Chapter 160: Those Who Aren

Wei Jiaxian and Tan Min were driven out by Guan Dasheng and his mother.

"Really playing the fool to catch the tiger, wanting to swindle our stuff without spending a penny—dream on!"

Wei Jiaxian was shoved and spat on by the pair, yet he still insisted on writing a note and slipping it into Guan Dasheng's pant pocket.

"Here's my contact info—if you change your mind, find me. I only have eight thousand yuan."

"To hell with your eight thousand yuan—get lost!"

Guan Dasheng shoved Wei Jiaxian out the door and slammed the courtyard gate shut with a clang.

Back inside, Guan Laoda was chatting merrily with Guan Ciying.

"Now I'm thinking about it—that other guy who never spoke, why did he radiate such righteous energy? Turns out they're from the museum?"

"Not quite, but close enough—they're all rigid bureaucrats. Anything fine that lands in their hands is wasted."

Tan Min carried the sharp aura of a soldier; Guan's brothers hadn't noticed before, but now, imagining it themselves, they naturally assumed Wei Jiaxian was some kind of researcher and Tan Min was a security guard for restoration work.

"How can someone like this go out collecting antiques himself without fearing disciplinary action?"

"Disciplinary action? It's not like two years ago anymore. Whoever grabs it owns it. Even fools are waking up—times have truly changed!"

The Guan family laughed together, unaware that after leaving their courtyard, Wei Jiaxian quickly found a quiet spot and pulled out paper and pen to begin drawing.

Every pattern, vine, bird, and even the faint traces of age-wear on the Ming dynasty five-color floral bird teapot were rendered with perfect accuracy, not a single detail off.

Tan Min stared at Wei Jiaxian in astonishment, his earlier contempt and resentment vanished into thin air.

Just moments ago, he'd been shoved and cursed at, barely avoiding the spittle thanks to his agility—he'd thought he'd been utterly humiliated,

but now it didn't seem that way at all.

"Brother-in-law, you're making a forgery to swap it for the real thing?"

Wei Jiaxian said nothing until he finished drawing every detail, then said: "I don't do that kind of thing."

"Then what are you doing? I've followed you and Old Song long enough—I thought I knew all the tricks of the antiques trade?"

Wei Jiaxian didn't answer Tan Min, but directly ordered: "I'm going to Dongshan Zicheng. Book me the fastest train ticket."

"You're ordering me around now? Think you're something special."

Tan Min grumbled at Wei Jiaxian but immediately went to book the ticket.

Capable people are always respected, and this time, the two of them were only one part of the plan—if anything went wrong, wouldn't Old Song laugh at them?

Tan Min didn't like Wei Jiaxian, but after all, he was his brother-in-law's brother-in-law—Old Song was the one he truly couldn't stand!

Guan CiHui chatted with her brother for a while, ate a bowl of overly salty soybean paste noodles, then left Beier Tiao alone.

Her son Guan Dacheng had indeed settled in Beier Tiao, waiting to sell the antiques and split the money before returning home.

Of course, that was the story they told outsiders; the real reason? Guan Ciying was wary—keeping someone at home as a lookout in case anything happened, so someone could send word.

Guan CiHui boarded a bus, rode north for dozens of miles beyond the city, and finally reached her registered village, Baishi Township.

Getting off the bus, she happened to spot the group of ragpickers from Helan.

One handcart, two backward tricycles, plus piles of broken furniture and old goods—these were their entire belongings and harvest.

In Guan CiHui's view, these people were small fry driven out of the capital by bigger fish, now scavenging for worms and insects in this land of dirt and stones.

Seeing Guan Ciying get off the bus, they greeted him warmly: "Uncle Guan, you went into town? Buy anything good?"

Guan Ciying smiled: "Bought nothing. My son went into town for odd jobs—I thought I'd tag along, but they said I was too old and wouldn't take me. Hehe."

"They're blind! Uncle Guan, your physique is stronger than any young man's! Besides, your ancestors were wealthy, right? Just toss us one thing—it's worth three years of their labor!"

"I don't have that many good things—you've seen my shabby place! No more talking—I need to hurry home for dinner, or my wife will have already scrubbed the pot."

"Hahahaha~"

The ragpickers chatted a bit more with Guan Ciying, then watched him leave.

Once Guan Ciying was far away, they whispered among themselves: "We should visit his place sometime—we made a hundred and eighty yuan from that snuff bottle, that was a real feast."

"I say we should learn more from Old Song—he gave us this tip after just one drink, and we made a hundred and eighty yuan!"

"Right, right! That old man's got skills—two days ago, following his method, we spotted that chair and made forty-five yuan in one turn!"

"Damn, you made forty-five and didn't say a word? You're buying us lamb soup today."

"Two bowls of lamb soup? Fine—I'll throw in two steamed buns too."

All of them were delighted to befriend an old man surnamed Song, unaware they'd already been manipulated by him.

Yet some unexpected turns were things Old Song hadn't foreseen.

Wei Jiaxian rode a train for over ten hours, finally arriving in Zicheng, then transferred to a bus and traveled forty kilometers south until reaching an industrial zone half-hidden in a mountain hollow.

This was Boshan District of Zicheng, one of the four great porcelain capitals of China, boasting a long history and cultural heritage, as well as the world's largest ceramic factory at the time.

But in the decades that followed, this world-leading factory disintegrated, scattering across surrounding hills into hundreds of small and large kiln workshops, quietly preserving the ancient traditions.

Only when "Zicheng Grilling" became popular did people rediscover it—whether affordable everyday porcelain or exquisite gift pieces worth thousands, visitors marveled at them.

According to some porcelain shop owners, within months, all warehouse stock sold out; household tea sets rose to forty yuan per set, and customers didn't blink—previously they'd sold for only twenty-five or thirty!

These honest people felt ashamed just raising prices by fifteen yuan.

"Hello, may I ask where Hua Minzhi lives?"

"Hello, may I ask..."

Breathing the heavy scent of coal smoke, Wei Jiaxian asked his way until dusk, finally locating the man he sought in a dormitory section of the porcelain factory.

"Uncle Hua, I'm Xiao Xian."

"You're... Xiao Xian! Come in, come in! Juhua, my nephew's here—go buy half a pound of pork head meat!"

"Sit, sit! I haven't seen you in years—last time I saw you, you weren't even as tall as a chair. Who'd have thought you'd find me?"

The fifty-something man stared at Wei Jiaxian for a long while, then excitedly led him inside, hurriedly asking his wife to buy groceries and brewing tea.

"My father left me your address before he passed. I came here asking for directions all the way."

"Your father passed... when did he go?"

Hua Minzhi froze, nearly dropping the teapot.

Wei Jiaxian remained calm: "My father passed seven years ago. His old illness flared up—he didn't suffer much."

"."

"Good he didn't suffer... good he didn't suffer!"

Hua Minzhi nodded, poured tea for Wei Jiaxian, and his excitement faded into quiet sorrow.

Hua Minzhi's wife had gone out shopping; the two sat in silence for a long while before Hua finally asked: "So Xiao Xian, how are you living now?"

"If you're without means, I can ask the factory for you—get you a temporary job. I still have some influence."

Wei Jiaxian shook his head: "I'm now with Old Song in Beijing, doing the old trade."

"The old trade? Old Song? You mean that pawnshop owner Xiao Song from your family?"

Hua Minzhi was startled, his voice turning grave: "Xiao Xian, I respect Xiao Song's loyalty, but I despise his ways—he stirs up trouble, flirts recklessly—he's a curse!"

Wei Jiaxian said nothing, pulled out the teapot's drawings and five hundred yuan from his bag, and placed them on the table.

"Uncle Hua, I've come to ask a favor."

Hua Minzhi stared at Wei Jiaxian, then at the five hundred yuan, and after a long pause, picked up the drawings.

He glanced at them once and understood immediately.

"Xiao Xian, are you planning to swindle someone again? Don't get involved in this—your family's been single-line for three generations... don't wade into dirty water again!"

Hua Minzhi's tone was strained, laced with fear and deep unease.

But Wei Jiaxian said nothing, just stared at Hua Minzhi.

Their eyes locked for a long time, until Hua finally saw the glistening tears in Wei Jiaxian's eyes.

Hua Minzhi carefully folded the drawings, whispered: "Take the money back. Tomorrow, we'll match the glaze—deliver the item in three days. But I must say: some grudges... are better let go."

Wei Jiaxian lowered his head, shook it slowly, and whispered: "Thank you."

Beijing, Beier Tiao Street, Enamel Factory.

Guan Dasheng pushed his half-new, half-used bicycle out the factory gate with the crowd leaving work.

Fellow workers subtly kept their distance, making Guan Dasheng seem strangely isolated.

The factory director stood right at the gate—a man who worked less than ten days a month, spending the rest either faking illness or slacking off—a backward element no one dared get too close to.

"Guan Dasheng, if you slack off again next month, I'll fire you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Director."

Guan Dasheng nodded politely but didn't believe a word.

Just two days ago, those antique dealers who bowed upon meeting returned again; despite their fury at the Guan family's new price hike, they didn't storm out.

This stirred greed in the Guan father and son—even the usually calm Guan Ciying began doubting whether the five-color floral bird teapot was truly worth twenty thousand yuan.

Twenty thousand yuan!

【Fire me? If I had twenty thousand yuan, I wouldn't even piss on you!】

Guan Dasheng rode his bicycle home leisurely, when suddenly he spotted a familiar figure.

Limping, yellow-toothed, pedaling a tricycle—wasn't that the formidable old man from Dongshan?

"Hey, old man."

Guan Dasheng stopped his bicycle in front of Old Song's tricycle.

"Oh, you're... that kid from Beier Tiao!"

"Yeah, that's me."

Guan Dasheng pulled out a cigarette pack with a grin and offered one to Lao Song.

"Last time I owed it all to you, old man—if not for you, I'd have lost big time; sixty bucks almost got me to sell off such a great piece!"

Lao Song struck a match to light both their cigarettes, grinning with yellow teeth: "That's true—I despise those frauds. They've got items worth hundreds, yet try to swindle them away for a hundred or two."

"Hundreds?!" Guan Dasheng said proudly to Lao Song. "People are now offering eight thousand."

"Eight thousand?"

Lao Song stared at Guan Dasheng in "shock," then after a long pause muttered, "That doesn't add up! Yesterday I saw a complete set just like it at Panjiayuan—asking price was only twelve hundred."

"You're joking."

Guan Dasheng sneered. "Can things like that even be the same? Ours is a genuine Ming dynasty artifact."

"Exactly!" Lao Song said firmly. "I examined it closely—the age, condition, provenance—all nearly identical."

"Your set was mass-produced from palace blueprints—neat and precise, sure—but lifeless, stiff. I'd say it's worth eight or nine hundred at most."

"You're talking nonsense! I thought you were decent, gave you a cigarette, and now you're getting uppity?"

Guan Dasheng snatched the cigarette from Lao Song's mouth, burned his fingers, and didn't even notice.

But his heart thudded wildly inside him.

Because his uncle Guan Ci Hui and his father Guan Ci Ying had both said: the family's teapot set was indeed old, but lacked sufficient spiritual energy—not top-tier quality.

"Don't believe me? Go check Panjiayuan! It's at the stall east of the big dirt mound."

"Wait right there. If you're lying to me, I'll beat you senseless."

Guan Dasheng hopped on his bicycle and sped toward Panjiayuan.

He didn't see the sly smile spreading across Lao Song's face behind him.

"Who could fool you if you weren't greedy?"

Thank you to reader "" for the 500-coin tip.

(End of chapter)