Los Angeles International Airport.

Sophia Laurent stepped out of the terminal, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Two bodyguards followed closely, scanning their surroundings with vigilance.

Frederick Vanderbilt's assistant had been waiting for some time. He greeted her respectfully and ushered her into the waiting car.

As they drove through Beverly Hills, Sophia gazed at the opulent mansions lining the streets, marveling at the collector's wealth. The European-style estates glittered in the sunlight like storybook castles.

"Miss Laurent, we've arrived."

The assistant's voice pulled her back to reality. Before her stood a three-story villa spanning nearly ten thousand square feet, its white marble facade glowing softly in the light.

Frederick himself waited at the entrance. The sixty-something collector stood tall and energetic, his eyes sharp with intelligence.

"Sophia, my dear! Finally, you're here." He clasped her hands warmly.

After dinner, Frederick eagerly led her to his private collection room.

"This is an iris recognition system." He positioned his eye before the scanner. "No one but me can open this door."

With a beep, the heavy metal door slid open.

Sophia gasped.

The vault far exceeded her expectations—over three thousand square feet. Masterpieces from every dynasty adorned the walls, while glass cases displayed priceless antiquities. Each artifact gleamed under the lights, bearing the patina of centuries.

"These all require restoration." Frederick gestured to the right wall. "Especially this Portrait of Emperor Shenzong of Song—an authentic Tang Yin."

Her pulse quickened. As a conservator, touching such national treasures was an extraordinary privilege.

At dawn the next day, she entered the specially prepared restoration studio.

Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the worktable. Sophia pulled on white gloves and carefully unrolled the scroll.

Though well-preserved, the edges showed slight damage. She began by gently brushing away surface dust with a soft brush before starting the critical delamination process.

"Steady hands..." she whispered, her fingers trembling slightly.

As she separated the painting from its backing paper, an unusual texture caught her fingertips. Holding her breath, she used tweezers to extract a yellowed slip of paper no larger than her palm.

Tiny lines and symbols covered its surface. In the upper right corner, two characters stood out clearly: "Yongle."

"This is..." Her pupils contracted. "A treasure map from Zheng He's voyages?"

Her hands shook uncontrollably. This accidental discovery might unveil a six-hundred-year-old secret.

Frederick rushed over at the news. His face paled when he saw the document.

"Impossible..." He took the fragile paper with trembling hands. "My ancestors did sail with Zheng He, but this was never mentioned in our family records."

Their eyes met, mutual astonishment and excitement flashing between them.

This map's emergence could rewrite history. But more unsettling—why had it been concealed within a painting for centuries? For protection... or was someone deliberately hiding the truth?