asked, looking up at him.
“The jade was selected, carved, polished, and buried by human hands. The stains just came along randomly, a byproduct of being stuck in wet earth near a corpse.”
Lianne’s eyes gleamed behind her thick black lashes as she smiled. “A very Western point of view.”
“That’s me, born and raised.”
“Me, too. Wen has lectured me many times about my lack of subtlety in jade appreciation. The placement of accidental stains is one of the things I had difficulty with.”
“Had?”
“Now I think of the stains in the same way the carver thought of the stone before he went to work.”
Kyle looked from the blade to Lianne. “I don’t understand.”
“Every piece of jade is different. It’s the carver’s duty and joy to reveal the object hidden within the stone.”
He nodded. “I get that part of it. Applied human skill and intelligence.”
“And the stains,” Lianne said softly, “are the condensations of time, as much a part of the jade today as the original stone or the carver’s skill. If time blurs the design or breaks the stone, the value of the whole is diminished. If time enhances the object, the result is a magnificent, multilevel piece of art, like the one you can’t keep your eyes off for more than ten seconds.”
Almost guiltily, Kyle looked back at Lianne. Her smile turned her eyes the color of dark honey.
“I wasn’t complaining,” she said. “I love seeing someone who is genuinely fascinated by jade, rather than just collecting it to impress other people or because it’s the latest investing craze.”
“Even though I prefer unstained jade?”
She laughed. “Just remember that the placement of stains on buried jade is very important to the Chinese collector.”
“What about Americans? Don’t their preferences count?”
“They can love or hate stains on buried jade, but it doesn’t change the fact that stains which add to the aesthetic power of a piece drive up the price, especially in a mixed Asian-Caucasian auction such as this.”
“I see a plush future for the Pacific Rim Asian Charities,” Kyle said dryly. “But I can’t imagine a collector letting go of this Neolithic blade for anything short of disaster or death. It has to be one of a kind. Or is that just my relative inexperience talking?”
Broodingly, Lianne studied the extraordinary blade lying within the case. Stone, yet so infused with time and reverence that the jade fairly glowed.
“No, I can’t imagine Wen letting go of it,” she said softly, not knowing she had spoken aloud.
A feeling like winter slid down her spine. She wondered what calamity had struck the Tang family, what disaster was so great that Wen Zhi Tang had been forced to sell a piece of the jade collection that had been in the family since the time of the Ming dynasty.
No wonder her father had been too distracted to remember details like a parking voucher for her. No wonder that he was pushing her to provide an opening for the Tang family with Donovan International. If he just would have told her what was going on, she wouldn’t have dragged her feet about approaching Kyle. The Tangs might not like admitting it to her, but they were family.
Her family.
“Lianne?”
She realized that Kyle had been speaking to her, but even when she tried, she couldn’t remember anything he had said. Her thoughts were a turmoil of speculation and unease.
“Excuse me,” Lianne said. “I was thinking about…jade.”
And fear.
It wasn’t impatience she had seen in her father’s eyes when he talked about the need to contact Kyle Donovan. It was fear.
Chapter 4
T he Sung dynasty jade bowl collected admirers like a magnet sucking up bright metal pins. Asian and Caucasian, collector and collected alike crowded around the single high display case and whispered in mingled awe and avarice.
Carved from a single piece of highly translucent white jade, with hints of pale green in the curves, the bowl was as simple as it
“The jade was selected, carved, polished, and buried by human hands. The stains just came along randomly, a byproduct of being stuck in wet earth near a corpse.”
Lianne’s eyes gleamed behind her thick black lashes as she smiled. “A very Western point of view.”
“That’s me, born and raised.”
“Me, too. Wen has lectured me many times about my lack of subtlety in jade appreciation. The placement of accidental stains is one of the things I had difficulty with.”
“Had?”
“Now I think of the stains in the same way the carver thought of the stone before he went to work.”
Kyle looked from the blade to Lianne. “I don’t understand.”
“Every piece of jade is different. It’s the carver’s duty and joy to reveal the object hidden within the stone.”
He nodded. “I get that part of it. Applied human skill and intelligence.”
“And the stains,” Lianne said softly, “are the condensations of time, as much a part of the jade today as the original stone or the carver’s skill. If time blurs the design or breaks the stone, the value of the whole is diminished. If time enhances the object, the result is a magnificent, multilevel piece of art, like the one you can’t keep your eyes off for more than ten seconds.”
Almost guiltily, Kyle looked back at Lianne. Her smile turned her eyes the color of dark honey.
“I wasn’t complaining,” she said. “I love seeing someone who is genuinely fascinated by jade, rather than just collecting it to impress other people or because it’s the latest investing craze.”
“Even though I prefer unstained jade?”
She laughed. “Just remember that the placement of stains on buried jade is very important to the Chinese collector.”
“What about Americans? Don’t their preferences count?”
“They can love or hate stains on buried jade, but it doesn’t change the fact that stains which add to the aesthetic power of a piece drive up the price, especially in a mixed Asian-Caucasian auction such as this.”
“I see a plush future for the Pacific Rim Asian Charities,” Kyle said dryly. “But I can’t imagine a collector letting go of this Neolithic blade for anything short of disaster or death. It has to be one of a kind. Or is that just my relative inexperience talking?”
Broodingly, Lianne studied the extraordinary blade lying within the case. Stone, yet so infused with time and reverence that the jade fairly glowed.
“No, I can’t imagine Wen letting go of it,” she said softly, not knowing she had spoken aloud.
A feeling like winter slid down her spine. She wondered what calamity had struck the Tang family, what disaster was so great that Wen Zhi Tang had been forced to sell a piece of the jade collection that had been in the family since the time of the Ming dynasty.
No wonder her father had been too distracted to remember details like a parking voucher for her. No wonder that he was pushing her to provide an opening for the Tang family with Donovan International. If he just would have told her what was going on, she wouldn’t have dragged her feet about approaching Kyle. The Tangs might not like admitting it to her, but they were family.
Her family.
“Lianne?”
She realized that Kyle had been speaking to her, but even when she tried, she couldn’t remember anything he had said. Her thoughts were a turmoil of speculation and unease.
“Excuse me,” Lianne said. “I was thinking about…jade.”
And fear.
It wasn’t impatience she had seen in her father’s eyes when he talked about the need to contact Kyle Donovan. It was fear.
Chapter 4
T he Sung dynasty jade bowl collected admirers like a magnet sucking up bright metal pins. Asian and Caucasian, collector and collected alike crowded around the single high display case and whispered in mingled awe and avarice.
Carved from a single piece of highly translucent white jade, with hints of pale green in the curves, the bowl was as simple as it
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