Exclusive and Out of Control

The first time Huang Yanci heard the name “Qiu Zhiye” was at a dinner he had no intention of attending.

He had meant to decline the invitation, but Zhou Henian, an antique dealer he had worked with for three years, called him twice in person, saying he had something remarkable to show him. After a moment’s thought, Huang Yanci decided to go.

The dinner was held at a private club in the northern part of the city. The private room was modest, with seven or eight people seated around a round table. When Huang Yanci arrived, everyone rose to their feet. He waved them off and took his seat at the far end, with Chen Xu standing two paces behind him.

By the time half the dishes had been served, Zhou Henian turned to the real matter at hand.

“Mr. Huang, there’s a restorer who’s recently emerged on the market. His craftsmanship is almost uncanny.” Zhou Henian lowered his voice and leaned in. “Do you remember that Warring States jade huang from Hong Kong, the one shattered into seven pieces and sold off cheaply as a damaged item? Someone bought it, took it to a restorer, and after the restoration it went to Christie’s and fetched thirty-two million.”

Huang Yanci set down his chopsticks and looked at him.

“Who is the restorer?”

“His surname is Qiu. Qiu Zhiye. People in the circle call him ‘Qiu the Divine Hand.’ Rumor has it there’s nothing he can’t restore. Bronze, jade, porcelain, painting and calligraphy—he excels at them all. High-archaic jade is especially his forte. After his restoration, even X-rays can’t detect any trace of repair.” Zhou Henian shook his head as he spoke. “But the man is eccentric. He isn’t affiliated with any institution, doesn’t accept bulk commissions, and getting him to take on work depends entirely on fate. I’ve asked several people to put in a word, but none succeeded.”

Huang Yanci said nothing, lifting his glass for a sip.

He was no stranger to the word “restorer.” Auction houses handled hundreds, even thousands, of cultural artifacts every year, many of which required restoration before they could be offered for sale. He employed three full-time restorers, whose skills were considered above average in the industry, but none reached the level of “undetectable even under X-ray.”

“Do you have photos of his work?” Huang Yanci asked.

Zhou Henian had prepared for this. He took a tablet from his bag, opened several images, and handed it over.

The first photo showed a jade cong from the Spring and Autumn period. The “before” image was dreadful—broken into five pieces, missing a large section, its surface patterns nearly worn away. The “after” image presented a stark contrast: the cong appeared whole again, its patterns flowing naturally, even the mineral staining convincingly lifelike. Placed beside genuine museum pieces, one could hardly tell which had been restored.

The second photo was of a bronze artifact, a Western Han inlaid gold-and-silver belt hook broken into three sections, with most of its inlaid threads detached. After restoration, the hook was complete again, the gold-and-silver patterns faithfully reconstructed, and the patina on the surface aged so naturally that no trace of repair remained.

Huang Yanci studied each image, then returned the tablet to the table.

“Do you have his contact information?”

“I do,” Zhou Henian said with a rueful smile, “but he’s difficult to reach. He always works alone, has no assistant, no agent, and never makes his phone number public. I previously asked a friend who had dealings with him to make an introduction, but the reply was that Qiu Zhiye is currently occupied with a private project and not accepting new commissions for the time being.”

Huang Yanci tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice.

It was a habitual gesture. Those who knew him well understood it meant he was thinking—and that he had most likely already formed a plan.

“Who commissioned that jade huang restoration?” Huang Yanci asked.

“A Taiwanese collector, surnamed Lin.”

“Arrange a meeting with Mr. Lin. Tell him I’d like to speak with him.”

Zhou Henian paused, then nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

After the dinner, Huang Yanci settled into his car. Chen Xu turned from the front passenger seat.

“Mr. Huang, are you planning to ask this Qiu Zhiye to restore something?”

Huang Yanci leaned back in his seat, eyes closed.

“We’ll see.”

He did not tell Chen Xu that what truly intrigued him was not Qiu Zhiye’s skill, but the sensation of “wanting to find someone yet being unable to.”

He disliked anything that lay beyond his control.

Especially people.

The meeting with Mr. Lin was arranged quickly. Three days later, Huang Yanci met the Taiwanese collector at his own auction house.

Mr. Lin was in his fifties. He had made his fortune in the electronics industry before developing an obsession with high-archaic jade, amassing a fine collection along the way. The Warring States jade huang had been a lucky find for him two years earlier at a small auction, costing him less than a million Hong Kong dollars. After restoration, it sold for thirty-two million, netting him a thirtyfold profit.

“Is Mr. Huang also interested in restoration?” Mr. Lin asked, seated on the sofa in the reception room, a cup of tea in hand and a smile on his face.

“I am interested in people who can create thirtyfold increases in value,” Huang Yanci replied.

Mr. Lin laughed. “Then you should certainly meet Mr. Qiu. I’ve dealt with people in the restoration circle for twenty years, and I’ve never seen anyone like him. When the jade huang was sent to him, shattered the way it was, I honestly didn’t hold out much hope. But three months later, when he called me to come see it, I couldn’t even recognize it as the piece I had sent. It was too complete—so complete it looked brand new.”

“Did he ever explain how he achieved it?”

“No, the man is tight-lipped. I tested the waters several times, trying to get him to take me on as an apprentice or to partner on a restoration studio, but he always smiled and declined, saying he was ‘used to working alone and not accustomed to collaborating with others.’” Mr. Lin paused. “But I did notice one detail. He never lets anyone watch him work—not even to hand him tools. His workshop is equipped with surveillance cameras, but not to guard against thieves. He once said something that left a deep impression on me: ‘This craft is my livelihood. Every glance someone takes diminishes its value.’”

Huang Yanci said nothing after hearing this.

But from Mr. Lin’s description, he had already formed a preliminary assessment of Qiu Zhiye. This man clearly understood his own worth and knew how to protect his uniqueness. He was not some aloof master pretending to be above worldly concerns; on the contrary, he was pragmatic, knowing what could be shared and what must be kept firmly in his own hands.

People like that were usually not difficult to deal with.

Because they had desires.

And where there were desires, there were weaknesses.

“Mr. Lin, if I asked you to act as an intermediary and invite Qiu Zhiye to restore something for me, do you think he would agree?”

Mr. Lin thought for a moment. “It’s hard to say. But if Mr. Huang can present something substantial enough, he might be interested. Qiu Zhiye doesn’t care much for ordinary artifacts—the more difficult the restoration, the more intrigued he becomes.”

Huang Yanci nodded.

He did indeed have a few treasured pieces kept in reserve. Among them was a Shang-Zhou period jade bi, broken into three fragments with a corner missing. He had had it appraised, and not a single restorer in the country had dared to take it on. He had held onto it all this time simply because he refused to settle for mediocre work.

Now, it seemed, was the time to bring it out.

He instructed Chen Xu to approach Zhou Henian and commission Qiu Zhiye to restore the jade bi under Zhou’s name. Huang Yanci did not want to reveal his identity at the outset. He wanted to see Qiu Zhiye’s skill first, and to learn more about the man himself.

Zhou Henian agreed, saying he would find a way to contact Qiu Zhiye.

During the days spent waiting for a response, Huang Yanci had Qiu Zhiye’s background investigated.

The file returned was not thick, but it contained considerable information.

Qiu Zhiye, twenty-eight years old, ancestral home in Nanping, Fujian, born into a family of cultural relic restorers. His grandfather, Qiu Mingyuan, had been among the first generation of relic restoration experts after the founding of the People’s Republic, participating in the restoration of many major national treasures. His father, Qiu Zhengbang, was also a restorer but died in an accident in his forties. After that, Qiu Zhiye lived with his mother and was sent to Beijing at the age of fifteen to apprentice at a relic restoration institution.

At twenty-one, he independently completed the restoration of his first national treasure-level artifact—a Yuan dynasty blue-and-white porcelain vase—shocking the industry. At twenty-five, he was exceptionally appointed as a specially hired expert by the State Administration of Cultural Heritage, but he resigned in less than two years, citing his inability to “tolerate the rigid constraints of the system.”

Since then, he had worked as a freelance restorer, unaffiliated with any institution, signing no long-term contracts, and accepting only commissions he found interesting. His fees were extremely high, and he did not entertain negotiation, yet even so, those seeking his services queued up.

Interestingly, the investigation revealed that Qiu Zhiye had almost no social life. He did not attend industry gatherings, held no membership in any collectors’ associations, and although he had accounts on Weibo and WeChat, he rarely posted anything. He lived on the top floor of an old building in the city’s historic district, working during the day and seldom going out at night.

A reclusive genius who devoted all his energy to restoration.

After reading through the file, Huang Yanci reconstructed in his mind the scene of his first meeting with Qiu Zhiye. In his imagination, the man sat at his workbench, head bowed, a carving knife in his hand, light falling across his face from the side, so focused it was as if the entire world had narrowed to just him and the artifact before him.

He felt his heartbeat quicken by half a beat.

He couldn’t quite say why.