Kevin Ye, the “main” character in the novel, has a strange encounter in the Guizi Desert, enabling him to authenticate paintings and art objects and read their pasts. After living overseas for many years, he returns to Beijing, where he buys an old mansion to house his personal collection of artworks.  While there, he accidentally acquires half of a Jin Dynasty painting.  The stories unfold from there, centering around the mysterious painting.

In Beijing, on the eve of the 1911 Revolution, an old Prince cuts a precious old painting into two to give to his two twin daughters,  Duchess Wenchien and Duchess Wenhsuan, in the hope that they will flee to America and eventually reunite the halves of the painting. The two twin sisters love the same man, Ge Chiao, who writes a secret letter to Duchess Wenhsuan, asking her to stay behind.  However, the letter ends up in the hands of Duchess Wenchian, who joins Ge Chiao and her sister to America.  In the end, Duchess Wenchian and Ge Chiao kill each other in a pistol fight, whereas Duchess Wenhsuan enters a difficult new life in America. Later, Duchess Wenhsuan dies in a fire.  One tragedy leads to another, as her daughter dies soon after.  Uniting all these events is the painting, which turns out to be cursed.  Whoever owns it will have a traumatic experience, even death.

In the last chapter, the origin of the painting is revealed.  Based on historical facts of Western Jin Dynasty (265-317 AD), Zhang Jie, the author, centers her story on the unique love of Empress Jia Nanfeng (a real historical figure) and her lover Yi-chi (a fictional character).  Giving full credit to Empress Jia as a formidable stateswoman, who was the de facto ruler of her time, the author, employing her wildly beautiful imagination, presents the reader with an Arabian-night story of love and sacrifice. Before being summoned to the palace by the Empress, Yi-chi has himself castrated in order to safeguard the reputation of his Empress.  As a result, their love is never fulfilled. After Yi-chi’s death, Empress Jia receives a painting painted by Yi-chi, in which he has captured all the details of their childhood together, and all the other major events in their lives, including his castration. Before long, there is a coup-de-tat; and Empress Jia is forced to kill herself by drinking the notorious wine of golden chips.  Before her death, all the blood in her erupts onto the painting….

The painting is passed on from generation to generation until Kevin Ye acquires it in modern-day Beijing. He is surprised to find that the name of the original painter over 1700 years ago is the same as his own nickname.  In the epilogue, the enlightened or overwhelmed Kevin Ye leaves his home in America, sending a letter to Molly, another related character, and indicating that answers to many human mysteries can be found in the remote Inca Empire. 
 
The Painting of Z
by Zhang Jie
Translated by H. R. Lan

Chapter One

Kevin Ye was bitten by a nasty dog.
How does it feel?  Well, you won’t die immediately, as bitten by a Tibetan hound or a fierce shepherd dog, but you will have a real nasty time. 
It is akin to trying to break up with a woman for no better reason than her plainness and predictability.  You are hesitant and unsure; you feel guilty; but this woman is killing you.  You feel caught in a corner but you don’t know how to get out of it.  Mould grows on your back, and you end up marrying this woman instead of the woman you love…
———
This time, Kevin Ye flew directly from Beijing to New York.  For three times and at three different places, he tried to leave behind the fucking painting; but all three times he failed.
For the first time, Kevin left the fucking painting on the check-in counter at the Beijing Airport. Yet, hardly had a few minutes passed when a smiling flying attendant of the American Airlines found him at the waiting hall, returning him the painting intact.  Her smile was civil and polite but somewhat shallow and vain, as if she already knew so much about Chinese culture—just as everyone claims nowadays. Certainly, it was rude to think of a nice young lady that way; but it was beyond his control.  He didn’t know how to lie about this fucking painting or scroll, to be exact.
The second time, he left the scroll at the customs. But even before he had gone to claim his luggage, an alarmed security officer called him back. The officer treated him almost like a terrorist who had left a time bomb behind.
The third and last time, he left the scroll on a luggage trolley, only to be traced back to him later by a janitor.  Sometimes, the so-called American sense of responsibility really gets on one’s nerves. To discard something you don’t want any more may turn out to be so damn difficult. Once he was traveling from New York to Europe, the weather suddenly got hot; he tried several times to part with his down jacket, leaving it on a chair in the waiting room. “Sir, you’ve left your jacket behind.” Each and every time the highly responsible staff of the airport reminded him.
That day, it was an old black man at the luggage trolleys. Each trolley cost three dollars.  At the cash machine, he barely waited a minute for his change; but the stupid old man remembered his face—after all, an Asian face differs from a white one, even though there are so many Asian faces in America nowadays.
Therefore, when the scroll was found on the trolley, the old man thought of Kevin at once. With the assistance of “efficient” FBI agents, Kevin was soon located as the owner of this fucking scroll.
Things just happen like this! No reason, and no choice!
Of course, Kevin was not so desperate that he would try by hook or crook to get rid of the scroll; he simply didn’t take the scroll to heart. Nevertheless, now that this scroll had proved nearly un-disposable, he knew that he had to take it seriously.
“I am sorry that the box for the scroll is a bit damaged. I wonder if it came like this or it was damaged while under our care.” the man spoke, chewing a gum. He had a young radiant face like a sunflower. Is it an apology or an excuse?  Damn it, who cares about how it was damaged! And who would bother to deal with the Airlines Company any way?
But raising his head, he suddenly found himself facing a blurred image—the bright sunflower face had transformed into a withered lotus in the late autumn. The more he looked at it, the more it looked like the old man in Beijing who presented him the fucking scroll.  Kevin shook his head, blaming himself for being blur-eyed.  How could a young white officer in New York suddenly transform into an old man in Beijing?
Foot-loose and fancy-free, Kevin had remained single for several decades already. The life of a confirmed bachelor had freed him of many “trials and tribulations”; and the thought of it often made him feel smug and proud, particularly when he saw other people suffer from the daily household chores and knotty family troubles. However, today’s incident about the scroll dawned upon him that to be completely free was utterly impossible, unless one could be completely free of the society he lived in. But, who could afford that?
Kevin looked again. It was indeed the young white officer who returned him the scroll. Phew! My eyes must have blurred, he thought.
“It doesn’t matter; it is nothing important.” Kevin said absent-mindedly and his tone was unsteady. Although he was now sure that he only had a blurred vision, his eyes still searched up and down on the officer’s face in great disbelief.
Apparently, Kevin was wrong when he thought that there was neither reason nor choice for many things in this world.  “There must have been a reason for the old man’s face to appear suddenly in front of me.” He thought.  Normally a carefree and levelheaded person, Kevin was now possessed by an unsettling feeling.
II

Kevin was soon to know that he was absolutely wrong when he said to the officer that “It doesn’t matter; it is nothing important.”

III

The scroll came to his possession in a strange manner.
Kevin was a rich man by now; and unlike his classmates who made their fortunes in a dubious way, he felt happy and proud with his hard-and-yet-cleanly earned wealth. 
In order to match his newly acquired wealth, Kevin decided to buy a grand old-style courtyard house in Beijing. Besides, being a filial son, he bore in mind the Confucian teaching: “When your parents are alive, never travel far. “  As his parents were getting elderly, Kevin often felt guilty for having been away from home so often and for so long.  It would be a redeeming act at least to provide them with a nice and comfortable house. Also, Kevin had another motive in purchasing such a house—he wants to open a private museum to display his personal art collections. It would do justice to these art works; and after all, I have worked my butt off for them, Kevin tried to convince himself.
But a decent old style courtyard house—si-he-yuan in Chinese—was not easy to come by; and the prices had soared in recent years!  Luckily, Kevin had made his fortune and money no longer an object. After numerous searches, he finally found the right place for him at the Back Sea.
It is a typical brick-and-wood mansion of late Qing Dynasty, with several courtyards and each courtyard flanked with eastern and western chambers.  The entrance hall of the main courtyard has nine columns, large and shiny; even the gate to the mansion has four huge beams and eight pillars. The carved bricks of the entrance hall are indeed elegant and exquisite.  Needless to say, the garden is full of trees and flowers, including two magnificent magnolia trees and one rare begonia tree.  Such a grand mansion, although unlike the thirteen-courtyard one of Duke He Shen’s, is virtually unprocurable in today’s Beijing. It would be large enough for his private museum and would do justice to his fancy taste and huge ego as well.
On the other hand, Kevin knew clearly that, even if certain thirteen-courtyard mansions were available, he wouldn’t be able to lay his hands on them. The municipal authorities have finally realized the importance to preserve cultural heritages of China and would not sell those mansions to private people any more. As the old saying goes, although the sheep has run away, it is never too late to mend the fence.
—-
When all the paper work had been done, however, Kevin was confronted with a thorny issue, or rather, a thorny person.  At the back yard of the mansion, there lived an old man in his nineties, who refused to move out, no matter how much money was offered to him. He insisted that since his days were numbered, he should stay where he was for the remaining of his life.
Kevin met up with this old man—a gentleman with a noble face, high cheekbones and deeply sunken eyes. He reminded one of an ancient mummy who had nothing to do with the past or the present. His feeble and unsteady body was like a broken sailing boat; his voice so weak and breathing so hard that it was difficult to communicate with him. In a word, he was a living corpse.
Kevin, actually, would not mind if the old man dropped dead in the house, since he knew that all the grandly old houses had witnessed death or even murder, only adding an eerie charm to them. Besides, Kevin had a delightful impression of the old man, although he knew that one should not draw any conclusion on a new acquaintance.  For now, he could only say that the old man had a uniquely harmless and aimless face; and what was behind that face was beyond him.
At any rate, the mansion was not ready for Kevin and his parents to move in.  In spite of its grandeur and charm, the mansion was dilapidated, which, due to its brick-and-wood structure, normally would last two centuries at best.  The fact the Old Imperial Palace in Beijing could have survived so well is entirely because of constant and lavish repairs and renovations.  Likewise, this mansion also needs a facelift, or rather, a total “gut out”, so that modern conveniences, such as plumbing, electricity, and heating devices, can be installed. The entire project may require more than a year…. At this thought, Kevin said generously to the old man: “Don’t worry. You can live here as long as you wish.”  Besides, he thought, the old man might be good company for his poetry-reading father… But Kevin instantly laughed at this idea of his own. How could he assume that this old man was also a lover of poetry and paintings?
Without any expressions of gratitude, the old man accepted his good will and moved into a small room in the servants’ quarters at the backyard.  When Kevin returned to inspect the property, he paid a visit to the old man in this room.  The room smelled decay—a smell that was drifting, forbidding and hard to describe. The furniture in the room was sparse and shabby, utterly incongruous with the grand style of the mansion and the gracious manners of the old man himself.
Point-blankly, the old man said to Kevin: “I don’t have much to say and am not to do it out of gratitude; but somehow, I feel that you are the man to whom I can entrust….” And hardly had he finished the sentence, and then he turned to an equally shaky desk. Slowly, he took out a scroll out of its case—the very damn scroll Kevin had later tried three times to discard. 
As an old hand in dealing art, Kevin found the scroll less than “extraordinary” and even somewhat beneath him.  As far as the “feel” for antiques, calligraphy and paintings was concerned, Kevin had by now convinced himself that he was naturally gifted.  (But, mind you, dear Reader, it has not always been the case.  Back then, a couple of decades ago, Kevin knew absolutely nothing about antiques and old paintings.) Notwithstanding, it was a risky business for him to have allowed the old man to live on his property.  Only God knows how long the man might live!
Unlike others in his circle, Kevin never bothered to memorize the names of the famous painters in Chinese history, their literary names, style names, nicknames etc.; neither would he try to learn by heart the features of those painters’ personal seals. Whether the seals were in Big Seal Script, Small Seal Script, Bird-like Seal Script or Bronze-vessel Script, or whether the paintings were on paper or silk, or the dates of the ink and mounting…. None of the above was worth his time—he would not give it a damn! For him, important clues could often be detected in the various inscriptions on the painting by the painter and the later collectors—signatures, commentary remarks, prefaces and so on. Furthermore, details like the placing of the seals were important in authenticating forgeries. 
Nowadays, a large amount of detailed information can be obtained through modern technology—absolutely no need to resort to the traditional method of memorization.  Using soft X ray is a simple and good method. Its wavelength is relatively long and its penetration soft; when used to authenticate an ancient painting, it has been proved very helpful. Traditional Chinese paintings are usually stamped on with carved stone seals and a kind of vermilion clay, which contains mercury.  Soft X ray can detect mercury easily, providing a good device to acquire valuable information about the painting.  Not long ago, a bamboo painting by Zheng Banqiao of the late Qing emerged, only to be determined by Kevin as fake by simply using the device of soft X ray.
In a word, to authenticate and appraise art works requires many fine qualities and qualifications of the person, not only his experience, expertise but also his personal taste and character. The highest standard for a connoisseur, Kevin believes, is to be endowed with the ability to grasp the essence and spirit of the art object. Forgeries are commonplace but never possess the spiritual quality of the original; they can easily be differentiated and determined by connoisseurs.  Unfortunately, this spiritual quality has almost become an unreachable goal in our modern utilitarian world.  One may go so far as to say that, to be a good connoisseur, one has to be a good artist himself.  But is it easy to be a good artist?
Although not born to be an artist, Kevin, out of an inexplicable force,  was suddenly blessed with an instinctual talent to differentiate the real from the fake and the good from the bad.  Such a godsend talent sometimes put Kevin ill at ease, for he knew that, one way or another, he would have to pay a price for this “free lunch” some day.
What is the price? He didn’t know; but he felt that he had already paid it somehow. For instance, one day, he suddenly found himself impotent. It was particularly hard because he had just decided to propose to a certain young lady. As a result of his newly discovered impotency, she kicked him out of bed.
In today’s world, women, Kevin was convinced, are never casual about sex, money, property and social status—all these things can be weighed and bought and never to be taken lightly. And they would never sacrifice anything for the so-called love; what they care is nakedly “how much am I getting out of it?” 
—————-
Kevin reluctantly went over to the old man and squeezed out a few flatteries about the scroll. The old man said, however: “ I know you don’t really fancy this painting; and I don’t blame you for that, as it had never received much attention. But if it had ever received great attention, it probably would not have ended up here in my hands. Here it is, for you, for free with only one condition….”  Kevin almost burst out laughing—the old fool would even think of bargaining for such a damn lousy work.
The old man went on saying: ““I know what you are thinking about. But son, do take a far-sighted view on things. The only condition I ask of is that you never discard the painting, at anytime and under any circumstance.  Not for my sake, nor for yours. You would know why when the time comes.”  So mystic about such a damn lousy work! Much fuss about nothing indeed!
Half-smilingly, Kevin took over the scroll, thinking: ”one is prone to tomfoolery at an old age; only hope that I wouldn’t be like that in the future.”

IV
No sooner than the airport staff left did Kevin throw up the scroll to a corner. He threw it quite hard and thus further damaged the broken box. The scroll slipped out of the box.  The painting looked even shabbier than he saw it in Beijing—it seemed to have been soaked by rain or some spilt beverage. One of the corners of the painting was sticking out. What, there is something underneath…! He stooped over to have a closer look.  My God, there is another painting underneath!
But it is nothing to be surprised about!  Such tricks were quite common in ancient times and still are in today’s free art market. But somehow, one glimpse of the painting was enough to give Kevin a deep chill down his spine. It was as if someone had put a cold and sharp sword on his neck, threatening to cut; but it stopped right there. The sharp blade of the sword was on the cape of his neck, filing and scraping the skin back and forth….  It threatened to suck out all his blood and vital energy in an attempt to search and find out something….
Meanwhile, Kevin was under the illusion that he was facing a beautiful woman he might have long sought after. Only now she appeared as a vampire, half hidden and half visible in a heavy fog.  But strangely, Kevin also felt that he had never met such a woman in his life.
It is obviously a scroll of painting; why should it have anything to do with a particular woman? Bizarre and bewildering! Yet stranger still, his long-lost desire for women seemed to have returned to him suddenly….

V
Kevin lost his virginity at a young age. However, despite the solemn and hearty vows, none of his romances with his classmates proved to be fruitful. It was surely not his fault—the girls were simply too young and innocent to think about marriage.
Kevin did not pass the college entrance examination and thus failed in securing a successful political career; neither did he succeed in making a fortune during those days; and to make things worse, he ended up becoming a “eunuch”—a huge embarrassment in bed. Small wonder that no woman ever wanted to marry him.
It is best not to mention how he became a “eunuch”; but ever since he came back from the “revolutionary journey” to Guizi in 1966, he virtually changed into another person, strikingly different from who he was before the trip—a Red Guard who, steeped in Marxism, passionately talked about “how to spread Mao Zedong’s thought.”
After his journey to western China, he found himself possessed of something like extrasensory perception and started to make all sorts of predictions. “There is a tortoise alive underneath a certain brick in the Five Pagoda Temple.” And quite expectedly, his friends did find a tortoise there, a live one at that.  But sometimes, his predictions went wrong. Once he told people that he had dreamed of Mr. So-and-so being very depressed. As the rule of thumb, Kevin claimed, if he dreamed of a person being depressed, that person would soon die; but this time, that Mr. So-and-so not only did not die but also was well and prosperous.
In people’s memory, Kevin was not such a trick-master before. At first, his friends simply thought that he was poking fun, for he had always been a clown at school. He was full of funny paradoxes and had a deadpan sense of humor. But gradually, people began to suspect that there must have been something wrong with Kevin. Toward the beginning of 1970’s, when the karma of the Cultural Revolution was finally running out, the college entrance examination was restored. His friends all said good-bye to the Revolution and searched everywhere for the remnants of the books they, as Red Guards, had once vowed to burn.  Consequently, once again, they began to chase what they had spitted upon: fame and wealth.
As to Kevin, he never found a decent job: he worked as a clothing vendor, an office boy, and a doorkeeper…. The odd thing is that poor as he was, he once got dead drunk and burnt quite a few dollars simply to light up his cigarettes…. But at other times, after he became filthy rich, he turned out to be a real miser, who was reluctant to even part with ten dollars.  When asked to donate some money to help out his friend’s widow and young child, he said callously: “Sorry, I need the money for my beer.” and then added: “who would raise money for my funeral when I die?” 
Nevertheless, in spite of all his eccentricities, Kevin often had doubts about himself, specifically about his past. Are these notebooks mine?  Did I really take those notes?  How come they sound so much like those “model youths” in the Party’s newspaper? Oh, My God, did I write those love letters? They are so damn corny, just like the lovey-dovey talks between teenagers on line.  Without any second thoughts, Kevin burnt all his notebooks, love letters and other mementos.
One of his Red Guard friends once bragged that, in 1966, they named their student organization as Red Guards because they wanted to safeguard Our Beloved Leader Chairman Mao.  Although a loyal Red Guard himself then, Kevin sneered at the remark, saying, “You must be kidding! Chairman Mao needed us to safeguard him? A real joke!  All those years, I bet, the Elderly Man was simply having fun inside his Forbidden City.”     
———
Cynical as he was, Kevin was not blind to the metamorphic changes in himself. How did those changes occur? He thought long and hard and was finally convinced that it must have something to do with that strange experience in Guizi, no matter how strange and far-stretched it might sound.  Eventually, Kevin did a large amount of research on that bizarre experience.
One theory he read was: Human brain consists of cerebrum and cerebellum; and the former consists of two halves, the left and the right, each of which has its own functions. The left part is responsible for language, numerals, conception, analysis and deduction, etc. while the right part for music, fine arts, space, rhythm, imagination and the ability to synthesize….  In 1998, a certain Professor Miller of UCSF studied many Alzheimer’s cases and found out that all the patients demonstrated some unprecedented artistic skills as their illness gradually worsened. Some composed beautiful music, others painted impressive works, etc.. The results of MRI revealed that their illnesses all originated in the left part of the brain.
What does it mean? Is it the left part of my cerebrum that was damaged during the windstorm in Guizi? …  This may very likely be true, for Kevin knew that it was due to the unique encounter in the storm that he acquired an instinctual ability to differentiate and authenticate calligraphy, paintings and antiques.
Of course, theories are abundant and often contradictory; and no one can really draw any conclusions.  Kevin figured that his case could only be a speculation.
———
Not long after the Cultural Revolution started in the summer of 1966, Red Guards traveled all over the country, in the name of “Making Revolution.”  Therefore, Kevin had several fantastic opportunities to see his beloved Motherland—free train rides and free room and board, all provided by the local governments. Apart from those big cities, Kevin, lured by those beautiful frontier poems of ancient China, went as far as the provinces of Gansu and Ningxia. (Sometimes, one does wonder why a few lines of ancient Chinese poetry could be more persuasive than those present-day advertisements for tourism!) Kevin’s father was a high-ranking officer of the People’s Liberation Army; but interestingly enough, he had somehow a penchant for classical Chinese poetry—a hobby of traditional literati class.
When Mao launched the Cultural Revolution, Kevin, like millions of young people, was caught in the revolutionary fervor. When he threatened to burn all his father’s “decadent” books and classics, his father, putting on the airs of a veteran soldier, lectured his son: “How dare you burn my books? Don’t you remember what Chairman Mao taught us: Workers, peasants and soldiers are the foundation of the dictatorship of the proletariat?” 
Confronted with such a veteran soldier, Kevin, a green Red Guard, felt outwitted, as a result of which, his father’s book collection was spared. However, who could have expected that these books would have turned out to be so valuable for Kevin toward the end of the Revolution?  By then, the dispirited, if not disillusioned, Kevin would lie all day long underneath the grapevine stand in his father’s courtyard, devouringly chewing on the books once he vowed to destroy.
On hindsight, especially taking into consideration the result of his trip to Guizi, it is still hard to say whether his father’s books did him good or harm. What would have happened to him, if he had never made the trip?
Kevin decided to go to Guizi, perhaps because of the pubertal impulses, or because the name Guizi sounded so much like a giant phallus in Chinese, or simply because he was fascinated by reading his father’s books. Kevin learned that it was right in Guizi, on border of Dunhuang and Xinjiang, where the ancient Chinese, Indian, Islamic, Greek and Roman civilizations met and merged.  Therefore, he went to Guizi, at the spur of whims and impulses. Alas, Fate is often in the hands of those who act upon impulses.
———
Is that what people call a desert?
It is so remote from what people described!
It seems that we human beings do not only smear and insult each other but also does it to Nature. Nevertheless, deserts exist, defiant and proud, regardless of the curses and abuses of the human beings.
Is that a desert?
No, it is waving silk, temporarily frozen in time.
Torrents of thought, on the verge of utterance, suddenly stop, hard to fathom, just like the spectacular galloping waves in a big river.
The waves stop suddenly, however, to give way to their vibrantly powerful roars and furies, upon which a vertical river hanging up there, even heavier than the mountains and peaks. 
………….
It would not, of course, be silent eternally,
For it is merely resting now for a bigger burst later.
It is only closing its eyes to the ugly and unworthy world.
The lonely smoke in this vast desert is meant to prevent human beings from entering a secret passage….
No birds in the sky, no animals running around, only the bones and skeletons of humans or wild animals, white and bare, are visible in this vast void.  Occasionally those bones protrude out of the sand and dunes, like the drumsticks of a heavy metal music band, beating hard on the chest of the desolate desert. Then suddenly, the sound, the fury and the beating all disappear, leaving Kevin alone again in this god-forsaken place.
One senses an indescribable horror in the desert, much worse than those everyday horrors. It is a true horror that stops people from running. 
But all the above did not prevent Kevin from getting close to the desert; on the contrary, he was attracted and mesmerized by its spectacular beauty. 
The windstorm arose suddenly without any warning. Just a minute ago, it was sunny and bright; the next minute, it was dark and fiery, with gusts of wind coming from nowhere.
It was more than a whirlwind—it was yellow sand boiling and bubbling in the big cauldron, heaven and earth turning upside down. Where the sandstorm whirled over, everything was under its mercy—a vast world of yellow sand.
Is it the howling wind or is it the boiling sand? No one can tell now.  It seems that God and the desert he created are dancing and admiring each other in a big carnival—the whole cosmos in turmoil!
———
At a moment like that, no one dared to risk one’s life.  While all those who came with him ran away as fast as they could, Kevin chose to stay.  He kneeled down and looked at the sky gratefully.  Indeed, earth had not anything to show more fair and majestic! Suddenly, a palace loomed in the desert, mirage-like and half-hidden, and it looked familiar. Kevin tried to follow the image, step by step; but it disappeared in the storm as quickly and mysteriously as it came. Seemingly, it had bid farewell to this “red-dust world.”  Kevin was left behind with a profound sense of loss and regret, as if he had missed meeting with an old acquaintance of centuries ago.
How is the palace related to me? How come it has touched my heart and soul so deeply? Kevin wondered.
———
Kevin was lifted softly by the strong windstorm, drifting aimlessly in the sky like a feather. Am I flying to the Immortal Land? Kevin began to fantasize.
But just at the moment, the strong wind thrashed him back down to the desert. He felt the dunes moving underneath him, fast and fiercely. The desert seemed to have opened its wide mouth in order to cry out the endless secrets it had witnessed and buried for millions of years. The windstorm dived down to attack Kevin once again, wrapping him up tightly. He had never experienced such a strong force except during the loving making with his women.  (He was young then and was able to crush the body of his partners like nutcrackers.) Like the sand in a windstorm, Kevin whirled and danced continuously, until finally he was yanked down upon an unknown place. At the moment, he heard a deafening explosion as if the sky had fallen down and the earth sunk. A gigantic locomotive was running and pushing steadily toward him, as if premeditated and planned. On top of the locomotive, there was a strong searchlight, thrusting into Kevin’s eyes; suddenly, Kevin lost sight and hearing. The locomotive finally came close to him, swallowing him completely.
“I am done for.” Kevin thought.
He is “dead”—his soul and spirit drifted out of the Three Worlds and Five Elements. Standing in Heaven, above the human world, Kevin saw his humble and ugly body struggling in the windstorm…. Then, he saw another man.
Who is that? Is it my father or grandfather?  Anyway, the man looks like one of my ancestors, but it could be myself as well.  Perhaps, I am still alive; otherwise, how could I feel so much pain right now?
Although his soul and spirit had left this world, Kevin still felt the excruciating pain. In the meanwhile, there seemed to be a silent curse or call from out of nowhere, the vanished palace reappeared, along with a woman.
Somehow, this woman looked so familiar to Kevin that he felt that he could tell instantly the fragrance of her body at any time and any place in the whole universe. It was a fragrance of a wondrous flower, which could only thrive with the nourishment of a mixture of the blood of a man and a woman. Once in a blue moon, like the legendary camphor flower, this wondrous flower would open only for a few minutes—a rarity seen by few ordinary people on earth. Nevertheless, Kevin was certain that the flower was not something he had imagined.  For instance…, for instance what?
In the distance, the man, perhaps Kevin himself, stood opposite the woman. They seemed to be unburdening their grief and sorrow to each other; but nothing could be heard.  Sad and speechless, the two stood there like lovers at the moment of an eternal parting—all the words exhausted and tears gone dry… Yet, it could be simply a scene from a play or a film he saw a long time ago, precarious but real, vivacious but absurd.     
It is said that when a person is about to die, all his past life would return to his deathbed. Was that the case with Kevin now? Did he ever have such a fatalistic experience? 
No, Kevin was sure that it was not his experience.
Another theory maybe applies here: if one’s brain has gone dead, some of its cells are still living and thus able to get new information from the outside world. If these scenes are not his personal experiences, it must be, therefore, that, dead as he is, his living brain cells are still receiving information.
However, where, how and from whom are these information obtained? Kevin wrecked his brain, trying to figure out what was happening in front of him. Suddenly, his eyes seemed to have turned into two super-powerful electronic endoscopes; Kevin saw the DNA chains in his body surging up slowly. Some of the naughty genes tried to slip out of the orderly lines, yet to no avail; rather unwillingly, they returned to where they were.
Thanks to those few naughty genes, Kevin, the owner of the DNA chains, did feel a strong and direct physical shock throughout the body.  Yet, to his great surprise, the strong windstorm suddenly withdrew after the shock he experienced, throwing him back to the dunes.
Opening his eyes, Kevin found that he was already thousands of miles away from Guizi. He felt lucky to have had a narrow escape from death.
Looking at his wristwatch, he found that the whole incident only lasted less than an hour. Alas, it is certainly true that “one day in the Immortal Land equals a thousand years on earth.”

VI

It is a theory widely acknowledged that genes are the bases of life and that they determine every part of one’s body and every aspect of one’s life.
Ever since that incident in Guizi, Kevin turned into a new person. His life was totally altered—he was no longer a cheerful and happy-go-lucky young man; instead, he became enigmatic and elusive like the misty scenes after a rainy day. It was like that, but more than that; he became so unfathomable and undeterminable for himself as well as others. The entire incident at Guizi was perhaps nothing but an illusion, but it did leave an indelible mark on Kevin.
At first, Kevin only vaguely felt that he began to find women’s breasts repulsive. When on the bus or in the subway, he made a point of buying a newspaper not to read but to hide his face behind. Of course, it was not that he resented his own face; rather, only he hated to see those of others. All his life, Kevin tried to convince himself, he had paid too much attention to other people; and he was sick and tired of people’s trickeries and tomfooleries.
Once in the subway, the train came to a sudden stop and shook him up, causing him to move his newspaper somewhat from his face.  Before he could resume his position, he saw a woman getting on the train with a man. The woman was no longer young but wore a revealing strapless vest. She crossed her arms seemingly to cover her breasts and sat down between two men. The man on her left remained utterly un-diverted—this being a common sight for him, whereas the man on her right got really bawdy and lewd.  The man sat there quietly, looking straight forward, almost like a gentleman; but at the same time, he stealthily took out of his hand from his pocket and thrust it brazenly into the cleavage of the woman’s breasts.  With his newly acquired golden eye of the Monkey King, Kevin now was able to see all the dirt and evils in this world. The man’s lewd act made him burst out laughing, that in turn startled the man, who immediately sat up straight like a gentleman, sliding his dirty hand back to the pocket.
Before long, Kevin progressed to resenting women’s navels.
Unquestionably, the belly buttons of those who are fond of fatty pork are ugly to look at; and the belly button of a twenty-year old differs greatly from that of a fifty-year old. But my God, there are so many fifty-year-old women nowadays—“muttons dressed like lambs”—who like to reveal their belly buttons as well. No wonder that we need a consumers’ association in China nowadays, which could and should do something about such indecencies.
Slowly and sadly, Kevin realized that he had lost interest in women totally. However, he would not succumb to such a change in himself until repeated failures in bed. Finally, he had to accept the fact that he had become a eunuch.
VII
Now that Kevin had now possessed of extraordinary skills in terms of arts and crafts, it was not hard for him to uncover the painting underneath the scroll.  First, Kevin wetted the paper with distilled water, free of any acid or alkaline; then he carefully peeled off the top layer with his delicate fingers. It was not easy but manageable for him. But to his surprise, underneath the scroll, he only found half a painting. It must be a long scroll, he figured. In the olden days, when there was something unusual and secretive as far as a valuable painting was concerned, it would often be cut into two parts to be kept in two different places by two people.  Supposedly, the two parts would never appear together at the same time and the same place.
Judging from this half of the painting, the entire scroll should be about six or seven meters long.  The paper should be dated back to the Jin dynasty (265-420 AD), for it contained all the features of the paper of that period: linen, slanted patterns, soft and thick—probably a product of the north. The size of the paper was relatively small, 30 cm X 75 cm; and therefore, due to its length, the entire painting used a good number of pieces of paper.
Kevin unfolded the painting and saw some vermilion stamps following up a large amount of blank space. The stamps were sparsely located in the corners of the painting, which meant that the owners of the painting were a handful. But by judging from these stamps only, one could tell that there was a certain pattern how the painting passed on from hand to hand. For instance, the gourd-shaped seals of the notorious Jia Sidao of Southern Song Dynasty (960-1279) were stamped at several places of the painting, with one right in the middle, thus revealing the possessiveness of the owner. Even though several centuries had elapsed, one still sensed the insatiable greed and vulgarity. 
What followed were the seals of Princess Taiping, the daughter of the ambitious Empress Wu Zijian of the Tang, and Shanguan Wan’er, the talented poetess of the Tang. Additionally, there was the seal stamp of Wu Sangui, the infamous collaborator who surrendered to the Manchu invaders…. However, none of these former owners had left behind any remarks and comments.
It was obvious that except Jia Sidao and Wu Sangui, all the other owners of the painting had their unutterable secrets and closeted skeletons. They apparently loved the painting and yet chose to somewhat disassociate from it.
Only years later, when things became clear and dry, did Kevin see what had happened to all the former owners of the painting, all of whom went through drastic ups and downs in life and none of whom ended up well. And he knew that he certainly got his share!
———
Finally, the original painting emerged from underneath. 
Interestingly enough, there were no marks of authentication, nor inscriptions, nor seal stamps—nothing, absolutely nothing for him to use in appraising and accessing the painting.
Then, Kevin thought of the fact that, as late as the periods of Tang, Five Dynasties and even Song, inscriptions on the paintings were still uncommon, not to mention the previous dynasties. Occasionally, there were some inscriptions but usually in a few characters only. It was not until the periods of Southern Song and later to the Yuan Dynasty that inscriptions on the paintings became popular. Therefore, one could speculate that the painting was older than Song or Yuan and that it was no surprise that it contained no inscriptions.
The paper should be the product of the Jin Dynasty, during which period no seals were used.  The Jin artists usually signed their names in inconspicuous places of their paintings. Therefore, Kevin started to look carefully at the margins and corners, around the tree roots and underneath the grasses, and between rocks and stones—but nothing was found. The reason that Kevin looked up so carefully for signatures and inscriptions was simple and clear, because traditionally, they provided the most valuable information about the age and hometown of the artist and when, where and for what occasion the paintings were done.
An even bigger pity was that no “spare stamp”—known as “the deposit at the bottom”—was found. Small as it is, the “spare stamp” usually conveys a condensed version of the artist’s mood, taste and philosophy in life.
But from this half of the painting, Kevin was unable to get any information about the artist. Probably, all the signature, seal stamps and inscriptions are in the other half of the painting, Kevin speculated.
———
It musts be a work of the Jin Dynasty; it simply must be, Kevin thought.  To Kevin’s great delight and amazement that, this half painting was enough to enable him to see the artist’s noble character.
It is a masterpiece, a tour de force indeed!
Actually, a masterly piece does not have to be a large piece or a complex piece, whose significance lies more in its inexhaustible inner qualities.
But Kevin was surprised by one more thing—
Gazing at the painting for a few long moments urged Kevin to ponder and deliberate on something invisible—the deeper meaning of the painting or the hidden message of the artist. Su Shi, the great Song poet, once said: “Get new ideas inside the established norms; and find great principles outside the uninhibited boldness.”  His are by all means great instructions; but it is easier said than done, particularly in terms of the deeper and hidden intentions of an artist.
Taken at the face value, the scroll could be described as a painting of the court life: playing chess, drinking, singing and dancing, etc., but further scrutiny seemed to reveal many more mysteries….
During the past decades, Kevin had examined numerous paintings; but it was the first time for him to see such an equivocal and evanescent work.
It simply refuses to be defined, authenticated and ranked. Its technique is of the impressionist school, which pursues a spiritual quality rather than graphic details—a characteristic of the Jin paintings. Unlike most “detailed impressionist” paintings, this very painting is a truly impressionist work, pure and bold. It uses very little ink, relying entirely on lines for its composition: highly spiritual, economical, unrestrained, self-abandoning and, indeed, quite capricious…. It suggests beautifully Gu Kaizhi’s acclaimed style of “plain stroke-sketches”; and it convincingly displays the quintessentially Chinese beauty of “black and white”: an aesthetic, consciously and unconsciously, developed by ancient Chinese artists under the extreme self-restraint and self-discipline.
In terms of abstract paintings, modern Western art works, in Kevin’s view, cannot really hold candle to traditional Chinese paintings—the latter employ lines, which are utterly unpredictable and move around at the mercy of the artist’s moods and whims. To put it bluntly, it could be said to rely more on one’s luck, rather than one’s talent….
The lines of the painting are exquisitely drawn, neither too thick nor too fine, neither too heavy nor too light, some bold and others gentle; it is art in the ultimate sense of the word: solid and yet elusive, finished and yet incomplete.  It is shapeless, formless and imageless; and yet at once it has its own shape, form and image.
Lines upon lines, lines chasing lines, like fish swimming in the blue water, like mists gathering and dispersing, like “wild cranes amidst leisurely clouds”; they come and go, sink and float, traceless and soundless, like the bygone years and bygone people. They are here but not here; they are subject to anybody’s imagination and anybody’s dream…
At distance, it offers an explanation; yet close by, it presents another, the two conflicting and contradicting with each other like “the wind, the horse and the cow.”
It seems to be waiting for something, waiting to get an extension; meanwhile, it seems to be a challenge against another challenge….
Oh, what a divine work! Compared with it, all the other paintings I have seen in my whole life are mere trash.
Back and forth, up and down, Kevin examined the painting until dawn and yet still could not draw any conclusion on the painter, although he was sure it was a work of the Jin Dynasty.  He felt deeply at loss, dying to find out the whereabouts of the other half of the painting.
What a mesmerizing masterpiece! What on earth is the reason for it to be cut into halves?
And where is the other half?

VIII

Under such circumstances, no one would leave the matter half done.
Kevin returned to Beijing immediately.
Everything seemed to have undergone according to what the old man predicted or planned.
The old man did die. He died peacefully in his sleep, merely a few days after their meeting.
That morning, one of the construction workers noticed that the old man was not up and out for his breakfast; then at noon, he was still not seen boiling water—his coal stove still unopened. The worker called on him and yet no one responded, so he went in and found the old man lying in bed quietly.
“Grandpa, are you still sleeping at this hour?”
But the old man had long gone.
———
Nobody knew anything about the life of the old man. Even the know-it-all neighborhood committee, usually as efficient as the Public Security Ministry, knew nothing at all about the old man.
Some one said that the old man had worked as a doorman for the former owner of the mansion.  Actually, living on the compound, he had worked there for several generations of the master’s family. As time passed by, the masters died and their offspring left; the mansion, taken over by the People’s Government after the 1949 Revolution, was occupied by several government organizations.  Luckily, being a servant who was supposedly oppressed and exploited by his masters, the old man was granted a small room at the backyard, according to the government’s policy.  Alone and content, he lived there and made a living of mounting paintings for other people.  Ever since the Revolution, there had been one political campaign after another, yet fortunately, the old man kept a low profile, lived a humble life and was left alone, unscathed.
Quite unexpectedly, the old man left behind a note for Kevin.
“Dear Sir:
Please accept my apologies that I had to leave before your return. Yet I know that you would come back to look me up for the scroll.  Regrettably, I know neither its whence nor its wither. The only thing I know is that I have entrusted it to a trustworthy person. I am certain that, eventually, the two halves of the scroll shall be reunited and hence enjoy a peaceful life in this world ever after.
I am grateful to you for having allowed me to end my journey here in this house.
Yours truly,
YKW”

Naturally, Kevin thought of what the old man had said to him:
“I know you don’t really fancy this painting; and I don’t blame you for that, as it had never received much attention. But if it had ever received great attention, it probably would not have ended up here in my hands.”
….
“I know what you are thinking about. But son, do take a far-sighted view on things. My only condition is that you never discard the painting, at anytime and under any circumstances. Not for my sake, nor for yours. You would know why when the time comes.”
“You would know why when the time comes.”
—The mysterious destiny of the scroll further bewildered Kevin.

———

Now Kevin regretted that he had taken up the stupid lawsuit himself. Perhaps he was simply being vain when he wanted to teach a lesson or two to that “China expert.”  Not long ago, Kevin saw a fascinating Chinese figure painting—not as great as the superb “Evening Banquet” by Han Xu of the Tang Dynasty, but it definitely was an art object of superb quality.  At this urge, Kevin offered to exchange three other paintings of his for this particular one. Of course, his were also of a very high value. Considering himself a “China expert”, the owner of the figure painting seemed to know the value of Kevin’s paintings and gladly accepted the offer.  But he changed his mind soon after the deal was struck, demanding to cancel the deal.  Kevin refused to comply; and the man filed a lawsuit against him.
Kevin never took this lawsuit to heart and did not even bother to hire a lawyer.  His vanity ordered him to defend himself.
In the court, he said, “I have only one question for the plaintiff.”
“Go ahead,” said the judge.
Kevin asked the man: “Sir, do you understand Chinese painting?”
No reply.
If the man answered “no”, that would mean that he admitted that he was no expert, thus jeopardizing his reputation for the future.
If he answered “yes”, that would mean that he knew what he was doing and everything was fair play—why bother to sue?
Therefore, with no effort at all, Kevin won the lawsuit; however, deep down, he felt that he had missed something and paid a price for his vanity.
IX
It took Kevin a fairly long time to finally realize that every word the old man had said to him was a prediction.