Chapter 420: The Broken Bowl Became a Treasure

The three of them stared at the Brush Washer on the table, each with their own thoughts.

They were afraid the item wasn't good enough and that this gentleman wouldn't take a fancy to it. They were also afraid that if he did take a fancy to it, he wouldn't keep his word.

What they feared even more was being treated like pigs—bled and skinned, only to have the last drop of oil squeezed out of them.

Just as they were feeling suspicious and uneasy, with a "clatter," Lin Sicheng set the Brush Washer down.

The sound wasn't loud, but it rang in the three people's minds like a giant bell.

"The item is not bad!" Lin Sicheng smiled. "The three of you, shall we proceed as agreed?"

How was it agreed upon before?

Oh right, eight million...

The three of them were stunned in unison; without exception, a trace of suspicion flickered deep in their eyes.

Lin Sicheng beckoned: "Boheng!"

Zhao Da took several contracts with quick eyes and nimble hands, handing one to each person.

Seeing the contract, the three felt slightly more at ease: since there was a contract, it meant that this gentleman, at the very least, wouldn't rob them in broad daylight. Even if he didn't pay the full eight million, he would certainly pay something.

As for the "eight million" clearly marked on the contract, it was best to just look at it.

Thinking secretly, Feng Laosan opened the contract. It wasn't long, just two pages, and the terms were more or less standard. But after reading it through once, Feng Laosan always felt something wasn't quite right.

It wasn't just him who felt something was off; the Pangzi and the woman felt the same. The three of them subconsciously exchanged glances, their faces showing signs of trepidation. Was there a problem with the contract?

Of course there was no problem.

Throughout Panjiayuan, and even in all the antique markets across the country, the transaction contracts were basically these same terms.

The problem was the person signing the contract with them.

To put it another way: precisely because they were swindlers, they were far more sensitive than ordinary people to terms that looked unremarkable but could potentially bring great risks.

Take one point: the contract mentioned that if the seller was suspected of fraud or concealed key information, causing losses to the buyer, the buyer could resort to legal action to return the goods for a full refund, or even claim damages from the seller.

Anywhere else, or with anyone else, this sentence would of course be bullshit.

Even if they left their real Identity Cards there, or signed such a contract with big names like Rongbaozhai, or even major firms like Poly or China Guardian, they wouldn't be afraid. The reason was simple: domestic laws had loopholes, and there was no way to define whether a seller had intentionally concealed information or was truly unaware. If I said I didn't know about this situation beforehand, could you split my brain open to check? Therefore, even if they took the lawsuit to the Supreme Court, they wouldn't lose. If it were second-hand dealers, antique merchants, or even peers in the gray areas, it would be even easier to handle. Feng Laosan and Pangzi had ten thousand ways to fleece them clean without getting a drop of blood on their hands. Even if the other party was involved in the underworld and dared to use ruthless methods, by the time the other party reacted and came looking for them, they would have long since run off with the money.

To put it bluntly: they didn't need to fear the white, and they couldn't be touched by the black.

But as it happened, the gentleman before them not only had connections in both the black and white worlds, but was the type who could walk sideways regardless of which path he took.

The law had loopholes, that was true. But could they survive unscathed until the day they stood in the defendant's seat?

Having been at large for so many years, they knew best how much dirt they had on their backs. They didn't even need Yan Wenjing to step in; if he just sent a detachment of his subordinates to keep digging, sooner or later they would be investigated to the core, fined until they were bankrupt, or even left to rot in prison.

They wouldn't lose the lawsuit, but the consequences would be ten thousand times worse than losing it.

Having spoken of the authorities, let's talk about the underworld: they could run away, but where could they go?

Zhao Xiuneng's reputation wasn't just talk; he had been a local hegemon for decades, and the amount of goods that had passed through his hands was too many for even him to count.

Not to mention the northwestern provinces, even in Jiangnan, the two Guangs, and even Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Nanyang, who in the antique and Grave Robbing business hadn't heard of Zhao Polan's name?

Out of the mentality that more friends mean more paths, which underworld peer wouldn't give him some face?

If the gentleman before them wanted to deal with them, it would be nothing more than having Zhao Xiuneng raise the Flower Bonus. Whether the losses could be recovered didn't matter; he just had to vent his anger.

Taking a step back, for the sake of a mere few million, they would have to go into exile overseas, and might even lose their lives. They weren't that stupid, and their foresight wasn't that short-sighted. Turning these thoughts over, the three exchanged glances. Feng Laosan placed the contract on the table and tried his best to squeeze out a smile: "Lin Shifu, look, how about I lower the price a bit?"

Zhao Xiuneng almost laughed out loud.

Having worked for most of his life, this was the first time he'd seen something like this: the buyer trying hard to raise the price, while the seller was desperately trying to lower it?

"No need. I'll have to trouble you all in the future, let's just consider it making friends!" Lin Sicheng shook his head. "Of course, to avoid trouble, the contract must be signed!"

Lin Sicheng's voice wasn't loud, but his attitude was firm. Feng Laosan didn't know what to do.

He knew very well that this gentleman's money wasn't easy to take. Even if he really gave them eight million, the extra two or three million was definitely meant to make them do something.

The problem was, he couldn't guess what this gentleman wanted to do.

It was like a rope tied around a dog's neck; heaven knows where it would lead them. And he didn't know if, when they were no longer useful, this gentleman would just hang them from a tree...

Knowing what he was worried about, Lin Sicheng pointed at the Brush Washer: "Manager Feng, rest assured, I won't harm you. At most, I'll just need a little help, checking the origins of these items... If you can find a few more like these, that would be even better!"

Feng Laosan was suspicious for a moment: it was that simple?

Wait, no, it really wasn't that simple. The origins of these items were indeed not easy to check. But compared to that, it was still better than knowing nothing, being paranoid, and guessing back and forth, right?

Besides, the situation was stronger than the person; did they dare not sign?

After hesitating for a long while, he gritted his teeth, turned to the last page, and signed his Daimyo.

Then he pushed it forward.

Both the Pangzi and the woman were dumbfounded: wait... we have to sign too?

Feng Laosan sighed: isn't that obvious? You're all grasshoppers on the same string, do you think you can run away?

The two of them looked helpless and signed their names hesitantly.

Lin Sicheng only glanced at them, not even bothering to verify if the three had signed their real names.

He handed them over to Zhao Er.

"Boheng, go transfer the money!"

"Understood, Master!" Zhao Da nodded. "Who is coming with me?"

Before the words had even faded, the three of them stood up in unison and turned to walk out.

Only after they had turned around and left the table did Feng Laosan realize what he had done.

He gave a sheepish smile: "Lin Shifu, you must be laughing at us!"

There was nothing to laugh at. To these people, this place wasn't a dragon's den or a tiger's lair, but it was even more terrifying than one.

Lin Sicheng stood up: "Manager Feng, I'll see you out!"

"Lin Shifu, no need to be so polite!"

"It's fine, it's only a few steps!"

The group exchanged polite gestures, exited the private room together, and then left the main hall.

As if by appointment, the Santana drove in from the road.

Lin Sicheng watched them get into the car and waved his hand; the three people inside the car struggled to squeeze out smiles.

Subsequently, with the Mercedes-Benz in front and the Santana behind, the two vehicles exited the parking lot.

The driver was named Xiaowu, the muscle of the gang, known in the trade as "the Hook." People like him were usually straightforward, saying whatever was on their minds. He steered the wheel to keep close to the Mercedes-Benz and glanced at Feng Laosan in the passenger seat: "Third Uncle, are we really going to transfer the money?"

They were definitely going to transfer the money; by this point, that gentleman had no need to put on a show or act out a play for them.

But Feng Laosan wasn't sure if it was really going to be as much as eight million.

However, come to think of it: never mind eight million, even if he transferred half, they would still be profiting. They wouldn't even be unable to accept it if he only transferred one or two million.

Just like what Feng Laosan said in the private room: if you really want to swindle us, we'll accept it...

The bank wasn't far away. Less than a kilometer, it took only the time it takes to turn a thought to arrive.

Zhao Xiuneng was a major client and had given notice in advance, so the procedures were handled very quickly; it hadn't even been ten minutes.

Looking at the receipt provided by the bank and the long string of "0"s on the mobile phone screen, the three of them still found it somewhat hard to believe.

Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten-thousands... it wasn't eighty thousand, nor was it eight hundred thousand, but truly eight million?

It just felt extremely unreal, like being in a dream?

Not until Zhao Da said "farewell" did the three of them snap back to reality.

The tall figure exited the bank and got into the Mercedes-Benz. Then, with a slight engine sound, the gleaming off-road vehicle drove out of the bank.

Watching the distant taillights, the three looked at each other in dismay.

Did he really give eight million?

But with white paper and black ink, real gold and silver, could this possibly be fake?

The woman seemed unable to believe it; she took the receipt that still emitted the smell of oil ink and counted it one more time.

Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten-thousands... eight million.

Confirming there was no error, she suddenly gave a start: "Run!"

Feng Laosan and Pangzi were both stunned for a moment, a few traces of strangeness appearing on their faces.

Was Aqin's old habit acting up again?

Oh no, to be more precise: a conditioned reflex.

In the past, every time they finished a job, as soon as the money was in hand, regardless of whether the other party had discovered the problem, they would immediately scatter like birds and beasts.

It would take a year or half a year, sometimes two or three years, before they would send someone to inquire about news. If the heat hadn't died down, they would change locations. If it had, they would stage a comeback.

But this time, where could you run to?

And there was no need to run.

Feng Laosan shook his head, pointed at the receipt, and looked at Pangzi: "Take half out!"

"Half is too little!" Pangzi sighed, "Five million!"

The items were indeed his, but this time there was no alarm or danger, no wind or waves; even though he was the owner of the goods and held the golden share, it was a bit unreasonable to divide half. "That works too!" Feng Laosan didn't insist and nodded, "Aqin, withdraw one million to distribute among the brothers, and put the rest into the public account!" "There's still four million left?" The woman was startled, "So much?"

The so-called public account was the gang's reserve fund account. It was used for emergencies at critical times, and if they hadn't opened for business for a long time, it would also serve as the brothers' survival money.

According to past practice, they would keep at most one million.

Pangzi looked at her: "Do you mean to distribute it all?"

The woman was stunned and speechless.

For this business, the accomplices basically didn't contribute any effort; it was all accomplished by Third Brother alone: that person first met Feng Laosan, afterwards only recognized Feng Laosan, and when talking, only sought out Third Brother Feng.

According to past rules, Third Brother should at least take ninety percent of the profit.

Seeing at a glance that she had misunderstood, Feng Laosan shook his head: "Aqin, don't be silly: these extra four million are the wages he gave us." There was no such logic as splitting money before the work was done.

The woman was confused and didn't understand: "He didn't say that?"

Pangzi sighed: how could he not have said it?

It was you who didn't listen carefully.

Hopefully, this gentleman wasn't lying: he only asked them to help look into the origins of those few Brush Washers.

While pondering, Feng Laosan asked the woman to go to the counter to transfer the money, then took out his phone and sent a text message: Xiaowen, go now and deliver the items to Baizhai. Pangzi glanced over: "What are you sending again?"

"Do you remember that you have a Blue and White Bowl?"

Pangzi was stunned for a moment: in this gang, he was the "skin," meaning he played the role of a wealthy merchant or official, and was also the strategist. He was also the one who presided over the interrogations and was the owner of the goods.

He could hold multiple positions not only because he was the wealthiest in the gang, but also because the Liu Yida from Dashangzhuang whom he impersonated was his cousin-in-law.

Because of this connection, eight out of ten "vessels" the gang used to set up their schemes were found by him. He had handled no fewer than seven or eight hundred items, so how could he remember them all so clearly?

Seeing him frown and struggle to recall, Feng Laosan gave a reminder: "Along with those few Brush Washers, you collected them together from Malaysia!"

"Eh, that Black Sand Bowl?"

Pangzi suddenly remembered: at the time, he hadn't only collected six Brush Washers from Malaysia. There were twenty or so items in total, large and small. Among them were Blue and White Bowls that hadn't had the iron removed during the clay preparation, leaving black sand spots inside and out, as well as a Pine Bamboo and Plum Pattern Pot that had rust lines under the glaze due to impure Glaze Material.

There were also Blue and White Underglaze Red Tea Cups with glaze tears at the base due to poor glazing techniques, and even more so, a Double-Eared Plum Vase with uneven molding and a crooked neck. The age was quite old, either late Ming or early Qing, but they were all defective goods. Including when he collected them, the seller had given them to him for free as a throw-in with the six Brush Washers.

After bringing them back, Pangzi had thrown them all to Feng Laosan and never paid them any mind. He had never imagined that Feng Laosan would actually take them to give to someone, and that the recipient would be that gentleman?

"You're giving that kind of junk to him?" Pangzi looked strange, "Aren't you afraid of getting beaten?"

Feng Laosan sighed leisurely: "What if it's not junk?"

I was the one who collected the items, don't I know it myself? If it weren't junk, I'd dare to eat it.

Pangzi let out a "pfft," the mocking words on the tip of his tongue, but then he suddenly froze: *hiss*... something doesn't seem right?

For example, those four items from just now, although they weren't junk in their eyes, they were only so-so.

And that gentleman, why did he dare to pay a high price to collect them?

Yes, he did say: the extra money was a service fee for asking them to help. But if those few Brush Washers had no value, or were only worth one or two hundred thousand, what was the need to spend so much money to investigate their origins so clearly?

Or perhaps, he was even thinking of finding a few more?

Pangzi was stunned: It couldn't be that the broken Bowl had become a Lock, could it?