Eastern Tomb Expedition Chronicles

Chapter 3: A New Beginning

At that time, Baoguo Temple still had street vendors, and there were quite a few of them, primarily dealing in coins and porcelain fragments. It is said that the famous Baipian started his business at Baoguo Temple. Each vendor had their own niche, and coincidentally, I was also dealing in porcelain and copper coins, which perfectly matched the demand. This instantly lifted my spirits and boosted my confidence. I firmly believed there was a market for these old items! Fortuitously, I managed to secure a spot right in front of a booth and, with my last three yuan, bought two chicken sausages. While eating, I thought to myself: “Whether I starve or feast in Beijing hinges on today.”

Unexpectedly, just as I had laid out my goods, it hadn’t been ten minutes before a crowd gathered around my stall. “How much for these Song dynasty and Qing dynasty coins?” “Can I take a look at that small pastel-colored salt shaker?” I was suddenly swamped with customers. “How much for those foreign blue vases? Just give me your lowest price, I’ll take them if it’s right.” Amid the chaos, I blurted out, “Eight hundred for the pair of foreign blue vases.” “Deal, wrap them up. How should I pay?” The buyer agreed immediately. “Hold on, don’t rush. I’ll offer eight hundred and thirty for those vases,” another chimed in, raising the price. “Ma Laotie, isn’t that against the rules?” the man said coldly. “Rules? You haven’t paid yet, have you? The young boss will sell to whomever he wants!”

As the argument heated up, I intervened, “No need to fight, look, there are other items. This small pastel-colored salt shaker is quite nice, even though it’s missing its lid, the painting is exquisite.” Song, the boss, eyeing the salt shaker in my hand, asked loudly, “Young man, you said eight hundred to me just now, who do you want to sell it to now?” I pondered, surprised at the high demand for items that were overlooked in Panjiayuan. Deciding, I said, “Big brother, I initially said eight hundred for the pair, so it's eight hundred to you. I must keep my word.” “Ha, good!” the man laughed heartily and, looking triumphant at Ma Laoliu, gave a quick glance over the rest of my goods. “Alright, young man, you’re straightforward, so I’ll take everything you have.”

“Sold in one go!” “What?” I was momentarily stunned by the brashness of these Beijing bosses. “Stop selling, pack up your stall and come with me to the store to get your money,” a neighboring vendor advised me enviously. I hurriedly packed up. Following the pot-bellied boss into his store, he instructed me to leave the crate as well, saying he would include it in the payment. In the end, for the porcelain, copper coins, and the crate, the big-bellied boss handed me 4,700 yuan in cash—a year's savings for the average worker back then. Just like that, he bought out my entire stall, suitcase and all. With nothing left to carry, I left Baoguo Temple, feeling the thick stack of hundred-yuan bills inside my clothes, my face about to burst into a grin. Standing on the Guang'anmen Bridge, clutching my fortune, I shouted, “Heaven rewards the diligent! I, Xiang Yunfeng, may not be book-smart, but I was born to do business! To hell with my uncle’s farm stay; I’m going to be the greatest antique dealer in the country!” Passersby gave me strange looks. Fifteen or sixteen years later, the memory still makes me laugh. I think I was a fool back then. Just from that trip, I made a clear profit of over four thousand yuan! With a full pocket, there’s no panic. With money in hand, my first move was to fill my stomach. In the village, kids eat a lot; I had two bowls of shaved noodles and a side of cold dishes, feeling completely satisfied. Picking my teeth, I plotted my next move, “This works. After paying back my uncle, I’ll have some left over. This should be enough to fund my next trip. If I can make four thousand in one run, what about ten? That would be forty thousand, right?”

In the evening, at the West Station, I was swindled by a middle-aged woman into staying at a cheap hostel for sixty yuan a night. After settling in, the landlady sneakily offered, “Young man, do you need a girl?” Realizing what she meant, I hurriedly declined. She persisted, and eventually, I had to give her an extra twenty yuan to

leave me alone. As the old saying goes, when traveling, keep your wealth hidden. The landlady had eyed my stack of cash. That night, exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep, hiding the money in a plastic bag under my pillow for safety. When I woke, the money was gone... My hard-earned four thousand plus had vanished. “Where’s my money!” I was terrified, frantically searching through the bed and pillows, but found nothing but the shriveled plastic bag. Panicked, I approached the landlady to check the surveillance footage, threatening to call the police. As expected, the money was never recovered. To this day, I have a distaste for small hostels near train stations. Over a decade has passed, and that hostel is probably long gone. Hate? It’s not quite that. If I hadn’t lost that money, I might now be a small antique shop owner, perhaps married with children. My life could have taken a completely different path. But no one gets a second chance at life. If I hadn’t lost that money, I wouldn’t be known in the circles as "Divine Eye Feng." After a brief police record, it was subtly hinted that there was little hope of recovering the money. Empty-handed and despondent, I couldn’t bear to return to Mohe, to face the ridicule or disdain from my uncle’s family. I was too ashamed. I had said I made four thousand yuan, but no one in the village would believe me. Standing on the pedestrian overpass outside West Station, for a moment, I considered jumping. I was an orphan, unloved and uncared for, and thought, maybe it’s better to die and be reborn. It’s terrifying for a young person to have such thoughts. I was about to jump off the bridge, perhaps to be crushed by the passing trucks below, when suddenly someone tapped me on the shoulder.