"After thirty years in auctions, I've witnessed how jade exposes humanity's rawest facets — ambition, betrayal, longing. This novel plants Tong Yicong's rise and struggles in that glittering, treacherous world with breathtaking realism, laying bare the industry's hidden rules."
—Fu Shi, author of "Celadon and Red Sleeves"

"Through jade, wealth, and desire, Jade Hues reveals the cultural DNA embedded in our bones for millennia."
—Xiao Renfu, author of "Official Fortune"

"Here, some play with jade, some with lust, some with people. But the jade-obsessed are consumed by their passion; the lust-driven, enslaved by desire; the manipulators, outmaneuvered in the end. Such is commerce, humanity, and fate itself."
—Chu Yu, author of "Honor and Shame"

★The epic saga of a jade empire — unveiling the greed, obsession, and perilous intrigues of China's jade trade, where business, politics, and desire collide.
★Acclaimed by masters of political fiction Fu Shi, Xiao Renfu, and Chu Yu!
★A fusion of jade culture and shamanic mysticism: This novel weaves together the legends of Xiuyan jade with Manchurian shamanic traditions. Jade becomes the mirror reflecting human nature — its steadfast wisdom contrasting with shamanism's eerie mystique, set against cutthroat commerce, unspoken social rules, and star-crossed romance.
★Unrivaled authenticity: The author, a lifelong jade connoisseur, consulted master carvers Wang Yunxiu and Meng Xianhong to ensure precision, making this the definitive fictional guide to the jade world.

This sweeping tale follows master carver Tong Yicong's tumultuous journey through the jade trade — a world of staggering beauty and brutal stakes. As he weathers betrayals and reinvents himself, the novel immerses readers in jade appraisal lore while exposing the industry's shadowy rules, political webs, and tangled relationships.

Tang Dawei, born in the 1970s, is an accomplished media professional and member of the Liaoning Writers Association. She has published multiple full-length novels including "Official Taboo", "Gains and Losses", "Temptation", and "The Jade Insect" - with the latter two receiving the prestigious "Five Ones Project" Award in Anshan City's 4th and 5th Spiritual Civilization Construction campaigns respectively.
A resolute woman who finds solitary joy in writing amidst worldly bustle, she observes the world with keen perception and documents life with masterful prose. Advocating for women's independence, she believes in neither clinging to others nor indulging in self-abandonment, but rather in rigorous self-cultivation - living with both sharp intellect and graceful poise.

Prologue …001
Chapter 1: Jade in the Deep Mountains …003
Chapter 2: A Thousand Threads Lead to Jade …061
Chapter 3: Words Unspoken …095
Chapter 4: The Jade Gate Pass …137
Chapter 5: Millennia of Polish …162
Chapter 6: A Rarity Beyond Compare …203
Chapter 7: Old Wounds Resurface …230
Chapter 8: A Dream Unfulfilled …253
Chapter 9: The Artisan's Heart …279
Chapter 10: Triumph of the Tenacious …300

Years later, when Tong Yicong reflected on the past, he became utterly convinced of his mother An Yuchen's words: everything in life is predestined. This applied to personal fate, as well as the intersections between people, events, and objects.
His absence during the Jade King's departure from Xiuyan and its subsequent carving was predestined. As his mother explained, this was because his connection to the Jade King wasn't deep enough — nor was his fortune strong enough. Encounters between people, between people and objects, between people and cities — all follow destiny. What is meant to be will arrive in time; what isn't, even a brush of shoulders won't leave a glance. Everything forced against fate will eventually scatter.
Some dismissed this as idealism; others believed it wholeheartedly. Some called it philosophy; others, metaphysics. Tong Yicong, however, firmly believed that existence itself justified these principles — that all things operated on the law of attraction. If one persisted in belief, in drawing toward that belief, in striving toward that direction with unwavering focus, then as long as the path was true, realization would follow. This thought often comforted him. Yet when he remembered how the Jade King had been transformed into a Buddha while he remained far away in Shanghai, the regret still gnawed at him. He knew such an opportunity would never come again in his lifetime. His only solace was the "Buddha Vein" — a piece of the sacred jade Suo Xiujue had preserved for him.
The Jade King ultimately became the world's a jade Buddha in this world: Shakyamuni on the front, Guanyin on the back. The Buddha Vein Suo Xiujue gave him wasn’t large or heavy, but its meaning ran deep.
When presenting it, Suo Xiujue recounted the stories of the carving process. The two sat in his studio for four hours, drinking three pots of tea, as Suo detailed every event across those eighteen months.
Tong Yicong absorbed every word. Though he knew that as long as his father stood in his way, this knowledge would remain theoretical — even theory excited him. Anything related to jade, even the slightest mention of Xiuyan jade, made him smile from the back of his head.
"Smiling from the back of his head" — that was Cheng Xiaoyu's description during one of their arguments. "Unless you're talking about Xiuyan jade, your face is always stuck in class struggle mode."
Was he really like that?
Upon reflection, Tong Yicong admitted Cheng Xiaoyu wasn’t wrong. He resented the Jade King, resented life in Shanghai, resented his father for forbidding him to touch jade. In short, after years in Shanghai, he didn’t feel happiness — only that while life was grand, living was stifling. Sometimes he blamed his own pettiness; since childhood, he’d tended to overthink. But digging deeper, the real issue was his scattered focus and lack of confidence.
In this chaotic world, how many could truly concentrate without distraction? How many could resist temptation? Remain unshaken, unpanicked, unruffled? And if one managed it, would the heart still feel young? Would the person? What Tong Yicong feared most was an aged heart — for when the heart grew old, the person truly did. In his private world, he feared aging; he wanted to preserve his youth forever.
Years in Shanghai had changed much between him and Cheng Xiaoyu. Their living situation evolved — from squeezing into shared spaces to finally having their own one-bedroom apartment.
Privacy brought convenience, yet both felt something was missing. Passion? Romance? Love? Neither dared examine it closely. Some truths, when probed, revealed only naked cruelty.
Before, during intimacy, they’d stifle their sounds — Cheng Xiaoyu grabbing a pillow to muffle moans that still escaped through the seams. Now, with freedom to vocalize, their passion had dulled into routine. When had it faded? Neither could say.
Such was life: days blurred into repetition, today mirroring yesterday, tomorrow mirroring today. But repetition bred mold, dark spots spreading unnoticed.
Both college graduates, they spoke of tolerance, trust, and understanding. In harmonious moments, they moved each other to tears. In conflict, their arguments fell like autumn leaves — crisp and relentless. The fiercest fights came during Spring Festival, over whose family to visit.
Tong Yicong argued, "You’re my wife — what’s wrong with spending New Year in Xiuyan?" Even as he said it, he knew his reasoning was flawed — since when were wives obligated to their in-laws? But concern for his parents drove him to push.
Cheng Xiaoyu countered, "First I’m my parents’ daughter, my grandparents’ granddaughter — then your wife. Grandma raised me — what’s wrong with celebrating with her?"
In his heart, Tong Yicong agreed. What left his mouth was, "You’re just holding grudges, clinging to the past."
Cheng Xiaoyu accused him of illogic — why must New Year be spent with the husband’s family?
Neither conceded. From the twelfth lunar month through Spring Festival, they argued. At the train station, they boarded separate trains, each returning home. Through the windows, both shed silent tears. At home, their thoughts lingered on each other — yet neither yielded.
They forgot that between "left" and "right", there was always a middle path. A step left, a step right, and their hands might meet — walking forward together, never alone.
How many young couples lived this same story?