In Monet's later years, he painted around three hundred versions of Water Lilies, so the one in the museum wasn't the only original.
Ryan's focus began to shift away from Carly.
This collection wasn't just Monet.
Van Gogh, Picasso—world-renowned artists all had genuine pieces stashed here.
And it didn't stop at art. There were royal crowns and scepters from various monarchies. Golden artifacts from Egyptian tombs. Bronze scepters from the Mayan Empire.
Even a Yuan Dynasty blue-and-white porcelain jar depicting Peach Garden Oath from China.
Ryan picked it up, admiring it intently.
Though he held American nationality now, his blood was pure Chinese. In his heart, he was red through and through.
Foreign antiques held little charm for him.
But a piece of China's cultural heritage? That was sacred.
As soon as he lifted the jar, he felt something inside.
Peering in, he saw a thick document envelope tucked inside.
His interest piqued, Ryan carefully replaced the porcelain jar and pulled out the envelope.
Carly leaned in with wide eyes.
"Could it be a will? If it is, I'm burning it."
Inside was a film reel, old and brittle—far older than even the classic reels Ryan remembered from childhood back in his village.
Alongside it were thousands of strips of photographic film.
Ryan randomly held one up to the light and took a look.
His eyes froze. Pupils contracted.
A cold, murderous aura burst from him uncontrollably.
Carly shivered. The hairs on her neck stood up. Her eyes filled with fear.
"God… why does he suddenly look so terrifying?""What on earth is on those negatives?"
Ryan clenched his jaw so hard his teeth creaked.
He never expected to find this here.
The film was nearly 80 to 90 years old.
Its contents—a historic blood debt that no child of China could forget.
The Nanjing Massacre.
One by one, Ryan examined the negatives.
The more he saw, the more intense the pressure around him became.
The more he saw, the more his murderous rage boiled.
Each frame was worse than the last.
He counted—3,000 photographs.
That's right—3,000 graphic, documented images of the Nanjing Massacre.
He then turned to the ancient film reel.
What he saw made his blood burn like Yellowstone's supervolcano preparing to erupt.
A historical atrocity he remembered from textbooks:Two Japanese lieutenants, Toshiaki Mukai and Tsuyoshi Noda, competing to see who could kill 100 Chinese civilians first.
And this reel? It recorded the entire thing.
Ryan sat atop a sarcophagus, surrounded by 3,000 photo negatives and that one cursed reel.
His eyes glowed crimson. Any Chinese person, upon seeing this, would feel the same seething fury.
Carly timidly picked up one strip, glanced at it, and screamed—dropping it immediately.
"God! Why did that bastard have something so horrifying?""Were all those victims Chinese? Is that why he looks ready to kill someone?"
She dared not comfort him. She simply stood there, trembling.
After a long time, Ryan took a deep breath. His face looked calm, but inside, a volcano was ready to blow.
"Damn those devils!""I'm going to expose every single one of these photos!""F**king emperor of Japan…"
Then a thought hit him.
"Wait... Didn't Prometheus say they had a 'special weapon' coming into L.A.?""I've got a clone card. I've got a storage space.""What if I intercept that weapon and send my clone into Japan… and use the weapon there instead?"
"Whether it's nuclear or bio, those bastards deserve to taste it."
His eyes lit up—cold and brilliant.
At last, the ultimate use for Prometheus's mysterious weapon.
"I'll use this film and these photos publicly to grab everyone's attention.""Then in secret, I'll use my clone and intercept the weapon."
His mind spun like a machine. He collected the negatives and film reel, packed them neatly in the envelope.
"I'm taking this. Pretend you saw nothing."
His voice was flat.
Carly quickly nodded. She could finally breathe again. For a moment, she'd truly thought he might kill her.
"I'm off."
Ryan no longer cared about the rest of the collection.
"Will you come back for me?" Carly asked softly, full of longing.
"After I'm done."
He turned without hesitation. She was still a married woman, and he had bigger things to do.
"Even a vengeance nine generations old may be repaid—how could a ten-generation blood feud be left to rest?"
I, Ryan Lee, am a man of the Spring and Autumn Annals.