In the early hours of a clear April morning, with not a breath of wind, Liyan was again roused from her sleep by the creak of a door. This time, she didn’t wake John. She quietly pushed open the bedroom door just enough to peer through the crack. Through the gap, she saw two moving shadows—just as before, Mrs. Huntington and Nanny, with Nanny holding a dim flashlight to light the way for Mrs. Huntington. They stopped in front of Mrs. Huntington’s bedroom, where Nanny watched Mrs. Huntington enter before heading downstairs with her flashlight.

　　The cypress trees had been trimmed recently. Was it possible that a wild cat had jumped in tonight? Liyan was puzzled. She gently closed the bedroom door. It was a full moon night, and the bright moonlight illuminated the garden and the stone path beside it. Through the window, Liyan saw a Ford van slowly driving away from the estate.

　　Before starting her workday, Liyan went to the estate entrance to find Old Tom.

　　Old Tom had a beer belly and a balding pate, with a mouth full of yellow teeth. He walked with a slight limp, a remnant of gout.

　　“Good morning, Mr. Tom,” Liyan greeted him.

　　Old Tom took off his hat. “Good morning, miss.”

　　“Mr. Tom, do you stay in the security office at night too?”

　　“Yes, I’m on the night shift,” Old Tom yawned, his puffy eye bags squinting his already small eyes into narrow slits.

　　“Did you see a van leave the estate in the early hours this morning?” Liyan asked directly.

　　“No!” Old Tom immediately denied it, then coughed a few times, the air filled with the smell of smoke.

　　“I saw a small van leaving the garden and heading toward the estate entrance.”

　　“I swear on my life, I was up all night watching 'Spaced.' If a vehicle had left through here (the estate gate), I would have seen it!” Old Tom vowed.

　　Liyan probed, “Could I see the security footage?”

　　“I’ve been a security guard here for twenty years and never lost anything. Are you accusing me of negligence?” Old Tom responded defensively.

　　“I don’t mean that, Old Tom. I know you’re very dedicated,” Liyan reassured him.

　　“Beep—beep—” A car horn sounded behind them. It was John, ready to head to work.

　　John asked Liyan, “What are you doing here? I didn’t see you this morning. I thought you might have left early for work, and you didn’t answer your phone.”

　　“My phone was accidentally set to silent. I was just having a chat with Old Tom,” Liyan explained.

　　“Get in the car. We’re going to be late!” John urged.

　　“Oh!” Liyan replied, feeling that John had arrived at the wrong time. She could have asked Old Tom a few more questions but now had to settle for sitting glumly in the passenger seat.

　　“Goodbye, Old Tom,” John waved as he got in the car.

　　“Goodbye,” Old Tom tipped his hat once more, bidding farewell to the couple.

　　John asked, “What do you and Old Tom have to talk about?”

　　“Just some small talk,” Liyan replied evasively.

　　“Are you playing the common touch?” John joked.

　　“Do you think you’re superior to Tom when you talk to him?” Liyan asked.

　　John muttered, “I was just kidding. Why so serious?”

　　That morning, Manager Hopkins asked Liyan to appraise several small palm-sized stone Buddha statues. The statues were still authentic, but each had fresh cuts on the back, indicating they had been forcibly pried off. Hopkins remained tight-lipped about the consignor.

　　During lunch, Liyan casually chatted with Grace, “Even if a consignor prefers a private sale rather than a public auction, you still record their name and contact information, right?”

　　“Of course,” Grace replied. “Otherwise, how would we communicate with them?”

　　“I’m particularly interested in the recent Buddha statues I appraised. I think the consignor is someone with a refined taste in Chinese art. I’d love to meet him. Can you help me find out his name and contact details?”

　　“According to our policy, we can’t disclose the consignor’s identity.”

　　“I just want to know if he’s Chinese. If he knows a lot about Chinese art, it would be great to discuss it with him,” Liyan said, trying to be diplomatic.

　　Since the auction house will eventually be run by John and Liyan, Grace decided to help out, “Alright, tell me which pieces you’re referring to, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

　　Liyan described the Buddha statues with fresh cuts she had recently seen.

　　“I’ll check the ‘private sale consignment list’ and let you know the results tomorrow.”

　　Two days later, Grace leaned in and whispered to Liyan, “I checked on those consignments for you.”

　　“And?”

　　“There’s no record of him. He didn’t leave a name or contact information,” Grace said, confused. “We can find the consignor’s information for all other items, but not for these.”

　　“That’s odd,” Liyan said. “Is it common for consignors to not leave their names?”

　　“Very rare. Most consignors leave their information to assure the auction house of the authenticity of their items.”

　　Since these Buddha statues were genuine, Liyan thought if she could find this consignor, she would definitely ask about the fresh cuts on the statues. She also wanted to persuade Manager Hopkins to distance himself from this consignor to protect the reputation of Huntington Auction House.

　　On their first wedding anniversary, John had arranged a dinner at the most luxurious hotel in downtown Oxford. It had been a while since they had a moment alone together without interruptions. After their marriage, their lives had settled into a routine of work and home, and though John had occasionally wanted to take a day off, he would see his hands-on mother and dedicated staff, and reluctantly put his leave request back in the drawer.

　　By 8 p.m., the sun had just begun to set, casting a golden hue over the evening sky. The dandelion lights swayed gently in the warm breeze. From the rooftop terrace of the hotel, the iconic spires of Oxford’s colleges were visible in their entirety. John and Liyan reminisced about their time studying, pointing out the library where they spent countless hours, the lab where they analyzed ancient artifacts, the cafeteria at the Christian College, as well as the courtyard of Merton College where they first met and the small chapel where they had their wedding. They joked about the silly things they did while studying and shared secrets only they would understand, enjoying the relaxed and carefree atmosphere.

　　Liyan signaled the waiter to bring out the musicians. Dressed in black tailcoats, the musicians began to play one violin piece after another in the corner of the terrace. John was pleasantly surprised to find that all the pieces were his favorite film scores. What his mother had seen as a frivolous hobby, Liyan had secretly noted down while he hummed them and found out their origins. John was deeply moved by Liyan’s thoughtfulness and said, “I have a gift for you too.”

　　“Please don’t let it be another necklace or pair of earrings. You’ve given me several already.”

　　Seeing Liyan’s playful jab at the expensive but thoughtless gifts he had given her before, John looked a bit embarrassed. “It’s our anniversary, how could I give you something like that?” He solemnly handed her a thin booklet. “Congratulations on becoming a British citizen.”

　　Liyan happily flipped through her new passport. “It’s been quite a journey. From our marriage registration to now, it’s been exactly one year and three weeks.” She noticed that her surname on the passport had changed to Huntington. Now, she was Liyan Huntington. Even though she had prepared herself for this, her heart skipped a beat.

　　John was even more thrilled than Liyan. “You’re quick; it usually takes at least two years for others!”

　　“Why was I able to get citizenship a year early?”

　　“Because Huntington Auction House is a star business in Oxford. Although our company is small, we are a major taxpayer in Oxfordshire. Now that you’re a senior employee at the auction house, getting citizenship naturally takes less time than for the average person.”

　　“I’m really lucky,” Liyan said gratefully, thinking to herself that marrying John was indeed like enjoying the shade of a big tree.

　　“Do you want to continue working at Huntington Auction House? If you don’t want to, you’re free to look for a new job. However,” John paused, “both my mother and I hope you’ll stay at Huntington. But the decision is entirely up to you.”

　　“I want to continue working at Huntington Auction House,” Liyan said firmly.

　　“That’s wonderful.” John raised his glass, “Cheers!”

　　“Thank you, John. It’s so good to be married to you!”

　　“No need to say ‘thank you’ between us.”

　　On the weekend, Mrs. Huntington and Nanny went out of town for work.

　　“Is there really such an important business that it had to be scheduled for the weekend, and why did Nanny have to go?” Liyan was surprised.

　　“I don’t know, but isn’t it great that they’re not here? We have more freedom,” John said, echoing her thoughts. Liyan envied the small families that could live separately from their in-laws after marriage. Even though the house was a bit small, it didn’t matter. The manor was just too big, and she still felt a bit scared at night.

　　“Your mother not taking you means she doesn’t fully trust you. She probably doesn’t want to share all the auction house’s secrets with you,” Liyan teased.

　　“I don’t care! I have no intention of inheriting the auction house. She can take whoever she wants. Are you still playing or not?”

　　At John’s urging, Liyan moved a pawn.

　　“Checkmate!” John’s chariot was aimed at Liyan’s king.

　　“I haven’t lost yet!” Liyan protested.

　　“Your king’s already been captured by my chariot.”

　　“My queen is still in play!”

　　“Why are you being so stubborn?”

　　“Which piece is the most powerful in chess?” Liyan countered.

　　“The queen, of course!”

　　“Exactly, so since my most powerful piece is still alive, how can you declare me the loser?” Liyan argued.

　　“Rules are rules!”

　　“You guys in England have a queen in charge, right?” Liyan slyly changed the subject.

　　“Alright, you haven’t lost,” John raised his hands in mock surrender, “As long as you’re happy, you win every game.”

　　“Why is the queen the strongest piece in chess?”

　　“In ancient Europe, there were many small, self-governing principalities, and changes in royal power happened quickly. During battles, the queen’s family could often provide crucial reinforcements. Plus, many European countries prospered under female monarchs, so that’s reflected in chess.”

　　“Chess is interesting!” Liyan pouted, “Chinese chess doesn’t have any female pieces.”

　　Although Liyan picked up chess quickly, she was still inexperienced. Even with John’s help, she lost three games in a row. Pouting, she said, “I don’t want to play chess anymore. Let’s do something else.”

　　“How about we play a treasure hunt game?” John pulled a key out of the drawer and waved it at Liyan. “Look what I found!”

　　“It’s just a key. What’s the big deal?”

　　“This is the ‘treasure hunt’ key my grandfather left me,” John explained. “Remember? Last year, when you first moved into the manor, you asked if I had seen those locked rooms.”

　　“The key your grandfather gave you when you went to Eaton?”

　　“Yeah.”

　　“Let’s get started,” Liyan’s curiosity was piqued.

　　John shook his head, “Not today. Mom and Nanny will be back any minute.”

　　Liyan nodded, thinking of Nanny’s watchful eyes, and mimicked her tone, “Those places are off-limits!”

　　“Nanny only dares to act bossy in front of you,” John said. “Next month, when Mom and Nanny go out again, we’ll make our move.”

　　“Yes, Dr. Ben Gates,” Liyan said, referring to the adventurer from the American movie *National Treasure*. She had a feeling this treasure hunt would be special. “Where did you find the key?” she asked John.

　　“In my boyhood treasure box. Grandfather told me to keep it safe because ‘it holds the fate of the Huntington family.’ I was too young to understand what he meant, so I just threw it in my treasure box and forgot about it until yesterday, when I found the box during a big clean-up.”

　　So the British have “boyhood treasure boxes” too, Liyan thought. She remembered that in China, boys from the ’70s kept glass marbles, comic books, miniature car models, celebrity stickers, and hand-copied lyrics in theirs. Wealthier kids might even have had Transformers. She was curious to see what John had in his treasure box.

　　John hesitated, “There’s nothing worth seeing.”

　　“No, I want to see it,” Liyan insisted playfully.

　　John opened the rusty box. Inside were vinyl records by The Beatles, movie soundtracks by Maurice Jarre and Ennio Morricone, and a few faded family photos.

　　“You really love music!” Liyan said, admiration in her voice.

　　“I used to want to be a film composer,” John said wistfully.

　　“Do you still feel sad about not going to Berklee College of Music?”

　　“When we have kids, they can study whatever they like. We won’t force them to take over the family business,” John said, still resentful of his mother’s domineering ways.

　　Liyan understood that after John’s dream was crushed, he had deliberately hidden the treasure box because he didn’t want to be reminded of his heartbreak. In the yellowed family photos, a young John smiled carefreely in his family’s embrace, while Mrs. Huntington looked at her son with love. But those happy times had faded like the photos. Liyan comforted John, “When we have kids, we’ll take a new family photo.”

　　John pulled Liyan into his arms and gave her a long, tender kiss.