Chapter 423: and translation of chapter title

Three months after Shigu Zhai opened, Li Ping'an sat in the second‑floor tea room, looking at the ledger.

The turnover rose another thirty percent over the previous month.

These days, the antiques scattered among the populace sprout up like mushrooms after rain, one batch after another.

After ten years of turmoil, many families hid things they dared not reveal; now the policies have loosened, and they all think of converting them into cash to improve their lives.

But he cannot guard this shop forever.

Li Ping'an closed the ledger and looked out at the bustling crowd in Panjiayuan.

In the distance a construction site was breaking ground—Beijing's first foreign‑affairs hotel, the Great Wall Hotel, rumored to have a revolving restaurant that offers a view of the whole city.

He recalled the business legends of his past life.

Those who went into business in '83, set up stalls in '84, did wholesale in '85… by the 1990s many became billionaires. Now he has the advantage: capital, insight, and the Spiritual Spring Space as his trump card.

He cannot be merely an antique shop owner.

Nor can he open only one hotel.

Clothing, electronics, motorcycles, automobiles… and the computers and mobile chips that will change the world. Real estate is a gold mine— the Siheyuan he bought now could multiply several hundred times in twenty years.

Support the daring to the death, let the timid starve.

Li Ping'an wrote a line in his notebook:

Small goal: become the nation's richest person.

The handwriting was forceful, as if carved into the paper.

Over at Tan Jia Lao Wei, business was even more booming.

The hotel on Wangfujing posted a net profit of over fifty thousand yuan in a month.

Chen Jianghe's entire demeanor had changed. He used to be Deputy Section Chief of the Security Section, wearing a uniform with a stern expression.

Now he wore a suit—still awkward, his tie crooked—but there was a spark in his eyes.

"Brother, this month's turnover is fifty to sixty thousand." He pushed the ledger over, his fingers trembling, "Net profit is thirty‑four thousand. I… I've never seen so much money."

Li Ping'an flipped through the ledger.

"Quality must not slacken. Service must keep pace. Chefs need to be trained; we can't rely solely on Sha Zhu."

"I understand," Chen Jianghe nodded, "We're already recruiting apprentices, selected three with a foundation, and Sha Zhu will train them personally."

"Also," Li Ping'an thought for a moment, "Prepare yourself; open a branch next year. I'll handle the location."

"A branch?" Chen Jianghe's eyes lit up, "Where to open?"

"One in East City, one in West City," Li Ping'an said, "Later we'll expand to Shanghai and Guangzhou."

Chen Jianghe took a deep breath.

"Brother, is this step… perhaps too big?"

"Not big," Li Ping'an shook his head, "Now is the time to race for land. Whoever is faster can claim the best spots."

The antique shop needs a master eye‑examiner.

Li Ping'an understands it himself, but he can't stay in the shop every day. He must go out and see a larger world.

The recruitment notice was posted for three days, and seven or eight people showed up.

There were retired veteran workers from a cultural‑relic shop, middle‑aged men claiming ancestral craft, and fresh graduates—history majors, full of enthusiasm, but their eye for detail still raw.

On the fourth afternoon, a special one arrived.

The old man was about sixty‑plus, thin yet upright. He wore a gray long robe, sleeves frayed to a fuzzy edge but washed spotless. His hair was silver‑white, meticulously combed; round glasses perched on his nose, and the eyes behind the lenses shone brightly.

He entered Shigu Zhai, not hurrying to speak, first surveying the shop's arrangement.

Starting from the first‑floor antique shelves, he examined each piece one by one, slowly—sometimes leaning in, sometimes stepping back, sometimes extending a finger to trace the object's outline in the air.

After about a quarter of an hour, he finally reached the counter.

"Excuse me, is the proprietor here?"

His voice was gentle, bearing the distinctive timbre of an old Beiping resident, like aged pu‑er tea—rich and lingering.

Li Ping'an came down from the second floor.

"I am. May I ask your surname?"

"No need for formalities, I'm Shen, Shen Wenyuan." The old man nodded slightly, "I saw your shop's recruitment notice and came to try."

"Please sit, Mr. Shen."

The two sat in the tea room. Li Ping'an brewed tea while Shen Wenyuan waited quietly, back straight, hands resting on his knees, like a teacher in an old private school.

"Mr. Shen, what were you before?"

"My ancestors once ran a shop at the Liuli Factory," Shen Wenyuan said calmly, "back in the Tongzhi era. It was passed down to my father's generation, but war broke out and the shop was lost. When I was young I worked at the Gugong Museum for a few years, and later… later, for various reasons, I left."

He didn't elaborate on the "various reasons," but Li Ping'an understood.

In those ten years, how many people like that suffered.

"And your family now?"

"Three children: two unemployed, one working at a street factory." Shen Wenyuan adjusted his glasses, "My wife's health is poor, she's on medication year round. I… have come out to earn some money."

His words were candid, not pitiful, merely stating facts.

Li Ping'an lifted the teapot and poured tea for him.

"Mr. Shen, our trade lives on eye skill and experience; let me take out a few pieces, and you assess them?"

"Please."

Li Ping'an selected three porcelain items from the antique shelves.

One blue‑and‑white bowl, one famille‑rose vase, and one monochrome glazed brush washer.

Shen Wenyuan stood, walked to the window, and examined them in natural light.

After about five minutes, he spoke.

Blue-and-white bowl, Wanli period of the Ming dynasty, a fine piece from a folk kiln. The body is slightly coarse, but the blue-and-white coloration is good, using huiqing material. The interior is painted with a qilin motif, symbolizing auspiciousness. Market price three hundred to five hundred.

Famille-rose vase, Guangxu period of the Qing dynasty, an imitation of Qianlong official ware. The painting is fine, but the glaze color is somewhat gaudy, the pigment has a flashy sheen. The base mark reads 'Made during the Qianlong reign of the Great Qing', written in a meticulous style, characteristic of Guangxu-era imitations. Market price around eight hundred.

"Monochrome-glazed brush washer," he paused, picked up the brush washer, lightly tapped it, listened to the sound, "This piece is good. Song Ru ware sky-blue glaze, although it's a small piece, the glaze color is warm and moist, crazing naturally. Unfortunately the rim has a small chip, affecting the value. If it were intact, it could exceed ten thousand. Now…… three thousand to five thousand."

Li Ping'an secretly nodded.

All correct.

Moreover, he explained it in even greater detail.

"Mr. Shen has a keen eye." Li Ping'an said, "Monthly salary three hundred, year-end bonus, lunch provided, and additionally, if your family encounters difficulties, you can receive an advance of three months' wages."

Shen Wenyuan was stunned.

"An advance?"

"Yes." Li Ping'an took an envelope from the drawer and pushed it over, "Here is nine hundred. Take it first, settle your family affairs. Come to work tomorrow."

The old man looked at the envelope, his hand trembling slightly.

He remained silent for a long time before reaching out to take it.

Boss, thank you.

His voice was somewhat choked.

After Shen Wenyuan came to work, the atmosphere at Shigu Zhai changed.

The old man speaks little, but for every customer entering the shop he can name the cyclical signs zi, chou, yin, mao. For good items he patiently explains their origin, craftsmanship, and value; for flawed items he tactfully points out the problems without hurting anyone's dignity.

Soon, the veteran experts of Liulichang all knew that a Mr. Shen had come to Shigu Zhai, with a sharp eye, upright character, and fair prices.

Business in the shop improved further.

That afternoon, an elderly gentleman came.

Wearing a blue cloth jacket, he carried an old bundle in his hand, the bundle's fabric washed pale and patched.

"Excuse me…… do you buy items?" the old man said in a low voice, his eyes darting.

Shen Wenyuan went up to meet him.

We do. Please have a seat.

The old man placed the bundle on the counter and opened it layer by layer.

Inside was a large blue-and-white jar.

About half a meter tall, the jar's body is painted with intertwining branch lotus motifs, the glaze is lustrous, the blue-and-white coloration is steady, showing the characteristics of sumali qing material—blue with a hint of purple, with iron-rust spots.

Shen Wenyuan's eyes lit up.

He didn't rush to touch it, first walking around the counter to have a look.

"Sir, where did this item come from?"

"It's a family heirloom." The old man rubbed his hands, "My grandfather's generation kept it displayed at home. These years…… the family has fallen on hard times, my grandson is getting married, we really have no choice……"

Shen Wenyuan nodded, took out white gloves from under the counter and put them on, then laid down a piece of velvet cloth.

"Sir, let me have a look."

He gently lifted the jar, gauged its weight, examined the foot—fine sand base with a hint of fire-engine red. Then he held it to the light to inspect the glaze and the diffusion of the blue-and-white.

After looking for about ten minutes, he set it down.

"A Ming Yongle blue-and-white jar with intertwining branch lotus design." Shen Wenyuan said, "It is well preserved and in excellent condition. How much would you like to sell it for?"

The old man hesitated and extended two fingers.

"Two…… two thousand?"

Shen Wenyuan shook his head.

The old man's face turned pale.

"Then how much are you offering?"

"I'll give eighteen hundred." Shen Wenyuan said, "This item is worth that price. If you think it's suitable, we can proceed with the paperwork now."

The old man was stunned.

"One…… eighteen hundred?"

"Yes."

"Deal! Deal!" the old man nodded repeatedly, "Thank you so much!"

After the formalities were completed, the old man tucked a thick stack of money into his pocket and left, expressing countless thanks.

He didn't notice that outside the shop, Bang Geng happened to be passing by.

Bang Geng had come to Panjiayuan to procure roasted goods.

He no longer sets up a stall; he has rented a small shopfront next to the cinema, selling melon seeds, peanuts, and beverages. Every day he needs to purchase supplies from the Panjiayuan wholesale market.

Seeing the old man emerge from Shigu Zhai clutching such a thick wad of cash, his eyes almost popped out.

After the old man walked away, he sidled up to the entrance of Shigu Zhai and peered inside.

Shen Wenyuan was carefully placing that blue-and-white jar onto the antique display shelf.

Bang Geng swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

"One jar, eighteen hundred?"

"Even selling melon seeds for a whole month, he couldn't earn eighteen hundred!"

When Bang Geng returned to the siheyuan, it was already dark.

Jia Zhangshi was cooling off at the doorway, fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan.

"Grandma, guess what I saw today?"

"What did you see?"

"Li Ping'an's antique shop bought a jar and paid eighteen hundred to the seller!" Bang Geng's voice changed tone, "Eighteen hundred! That could buy how many catties of meat!"

Jia Zhangshi's palm leaf fan stopped.

"How much?"

"One thousand eight!"

The voice was loud, audible in both the central and rear courtyards.

Liu Guangtian just happened to return from outside, heard this, and came over.

"Really or fake?"

"I saw it with my own eyes! The old gentleman walked away with money, this thick a stack!" Bang Geng gestured.

The news spread like it had grown wings, reaching the whole siheyuan in one night.

The next day, before Shigu Zhai even opened its doors, a queue had already formed at the entrance.

They were all neighbors from the street, each holding bottles, jars, bowls, plates, and cups.

Yan Bu Gui also came, holding a brocade box—inside were several copper coins he had collected for years, usually treated as treasures that no one was allowed to touch.

Shen Wenyan opened the shop door, saw the scene, and was stunned.

"Everyone, this is……"

"Mr. Shen, could you take a look? How much is my bowl worth?"

"Look at mine first! This porcelain vase has been passed down from my ancestors!"

"I have a piece of calligraphy and painting!"

The crowd surged forward.

Shen Wenyan quickly raised his hand.

"Everyone, don't rush, come one by one. We'll follow the rules and line up properly."

He moved a table to the doorway, sat there, and examined each item one by one.

Most of the items were ordinary folk kiln ceramics, Republican-era imitations, or simply modern handicrafts.

"This piece, a Republican-era pink-glazed bowl, the painting is decent, worth twenty."

"This piece, an early PRC enamel jar, has commemorative significance but is worthless."

"This calligraphy…… is a print."

After examining over thirty items, only three were truly valuable.

A mid-Qing blue-and-white plate, he gave eighty.

A late Qing jade tablet, he gave fifty.

A Republican-era silver lock, he gave thirty.

Even so, that was enough to make people envious.

"Eighty! That's enough for two months of my wages!"

"If I had known those broken bowls and jars at home could sell for money, what would I have thrown away before!"

"Tomorrow I'll turn my house upside down!"

The antique craze, like a wind, swept through Nanluoguxiang.

Every household rummaged through chests and cabinets, pulling out anything with some age, and sent them to Shigu Zhai.

Someone truly found treasure—silver dollars hidden in the beams, paintings pressed at the bottom of boxes, bronze Buddhas buried in the courtyard.

Someone had a false joy—thinking it was an antique, but it was actually a counterfeit.

But no matter what, Li Ping'an made money, a fact everyone saw.

Envy, jealousy, hatred.

Various emotions fermented within the siheyuan.

Xu Damao couldn't sit still either.

He was now watching the warehouse, earning a dozen or so dollars a month. Hearing that Li Ping'an charged eighteen hundred for a single jar, he grew envious.

"I also need to do something." He said to his reflection in the mirror, "I can't let Li Ping'an be the only one making money."

He observed for several days at the movie theater entrance and found that selling melon seeds and peanuts was indeed profitable.

Bang Geng's little stall had people coming and going every day.

"He can do it, so can I." Xu Damao gritted his teeth and took out the three hundred dollars he had saved over the years—this was what he had scraped together bit by bit after Wang Cuihua ran away.

He rented an even smaller stall, right on the other side of the movie theater, also selling roasted snacks.

Yan Bu Gui had been acting as if possessed these days.

By day he attended class—he hadn't retired yet, so he had to work. At night he clung to a copy of the "Guide to Antique Appraisal," borrowed from the library, its pages yellowed.

"Old Yan, what are you doing with this?" San Dama asked.

"Studying." Yan Bu Gui pushed up his glasses, "Li Ping'an can get rich from this, why can't we?"

"Don't go messing around." San Dama worried, "Our little bit of money can't afford a loss."

"I know." Yan Bu Gui said, "I'll just look, not buy."

He said that, but his heart was itching.

He went to Panjiayuan several times, wandering the ground stalls. Seeing cheap copper coins and pottery shards, he also spent a few mao to buy them back, studying them against the book.

But when it came to really spending a lot of money on something, he didn't dare.

He was timid, afraid of being fooled, afraid of losing money.

Yan Jiecheng and Yu Xiulian were also discussing.

The couple had been married for many years, childless, living a tight life. Yan Jiecheng worked as a general laborer at the street factory, earning thirty-six dollars a month. Yu Xiulian had no job, taking odd jobs pasting paper boxes.

"Xiulian, look at Li Ping'an's restaurant—how bustling it is." Yan Jiecheng said, "We… we wonder if we could also open a eatery?"

"Open a restaurant?" Yu Xiulian frowned, "Who among us can cook?"

"It can be learned." Yan Jiecheng said, "Or... we could open a snack stall. Sell buns and wontons, that would work, right?"

"What about the capital?" Yu Xiulian asked, "Renting a shop, buying tables and chairs, purchasing materials—none of that is free."

Yan Jiecheng said nothing.

He had saved for so many years, but the family's savings were less than five hundred.

Five hundred yuan in 1983 could do very little.

Li Ping'an stood on the second floor of the Antique Shop, watching the queue downstairs.

Shen Wenyuan was still patiently examining each item, neither hurried nor agitated.

"Mr. Shen, thank you for your hard work." Li Ping'an went downstairs.

"Of course." Shen Wenyuan looked up and smiled, "Boss, among the things we've acquired these past two days, there are a few good ones. I've set them aside in the back room."

Li Ping'an walked into the back room.

On the table lay five or six items: an early Qing bronze censer, a pair of Republican-era porcelain brush holders, a Qing dynasty Duanyan inkstone, and two pieces of folk kiln blue-and-white porcelain.

"These items could double their value upon resale." Shen Wenyuan said, "Especially this Duanyan inkstone—the stone is fine, the carving exquisite; if someone likes it, it can fetch a high price."

Li Ping'an nodded.

"Mr. Shen, from now on you'll handle all these matters fully—keep what should be kept, release what should be released. For major transactions, just let me know."

"Do you trust me?"

"Trust." Li Ping'an said, "You're an expert, and moreover a gentleman."

Shen Wenyuan fell silent for a moment, then bowed deeply.

"Boss, I will remember your kindness."

In the evening, Li Ping'an returned to the Siheyuan.

As soon as he entered, he felt all kinds of complex gazes.

Envious, jealous, inquisitive, fawning.

Jia Zhangshi stood at her own doorway, saw him, and gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Yo, Boss Li's back? You must have made a tidy sum again today?"

Li Ping'an smiled and didn't respond.

Bang Geng just came back from bringing in goods, his tricycle loaded with bags of snacks.

"Uncle Li." He called out, his tone a bit awkward.

"How's business?" Li Ping'an asked.

"Not... bad." Bang Geng scratched his head, "Better than setting up a stall."

"Keep at it." Li Ping'an patted his shoulder, "If the chance comes, let's do something bigger together."

Bang Geng blinked, not understanding what he meant.

Xu Damao's stall was right at the alley entrance; he was just packing up. Seeing Li Ping'an, he turned his head aside, pretending not to have seen him.

Yan Bu Gui was reading indoors when he heard a commotion and looked out the window.

His gaze was complex.

Li Ping'an walked into the West Wing.

Lin Xueqing was cooking, while Li Yaoyang was doing homework.

"Dad, someone at school said you're a millionaire." The little one looked up and said.

"Who said that?"

"A classmate. He said his dad said it."

Li Ping'an laughed.

"Dad isn't a millionaire. Dad just... seized an opportunity."

He walked into the courtyard and looked up at the sky.

Dusk settled, the stars hadn't come out yet.

But the neon lights were already on.

Over by Wangfujing, the sign for Tan Family Old Flavor was especially conspicuous in the night.

Over by Jiaoyuan, the Antique Shop should also be closing.

This city is changing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

And he stood at the forefront.

The wind blew in, carrying the warmth of early summer and also the scent of money.

It was strong, tempting.

But he knew this was only the beginning.

The real surge was still to come.

And he had already readied his sail.