Chapter 2 Selling Goods
1128 Words
Dragging my suitcase through the north gate into the market, the first thing I saw was the greenhouse area, bustling especially because it was a Saturday. Everything imaginable was there: from Bodhi seeds and amber pine stones to miscellaneous porcelain, jade jewelry, bronze weapons, stone rubbings, embroidered paintings — a real eye-opener but dizzyingly so. Of course, most of it was fake, with few genuine items among the greenhouse stalls. Amused, I thought to myself, “All this fake stuff, and here I have genuine antiques I've collected myself. They should sell out fast.” Spotting an empty stall, I began setting up. “Hey, what are you doing?” a bald vendor next to me protested. “Setting up my stall,” I replied. “Setting up? Is this your stall to just set up in? Move it, kid, get lost.” Gritting my teeth, I retorted, “I want to set up here. Is this your stall? I’ll pay you, how much do you want?” The bald man’s eyes gleamed; he grinned and said, “One hundred yuan, and you can set up.” “What! A hundred yuan!” I exclaimed. “That’s too expensive!” He eyed me slantingly and said, “That’s the price. If you’re not setting up, then scram, don’t block my business.” I had less than a hundred yuan left, so after some haggling, I gave him ninety. Now, I had only three yuan to my name. The bald vendor took the money, grinning all the while. No sooner had I started setting up my stall than the market’s loudspeakers began to blare, “Dear visitors and vendors, the Panjiayuan Second-Hand Market is now closing. Please ensure you take all personal belongings and leave orderly. We wish you happy shopping and prosperous business.” The vendors quickly began to pack up. Stunned, I angrily demanded my money back from the bald man, “Give me back my money; the market is closing and I haven’t even started selling!” “Pah!” The bald man spat and cursed coldly, “The hell you haven’t set up! Your cloth is spread out; that counts! No way am I returning the money!” Furious and red-eyed, I grabbed his arm, insisting he return my money. “To hell with you, brat!” he shouted and kicked me in the stomach. At just 16, I was no match for him, and the pain was so intense I couldn’t even stand straight. As the crowd thinned and the vendors left, so did the bald man who had kicked me. It was the dead of winter; Beijing, though not as cold as Mohe, was chilly at night. Market security, dog in tow, kept urging me to pack up faster, threatening a fine if I was late. As night fell and I dragged my suitcase out of the market, I was both cold and hungry, with only three yuan in my pocket. After sitting on a roadside bench for half an hour, I learned there was an internet cafe about two kilometers away near Huawei Bridge West. Dragging my suitcase there, I found the cheapest overnight deal was ten yuan — more than I could afford. The idea of staying in the cafe fell through. Overcome by the cold, I took shelter in an ATM vestibule. People came in to withdraw money, giving me odd looks. The floor was cold and I struggled to sleep, pulling my jacket’s hood over my head and curling up in a corner. After a few hours, I was half-asleep when someone tapped me. I looked up to see a woman in her fifties, holding a small white dog, probably a resident from the nearby Jing Song community. “Young man, it’s too cold to sleep here,” she said. “I just bought two hot buns; if you don’t mind, you can have them,” she added, setting a plastic bag on the red metal box housing a fire extinguisher before walking away. Hunger rumbling in my stomach, I reached for the bag. The buns, crispy sesame flatbreads, were fragrant and delicious. Eating them, I began to cry. “Should I just give up?” “Won’t they look down on us even more if I go back?” “No, it won’t be like that,” I reassured myself repeatedly. “Xiang Yunfeng, you can definitely become wealthy.” By 8 a.m., I was back at Panjiayuan. Without money for a stall fee, I could only wander, approaching anyone examining porcelain. “Brother, want to check out my porcelain? It’s all old, and I'll give you a good price,” I would say. Then the loudspeakers announced again, “Visitors, please be aware of fraudulent vendors. Take care of your belongings to avoid scams.” That warning changed how people looked at me; they quickly walked away
. After several failed attempts, I tried my luck in an antique shop. The shopkeeper’s response was lukewarm, “What do you have? Show me.” Excited, I opened my suitcase. “Hmm, these items aren’t great, but they’re old. How much for these late Qing Dynasty blue glaze vases?” he asked. Swallowing hard, I cautiously said, “For the late Qing pieces, could you do...eight hundred for the pair?” “What? Eight hundred!” the shopkeeper stared. “I’ll give you one hundred and fifty, take it or leave it.” “...One fifty for the pair?” My heart sank. I had endured freezing temperatures and hunger to bring these from the mountains, traveling over two thousand kilometers by hard-seat train, costing me a hundred! To earn just fifty yuan? I was furious, my face flushed red as I quickly packed up. Seeing me leave, the shopkeeper called out, “Hey, don’t rush, how about I add twenty? One seventy, how about that?” Holding back my anger, I believed my price was fair but felt deeply insulted. “Keep your twenty yuan for yourself!” When you’re upset, it’s hard to listen to reason. Young and hot-headed, I pulled my suitcase out of the shop. I hadn’t given up yet and planned to set up outside the market. But upon exiting, I saw city management confiscating goods from several vendors selling fakes. I immediately abandoned the idea, frightened. But as they say, every cloud has a silver lining. Just as I was losing hope, an old man approached. “Young man, Panjiayuan is busy on weekends, and the stalls are expensive. You should try GuoGuo Temple; I heard the stalls there are free.” With this good news, I perked up and headed to Guanganmen GuoGuo Temple. The free stall there was my last chance.
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