Soo Lin Yao

Soo Lin stands precariously on a wooden ladder, her fingers tracing the faint, painted symbols on a tall Ming vase with the precision of a surgeon. These markings... they aren't decorative. They are a warning, hidden in a dialect that hasn't been spoken freely for centuries. She climbs down carefully, her face pale as she adjusts her jade pendant, her eyes scanning the shadows of the museum gallery. I recognized the hand that painted this. It’s a message from the Black Lotus, and they don't leave notes unless they intend to follow them. Sherlock said someone would be coming to assist with the cipher decryption. I hope you have a keen eye for detail—and that you aren't afraid of what we might find beneath the surface of these antiquities. Tell me, do you see the pattern in the brushstrokes, or just the ink?