Hong and Lao Zhang's actions of replacing the cultural relics, the "Zhou" character mark on the fakes, and the outline of the instrument in the restoration room were all clearly visible. Chen Mo looked at Zhou Hong's face in the photos, gritting his teeth: "Old fox, you got away with it in the 1980s—see how I deal with you in the modern era!"
He sorted out all the evidence: photos, the mini notepad (which recorded Zhou Hong's smuggling channels and secret warehouse addresses), the old craftsman's instrument drawings, the fake Han Dynasty jade pendant, and the bronze pendant. Before heading to the judicial authorities, he made a detour to the milk tea shop to pick up his drink, took a big sip of the full-sugar pearls, and sighed contentedly: "Modern times are still better—milk tea to drink, the rule of law to rely on, no need to outwit old diehards from the 1980s."
The person receiving him was Prosecutor Li again, but this time the modern version—ten years younger than the one in the 1980s, with sharper eyes. Chen Mo placed a stack of evidence on the table. Prosecutor Li flipped through it, his brows furrowing more and more: "Mr. Chen, this evidence... is a bit too bizarre, isn't it? Time-travel? A cultural relic smuggling case from the 1980s?"
"Prosecutor Li, I know it sounds like a sci-fi novel, but it's all true!" Chen Mo urged, pushing the bronze pendant forward. "You can have this pendant tested—it definitely has unknown energy reactions. And these photos—the person in them is Zhou Hong from the 1980s. He should be eighty years old now, the founder of the 'Hongyuan Charity Foundation.' On the surface, he's a cultural relic collector, but in reality, he's a smuggler!"
Prosecutor Li was skeptical. He asked the technical staff to take the bronze pendant for testing and sent someone to verify the information about the "Hongyuan Charity Foundation" and the elderly Zhou Hong. Soon, the technical staff ran in, looking shocked: "Prosecutor Li, this bronze pendant really has abnormal energy reactions—different from any known substance!"
At the same time, the investigators reported back: "Prosecutor Li, we found it! Zhou Hong, the founder of the Hongyuan Charity Foundation, is eighty years old. He suddenly made his fortune thirty years ago, collected a large number of precious cultural relics, and has donated multiple 'replicas' to museums, but the origin of several relics is questionable!"
Prosecutor Li finally believed him, slamming the table: "File a case for investigation! Mr. Chen, please cooperate with us and detail what happened in the 1980s."
"No problem!" Chen Mo took a sip of milk tea and began to talk eloquently—from traveling through time to becoming a security guard, to discovering Zhou Hong's conspiracy, to being framed and seizing the pendant at execution. He couldn't help but complain halfway through: "Prosecutor Li, you have no idea how absurd the workplace was in the 1980s—colleagues framing you, superiors suppressing you, even reporting someone had to be done secretly. Unlike now, you lay out the evidence and the case is filed immediately!"
Prosecutor Li was amused: "Your experience is indeed legendary. However, the elderly Zhou Hong has considerable influence, with connections in both the business and political circles. We need to proceed carefully."
"Don't worry, I have a plan!" Chen Mo took out his phone and opened social media. "This is the information age. As long as we expose his crimes, the criticism from netizens will drown him. But let's conduct the judicial investigation first—expose it only when the evidence is conclusive, so we don't alert the enemy."
In the following days, Chen Mo became a "special consultant" for the judicial authorities. The address of the secret warehouse from the 1980s he provided had now become a logistics park; the police dug underground and found several authentic cultural relics that Zhou Hong hadn't had time to transfer back then. Based on the information about the underground dealer "Old Ghost" he provided, the police followed the clues, found Old Ghost's descendants, and obtained Zhou Hong's smuggling account books. They even tracked down Xiao Li and Lao Zhang—Xiao Li was seriously ill in his later years, living in a nursing home, while Lao Zhang was killed in a gang shootout in the 1990s.
"Karma always catches up!" Chen Mo sighed. "That Xiao Li, helping Zhou Hong perjure himself back then, ending up like this in his old age—he deserved it."
Just as the investigation was progressing smoothly, news suddenly came: the elderly Zhou Hong was going to hold a "private cultural relic exhibition," inviting cultural relic collectors from home and abroad, planning to secretly sell a batch of precious cultural relics to foreigners!
"No, he's trying to flee!" Chen Mo panicked. "Prosecutor Li, we must stop him! That batch of relics definitely includes the authentic ones stolen from the museum back then!"
Prosecutor Li immediately deployed the operation: "We'll split into two teams. One team will go to the exhibition site to control Zhou Hong and the relics; the other team will go to his villa to search for the remaining smuggled relics and evidence."
Chen Mo volunteered: "I'll go to the scene with you! I know Zhou Hong, and I can tell which are authentic!"
On the day of the exhibition, Chen Mo wore a suit, posing as a collector, and walked into Zhou Hong's private villa with Prosecutor Li. The villa was filled with cultural relics, glittering with gold and jade. Zhou Hong was wearing a Tang suit and gold-rimmed glasses, chatting and laughing with several foreigners, looking kind and benevolent—nothing like a smuggler who had operated for decades.
At first glance, Chen Mo saw the Shang Dynasty bronze tripod in the center of the exhibition hall—the exact same as the museum's treasure from the 1980s, with three clear scratches on the tripod ears—it was the authentic one!
"Old fox, you hid it well!" Chen Mo cursed inwardly, quietly winking at Prosecutor Li.
Prosecutor Li understood, coughing softly: "Mr. Zhou, excuse me. We are from the judicial authorities and have a few things to ask you about."
Zhou Hong's face changed, then quickly regained his composure: "Prosecutor, can't this wait until after the exhibition? I have distinguished guests here."
"I'm afraid not," Prosecutor Li took out a search warrant. "Someone reported you on suspicion of smuggling national precious cultural relics. We need to verify the relics here and ask you to come with us."
Zhou Hong's face darkened completely, his eyes fierce—exactly the same as in the 1980s: "Prosecutor, you can eat whatever you want, but you can't talk nonsense! I've donated more relics than anyone else—how could I smuggle them?"
"Whether it's smuggling or not, we'll find out after an investigation," Chen Mo stepped forward, walking to the bronze tripod. "Mr. Zhou, this bronze tripod has three scratches on the ears and moss marks on the base. It's the treasure of the Jiangsu Provincial Museum stolen in 1985, am I right?"
Zhou Hong's pupils shrank, staring fixedly at Chen Mo: "Who are you? How do you know these things?"
"Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is that it's time to settle your crimes from the past," Chen Mo took out the photo of Zhou Hong replacing the relics. "This photo was taken by me in 1985. The people in it are you and your confidant Lao Zhang, aren't they?"
Seeing the photo, Zhou Hong's psychological defense completely collapsed. His legs went weak, and he almost fell. The foreign collectors around him started talking, some even taking out their phones to take photos.
"Take him away!" Prosecutor Li ordered. The police stepped forward and cuffed Zhou Hong.
Zhou Hong struggled, roaring: "Impossible! How could you have this photo? Who are you really?"
Chen Mo sneered: "I'm Chen Mo—the security guard you framed and almost killed in the 1980s. Didn't expect it? I came back from the past, specifically to send you to jail."
In the basement of Zhou Hong's villa, the police seized a large number of smuggled cultural relics and evidence, including the instrument drawings drawn by the old craftsman, Zhou Hong's smuggling account books, and the replication instrument he had hidden for decades—though rusted, the core components were still intact.
Watching Zhou Hong being escorted into the police car, Chen Mo breathed a sigh of relief, took out his phone, and ordered another milk tea. The sun shone through the villa's windows onto him, warm and bright.
"The debt from the 1980s is finally paid off," Chen Mo took a sip of milk tea, filled with emotion.
But he didn't know—the bronze pendant suddenly felt slightly warm, and the spiral patterns on its surface began to glow blue. He looked down, and the blue light on the pendant grew brighter, as if something was about to emerge...
"No way—time-travel again? I haven't finished my milk tea yet!" Chen Mo looked desperate, cursing inwardly: "Can't this lousy pendant let me enjoy modern life in peace?"
Bright light erupted again, wrapping around Chen Mo's figure. This time, he didn't know where he would travel to, or what awaited him—a new crisis, or an unfinished mission...