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墨書 Inktalez
Fatty didn't lend him any money, and the other two companions certainly wouldn't either; not everyone disregards the rules. As a result, that piece of Chenghua Blue and White ended up with Beijing Accent.
On the way back, that person kept complaining about Fatty. But Fatty was no pushover; he dealt with the guy on the spot, leaving him in a ditch before walking away. Although the other two companions disapproved of his actions, they couldn't just let the guy die there. They pulled him out, at least saving his life.
I admired Fatty's restraint and curiously asked him why he didn't join the bidding. Fatty replied darkly, "It's precisely because I can endure and hold my ground that I'm still alive. There are bloody lessons to be learned here."
Indeed, there was something fishy about this incident; the two groups of Ground-Diggers crossed paths too conveniently, raising suspicions. Genuine Chenghua Blue and White pieces are rare in the present day, and few have actually handled authentic items. Someone like Fatty, who only dabbled in this field, had little chance to come across such things; what he knew was merely hearsay. If it were a counterfeit, it would be normal to be fooled. I had only encountered such items while assisting at the Shenyang Palace Museum, where I systematically studied Ming and Qing dynasty blue-and-white porcelain; otherwise, it would have been hard to come into contact with such things.
Karma comes swiftly. The matter quickly reached a conclusion, proving that Fatty's decision was correct.
Since Fatty joined the Ground-Digging ranks, I naturally stopped visiting Wen, the Shopkeeper's place. Without me working for free, Wen felt quite regretful. After that incident, Fatty remained quiet for a while; even though he missed out on buying a Qinghua Bowl in Shanxi and nearly left someone in a ditch, he had acted too harshly. The guy ended up in the hospital for half a year and came out with a limp.
Worried about potential retaliation against him, I advised Fatty to take a break and lay low to avoid any trouble on the road. After all, he was still a novice in this line of work and knew little about its dangers. At that moment, Wen's brother-in-law came looking for me regarding a Qinghua Bowl he had collected from Wen's shop and asked me to come over for an appraisal.
It hadn't even been a month since Fatty's incident when I heard about the Qinghua Bowl; my mind immediately connected it to Fatty's experience. Ever since joining Ground-Digging, Fatty had lost interest in staying at the shop; he was either hanging out with dubious friends or showing off at antique markets. I couldn't reach him on his phone as it was out of service area; after several attempts, I finally found him and urged him to hurry over to Wen's shop because there was something important.
When I arrived at Wen's shop, five people were chatting over tea, including Fatty. Wen's shop was much larger than my little den; the counter space alone was three times that of my entire shop. Although he didn't have many items, they were all genuine antiques arranged in an elegant manner. A few people sat around a mid-Qing redwood table enjoying tea, exuding an air of sophistication.
Wen was an old-school gentleman; he cupped his hands and introduced me to Mr. Zhang before introducing me to three strangers from Shanxi who had previously collaborated with him. A businessman like Wen couldn't afford to go Ground-Digging himself; he operated at a higher level directly dealing with Cultural Relics collectors. Of course, things weren't that simple—many among them engaged in riskier and more lucrative ventures: tomb raiding.
This is one reason I didn't get too close to Wen; whenever he asked me to appraise uncertain items, I noticed many of them were new Scammers.
After exchanging pleasantries, Wen instructed his staff to set up some screens to separate our area from the others and smiled at the three Shanxi guests: "Why don't you show Mr. Zhang what you've got?"
The three people clearly knew the purpose of my visit. With a smile, one of them took a box out of a backpack and placed it on the table. He opened it, revealing several layers of soft cloth. As he unwrapped them, he took out a Qinghua Bowl and gently set it in the center of the table.
All eyes were focused on the bowl, including mine. However, I didn't rush to pick it up; like them, I simply sat and observed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Fatty slightly nodding. Our silent exchange went unnoticed by anyone else, and only I understood its meaning—this was the bowl he had chosen not to bid on.
I first lowered the light above the table, then carefully lifted the Qinghua Bowl with both hands. The light shone directly on my wrist, illuminating the bowl's pure white body, fine texture, and glossy glaze that was rich and smooth like jade. It felt warm and silky to the touch, without any roughness—indeed a fine piece. A glance at the mark on the bottom confirmed its authenticity.
However, I dared not speak hastily. At first glance, this appeared to be a folk kiln lotus eight treasures bowl, with excellent body, glaze, and painting quality. I took a deep breath and recalled everything I had learned about Chenghua Blue and White porcelain, deciding to make my final judgment based on the glaze and painting technique—my area of expertise.
Soon enough, I noticed something amiss. The floral patterns on this lotus eight treasures bowl were unclear; the reserved spaces were indistinct, and the layers of the eight treasures pattern lacked definition. Overall, there seemed to be signs of shoddy workmanship in the decoration.
But this item was too valuable; I couldn't afford to offend anyone. After some thought, I placed the porcelain back on the table and said to Wen, the Shopkeeper: "I can't see clearly."
With that, I spread my hands in a gesture of farewell. Wen understood my implication; rather than openly criticizing it in front of others, I chose to say I couldn't see clearly instead. How he handled it was his business.
To my surprise, my caution still provoked discontent among the Shanxi guests. A young man in his twenties with a scar on his face suddenly stood up and blocked me with an arm across my chest. "Make your meaning clear before you leave! What do you mean by 'can't see clearly'?"
The tone of his voice was aggressive and laced with hostility; I hadn't expected him to be so brazen as to treat this place like his territory. Even Wen looked taken aback; he was old-fashioned but not a pushover—acting tough in his shop was akin to courting disaster. However, Fatty reacted quickly; as soon as Scarred-Faced Youth finished speaking, Fatty knocked him down with a knee strike. He followed up by delivering two solid punches that sent the other two Shanxi guests sprawling.
At that moment, Fatty cursed loudly: "What’s your problem? Let me tell you something—you three idiots must be out of your minds! I've seen this thing back when I was digging in Shanxi; knowing it was a trap, I avoided it—but look at you stepping right into it! Whose territory do you think you're messing with? Do you really think Wen is some kind-hearted saint?"
Hearing this, I realized Fatty had shifted the blame onto Wen—good; that saved me trouble since whatever happened in his shop ultimately fell to him to resolve. Fatty's strikes were fierce; those three Shanxi guests curled up on the ground unable to move. I waved at Fatty: "Let’s go; these three are for Wen to deal with."
Fatty followed me out of Wen's shop in a huff. Once outside, he asked me mysteriously: "Monsters?"
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