Chapter 125: Playing with Those People? It

“This is Jingcheng!”

“There are so many trains, I can’t even count them.”

“That building is really tall.”

“Look, Wen Leyu!”

As the train pulled into the station, Li Dayong and the others, worn out from a night on the hard seats, perked up again.

Especially Hu Man and the other three girls, who waved excitedly at Wen Leyu the moment they spotted her on the platform.

Wen Leyu waved back at Hu Man and the others; their months of close companionship had forged genuine sisterly bonds.

But then Wen Leyu heard Li Ye, beside her, say in surprise: “Why is she here?”

“Who?”

“That female reporter from Dongshan Education Daily—she came to Qingshui County to interview me. I was too lazy to come back from the south, and later I never had time to cooperate with her, kept making excuses. I felt kind of guilty.”

Wen Leyu slowly turned her head, like a dozing cat who’d heard a mouse stir.

A young couple locked eyes, exchanging glances.

Wen Leyu: “Are you confessing to the organization?”

Li Ye: “I stand with no man who’s a scumbag!”

“Hmph~”

Wen Leyu lifted her pretty little nose, utterly unconcerned—like a kitten licking its sharp claws before lazily dozing off again.

Li Ye, by contrast, was perfectly calm—he was naturally gifted and had always been popular with girls; he didn’t know how many love letters he’d get in the future.

Perhaps only a girl of Wen Leyu’s caliber could spare Li Ye from such troubles and annoyances!

“Little Brother Ye, Brother Peng, I’ve missed you so much.”

Li Dayong led the way, pushing through the crowd of classmates to reach Li Ye; this burly guy spoke with a whine.

He really did feel wronged.

Li Ye went to Yangcheng without him, arrived in Jingcheng ahead of time without him, and gave the excuse of “entrusting him with important duties”—making him the second steward of the eight-member group, responsible for looking after Hu Man and the others.

But seeing Li Ye and Jin Peng roam the world freely, how could Li Dayong’s youthful heart settle for mediocrity?

Of course, Li Dayong only had these petty thoughts inside—he’d never stay in Qingshui County if he could help it.

“Alright, first go register at your schools individually. Later, we’ll all get together for a meal at our new place.”

“New place? What new place? Like the Second Grain Store?”

The Second Grain Store was a memory the eight-member group would never forget; now that they heard Li Ye had prepared another new place, they were thrilled.

All of them had come to Jingcheng together—they’d live together for four years. Just thinking about it felt wonderful.

Jin Peng nudged Li Ye: “I’m going to pick up Old Song first. We’ll talk tonight.”

Li Ye spotted the limping man, shrinking and smirking at him, and nodded, letting Jin Peng leave.

Meanwhile, Yue Mengmeng, who had been watching from outside, smiled and approached Wen Leyu.

“Hello, I’m Yue Mengmeng from Dongshan Education Daily. I’ve seen your name on the honor roll at Qingshui No.2 High School. I’m doing a follow-up report on Dongshan students coming to Jingcheng.”

Wen Leyu listened quietly to Yue Mengmeng’s words, then said coolly: “I’m sorry, I’m not available for an interview.”

“I think you should look outside the station—there are plenty more stories there.”

“Not available?” Yue Mengmeng kept smiling. “Just now I told some classmates I could take photos of them at Tiananmen Square and mail them to their families.”

Wen Leyu opened her shoulder bag without expression and pulled out a camera.

“We’ll take photos of Tiananmen ourselves. Thank you.”

Yue Mengmeng studied the camera in Wen Leyu’s hands closely, reading the two characters on top: “Hongqi.”

【Of course】

The Hongqi 20 camera was a fully domestic model developed by Shanghai Camera Factory No.2 to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the founding of the nation. Its performance approached that of high-end overseas cameras and represented the pinnacle of 1980s Chinese camera production.

But production was extremely limited, reserved only for news organizations and related departments.

As a journalist, Yue Mengmeng knew full well what kind of person could own a Hongqi 20.

Yue Mengmeng nodded and smiled: “I’m just capturing a few shots for background footage—I won’t disturb you. When the report comes out, it’ll benefit the students too, like helping with party membership.”

Wen Leyu shrugged: “You can interview other students, but I don’t need it.”

Then Wen Leyu looked at Li Ye: “He doesn’t either.”

“.”

A group of students exited Jingcheng Station and were stunned.

Outside the station, huge banners and signs covered a vast stretch of the square.

All read: “XX University New Student Reception,” “Welcome 1982 Freshmen of XX University,” and similar slogans.

“Good heavens, how many universities is this?”

“Are all these universities in Jingcheng? There must be dozens!”

In Li Dayong’s impression, universities in Shenzhou were extremely rare, incredibly hard to get into, and students were precious.

But this scene made them feel like these universities were as common as cabbages sold by the pound on the street.

Yue Mengmeng raised her camera from the side, locking onto the students’ stunned expressions, successfully capturing a meaningful image.

From a poor small town to the nation’s capital—what kind of transformation would these future pillars of the country undergo?

A few more such photos, and a solid article would gradually take shape.

“Should we register first, or take photos first?”

Hu Man spotted the sign for Jingcheng Aviation College and hesitated—should she do the official business first or have fun?

Li Ye said: “Ask them. Don’t be shy. From now on, you have to learn to live independently.”

Hu Man and Jiang Xiaoyan smiled shyly, walked over together, asked a few questions, then ran back happily.

“They said it’s fine—they’ll be here today and tomorrow, you can register anytime.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

The eight-member group walked off together, but Yue Mengmeng didn’t follow. Instead, she squinted at Wen Leyu’s back.

After a moment, she looked down at her chest, then turned to look behind her.

“Hmph~”

Yue Mengmeng turned and walked straight to Jingcheng University’s new student reception desk.

“Hello, I’m Yue Mengmeng, a reporter for Dongshan Education Daily stationed in Jingcheng. Are there any students from Dongshan here? May I conduct a survey interview?”

“.”

“Sure sure, sister, come on over!”

“I’m from Dongshan. What’s this ‘survey’ thing?”

Li Ye and Wen Leyu took several newly arrived classmates to Tiananmen Square, shot two rolls of film, had a hearty meal, then saw each one off onto their respective university shuttles.

Now the advantage of the eight-member group’s joint application became clear: each school had two students, watching out for each other, never lonely.

“Brother, remember to come find us next Sunday!”

“I won’t forget. If anything urgent happens, call Brother Peng.”

Before Li Ye had settled on a new base, they couldn’t cancel their room at Kemei Hotel—at least the front desk had a phone, the fastest way to stay in contact.

After seeing off Li Dayong and the others, Li Ye and Wen Leyu didn’t go register at Jingcheng University—registration wasn’t limited to one day.

Most people rushed to get it done early; today would be packed. No need to queue.

The two watched a movie and enjoyed a delicious dinner.

Li Ye found it strange: just now, Hu Man and the others had whispered quietly to Wen Leyu, yet Wen Leyu hadn’t asked a single word about Yue Mengmeng.

But Li Ye didn’t know—in Wen Leyu’s eyes, lions and elephants were rivals; everyone else was trash.

When Li Ye returned to Kemei Hotel, Jin Peng, Wang Qiang, and Old Song had already eaten and were sitting in the room smoking.

“Brother, you’re finally back!” Wang Qiang immediately complained: “This Old Song’s a scoundrel—he spent the whole afternoon wandering around and didn’t see anything useful. When we asked him to refund the money, he refused.”

“Scoundrel?”

Li Ye sat down on the bed, watching Old Song squatting in the corner, puffing on his pipe. He found it interesting.

That morning, when Old Song got off the train, Li Ye had glanced at him twice.

First, the old man wasn’t shy.

On the Jingcheng platform, he showed no trace of “unfamiliarity with the world”—his eyes darted around, sharp with cunning, yet also open-minded.

“Give him a chair. Why squat on the floor?”

“No need, no need. Squatting’s fine. My legs aren’t very flexible—I’m used to it, hehe.”

Old Song glanced at Li Ye, grinned with his yellow teeth, his wrinkled face oozing flattery.

Then Jin Peng spoke.

“Little Ye, I messed up. This afternoon I took him to the courtyard at Zaojunmiao, told him I was a carpenter from home, here to fix doors and windows.

But he walked around the room, looked everywhere, and couldn’t tell a thing. Asked him anything, he didn’t know.”

Li Ye said calmly: “What did you ask him?”

“Brother, we asked if the furniture was good quality—he couldn’t say. We asked if it was worth two thousand yuan—he said he needed a few more days to decide.”

Wang Qiang couldn’t hold back: “He’s just after our food! You didn’t see him at lunch today—he was like a monkey, ate more than me, devoured three bowls of braised pork offal.”

Old Song lowered his head, embarrassed: “Hehe, I won’t... I’ll eat just two buns from now on.”

“You think you got off easy? You ate plenty tonight—if it weren’t for my brother’s kindness and his order to treat you well, you wouldn’t have gotten a single bite tonight.”

Li Ye found it amusing; Wang Qiang wasn’t the impatient type—this old Song must have truly pissed him off.

“Hehe, whether it’s worth it depends on who you ask. If you two young masters think it’s not worth it, Master Li might not.”

“No, no, no—just call me Brother Li Ye,” Li Ye said. “Just tell me: are those pieces of furniture good or not?”

“Tell you?”

Old Song hunched his shoulders, darting suspicious glances at Jin Peng and Wang Qiang, opening his mouth but holding back.

Jin Peng saw right through it: this old bastard had something to say but was waiting for the real boss—Li Ye—to show up before revealing his hand.

Of course—he’d only say it to Li Ye. If he told Jin Peng, it wouldn’t be worth anything.

“Hehe~ You really are a sly devil.”

Jin Peng smiled but said nothing more.

He couldn’t outwit Old Song in trickery, but if it came to brute force, eight Old Songs couldn’t match him.

If he pushed Jin Peng too far, he’d go back and dig up Old Song’s ancestral graves!

To these old-school types, their ancestral graves mattered more than their own lives.

No matter how he played, he couldn’t escape Jin Peng’s palm.

Li Ye said: “Everyone here’s family—just tell me straight: are those pieces of furniture good or not?”

Old Song chuckled awkwardly, thinking for a moment. “A couple of pieces are decent. The rest are average.”

Fuck.

All that furniture, and only a few were real? The rest were fakes?

Li Ye wasn’t upset about the two thousand yuan—he was worried his image of competence in front of Jin Peng and Wang Qiang was about to collapse.

【See? See? I told you it wasn’t worth two grand. Got fooled, didn’t you?】

Li Ye, still unwilling to give up, asked: “So these ‘average’ pieces—were they old elm, prickly ash, or what?”

“Nope,” Old Song said firmly. “Mostly rosewood. Two pieces were huanghuali, and some others were random chicken-wing wood and junk.”

“Slap!”

Li Ye slammed the table, glaring at Old Song for a long moment before saying: “Tell me about those two decent pieces—what makes them decent?”

Old Song swallowed hard. “That bed frame, and a few pieces in the study—fine material, even better craftsmanship. Not the work of an ordinary hand. Even decades ago, they were valuable.”

“So you’re saying you’ll wait a few days to check the market prices in Beijing?”

Old Song’s eyes lit up. He gave a thumbs-up. “A top scholar is sharp indeed. Antique prices fluctuate. I don’t know Beijing’s market—I can’t say if two thousand’s fair or not.”

“Alright, alright, stop flattering me. I’ve got a job for you—will you take it?”

Li Ye wasn’t going to dance around with this old fox. The man’s fox fur was nearly worn off—hiding things only made him look foolish.

“My legs aren’t good. Can’t do some jobs.”

“It’s your old trade—check the antique market in Beijing. I’ll pay you a salary. But if your legs are truly bad—”

“I can do it! I can do it! Look, look!”

Old Song squatted on the ground and kicked his lame leg—thump, thump, thump—surprisingly strong.

“Alright then—how much salary do you think’s fair?”

Old Song grinned. “That depends on how big your operation is, and who you’re dealing with.”

“Not big,” Li Ye said. “We’re late to the game. Beijing’s waters are already muddy. Let’s start with a few ten thousand yuan, test the waters, see how things go.”

Old Song muttered a few times, thought hard, then held up three fingers.

“Thirty’s too low. You’re a talent.”

“Not thirty,” Old Song grinned, showing his teeth. “I want three hundred.”

“...”

Wang Qiang shot to his feet, roaring: “You old bastard, how dare you ask for that? Do you think I won’t smash your skull with a stool?”

“Hehehehe~”

Old Song crouched in the corner, silent, only chuckling.

Li Ye smiled. “If you want three hundred, you’ve got to explain the details.”

Old Song lit a new pouch of tobacco, puffing as he spoke. “Antiques are murky waters—too many dangerous players. You might even run into foreigners. That’s even more perilous.”

“I’ve got a grandson at home. An old man like me has to sell his skills for a good price, right?”

“Oh my god,” Jin Peng laughed. “Old Song, you know what foreigners are? Do you even know what a US dollar or a Hong Kong dollar is?”

“I only know silver dollars,” Old Song said proudly. “Back in my youth, I dealt with the Japanese a few times—conned them out of thousands of silver dollars.”

“...”

Li Ye and his two brothers stared, stunned, at the frail old man in the corner—hard to believe.

How the hell did you not get stabbed to death?

Li Ye asked sternly: “How did you dare cheat those people?”

“That money felt good to spend!” Old Song swayed his head. “Drinking, chasing girls—everything costs. Spending other people’s money feels wrong. But cheating those bastards? Hehehe.”

Li Ye fell silent for a long while, then said solemnly: “If you’re dealing in antiques in Beijing, you might run into people from that side too. Many fine pieces end up sold overseas.”

Old Song said nothing. After finishing his tobacco pouch, he grinned crookedly.

“Two hundred. Two hundred a month. No lower.”

“Why’d you lower it yourself?” Jin Peng asked, half-angry, half-laughing.

Old Song’s sly eyes gleamed. In Dongshan dialect, he said: “Because playing with them? It’s thrilling.”

Thank you to reader “Live Freely” for the tip, and to reader “july-27th” for the tip—thank you both.

(End of Chapter)