Chapter Twenty: The Unscrupulous Merchant
Li Shishi walked gracefully downstairs; if she had tied her apron behind her back, she would have looked quite like a princess.
She asked me what was wrong, and I pointed to the bottle and whispered, "Look at this thing, isn't it the kind you used back then?"
Li Shishi casually picked it up and glanced at it. Seeing her greasy hands, the man surnamed Chen said with displeasure, "Do you even know how to read this? Be careful!"
Li Shishi chuckled and said, "It's just a Wind Listening Bottle, what's the big deal?"
The man surnamed Chen's expression changed, and he gestured for him to proceed.
Li Shishi had already put the bottle back in the box, lifted her apron to wipe her hands, and looked at the weather outside, as if she had just looked at an apple full of wormholes rather than an antique.
I looked at her questioningly, and she smiled slightly and said, "The item is indeed from the Song Dynasty, but it was just an ordinary item back then, not something that would be considered high-class." The man surnamed Chen said with great respect, "I didn't expect this young lady to be such an expert. Now that you've seen the item, please give me a price."
I was completely baffled. All I knew about porcelain was Jingdezhen and Erli Kiln, the latter being a place in our area that was famous for producing pickle jars.
I pulled Li Shishi to the bottom of the stairs and asked her, "What exactly is that thing?"
Li Shishi said, "Back then, wealthy and influential families all had a side room with an openwork cabinet. You've seen those vases, which are all the same thickness from top to bottom. When placed on the cabinet, they would sway slightly in the slightest breeze, which was quite interesting. To prevent them from falling, their bottoms were actually hexagonal—you couldn't feel them unless you touched them carefully. Then they had an identical base, which was very thin and not noticeable when placed on the cabinet."
"That wind-listening bottle is decent, but unfortunately it's not the work of a master craftsman. If it were a masterpiece, they would usually have their name engraved on the bottom of the bottle, and you could only tell by touch."
"How much would this thing be worth in modern times?" Without realizing it, I had started to think of Li Shishi as a modern person.
Li Shishi gritted her teeth with difficulty and said, "Tell me the exchange rate between silver and RMB first (where did you learn this term?)."
How would I know? I asked her, "How much was pork per pound back then?"
"I haven't bought it before, but I think it's 160 coins per catty."
"It's 16 yuan a pound now, but it's only 10 taels—let's say one tael of silver is worth 200 yuan. How much would that bottle have cost back then?"
"Twenty taels of silver."
"4,000 yuan?" I said, puzzled. I felt a Song Dynasty bottle shouldn't be that cheap. Even an uncovered spittoon would cost more than that, wouldn't it?
I slapped my forehead and realized that I had misled myself by using pork as a general equivalent for so long—I forgot to add the 1000 years!
This Li Shishi can't help me; she's confused herself. I sent her away, then arrogantly sat back on the sofa, crossed my legs, and pointed to the box: "Where's the stand for this thing?" The man surnamed Chen became even more respectful and said, "The stand is gone, but it's quite remarkable that it's been preserved so well."
I said in a tone that suggested, "Even the richest family doesn't have surplus grain," that "that won't do—without a stand, it can only stay in the box and has no use value, you understand? It's like a badminton racket; no matter how good the racket is, it's useless without the shuttlecock."
"That……"
"Besides, this thing of yours wasn't made by any famous craftsman. You know, wealthy people are very particular about the decorations in their homes. Have you ever seen a lucky cat or a Garfield statue?"
Even a fool should be able to see now that I've brandished my axe and revealed the pawnshop owner's sinister side. The man surnamed Chen smiled slightly: "Enough talk, just give me a price."
Just then, Lao Pan called back. I went to a quiet spot to answer the phone and asked him directly, "How much can a wind-listening bottle sell for now?"
Old Pan was surprised and said, "You've made progress! It's quite impressive that you even know the name 'Listening Wind Bottle.' This kind of thing disappeared after the Jingkang Incident. I saw one at an auction two years ago; a very ordinary one sold for 1.8 million. In the current market, without speculation, it should easily sell for 2 million." Old Pan suddenly asked warily, "Have you found someone else to help you?"
I chuckled and said, "If I want to hire someone more skilled, do I need you to give me a going rate?"
"That's true." Old Pan hung up the phone.
That's a great item worth 2 million!
I calmly walked back, only then remembering to look at the business card belonging to this Mr. Chen. The card only listed "personal assistant" and phone number, without even mentioning any affiliated companies. I pretended to be very open and said, "Assistant Chen, my assistant and I discussed it and think yours is quite good. The current market value is around 1 million (don't be afraid to exaggerate, I'll lower the price by half). According to the rules, a 20% down payment is 200,000, and the annual depreciation is also 20%. That means if you want to redeem it after a year, you'll have to give me 240,000—you should understand, we earn interest on 200,000 in the bank, we can't just lend it to you for free. Anything less than a year will be counted as a full year. If you think this is acceptable, I have a contract here..."
“No need for trouble, I’ll take it all, 200,000 as you said.” Assistant Chen shook his head and smiled sarcastically. “200,000—Manager Xiao, let’s be frank, you and I both know the market price of this thing is no less than 10 times that amount. The reason we’re selling it to you for 200,000 is firstly because you know its value, and secondly, consider it a small gift to your bank, for the sake of long-term cooperation.” Assistant Chen pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase: “This is the transfer agreement and the official certificate of authenticity for the Listening Wind Bottle. As long as you transfer the money to our account, I’ll sign it immediately.”
I reached out my hand, and he handed me an account. I fiddled with it on the computer for a few seconds and got it set up. A few minutes later, he received the message. He readily signed everything that needed to be signed, shook my hand, and said, "Working with you has been very careful, but at least it's been very smooth." I chuckled and said, "Not at all."
I just closed a 2 million deal! According to the rules, I get a 5% commission, plus the 2% that should go to Lao Pan, so I made 140,000 today! Normally I'd be ecstatic, but right now I just can't feel happy—140,000, plus another 10,000, is enough to feed those people for a month. And then I remembered that Liu Laoliu hasn't even factored in the cost of clothes for them. Even if they really wear only shorts like in the movie "300," that'll still cost a lot!
Actually, there's another way: I could scrape together 200,000 yuan to cover Lao Hao's costs and then blacklist the bottle. In the past, I might have fantasized about what it would be like to be rich, but now I don't even consider that. Even if I had 2 million yuan, it wouldn't be enough for them to build it for half a year.
Are you suggesting I use this 2 million to make money from money?
Although I, Brother Qiang, have theoretically mastered the four basic arithmetic operations, even the most seasoned person can make mistakes. That's why I love buying things that cost one yuan per kilogram, and I only buy them by the kilogram (10 kilograms). If you let me use 2 million yuan to start a business, and I still have half left after a month, you can call me a profiteer!
Chapter Twenty-One: Class, Class!
However, he has now received 140,000 yuan, which is better than being penniless. Our Brother Qiang has the fine quality of the working class, who can get by as long as possible. When he was a child, he drank porridge for three months even when there was no milk.
Thinking about this made me happy again. I ran upstairs with the box in my arms. Qin Shi Huang and Liu Bang were playing a game of "pulling a train" with playing cards. That rascal Liu Bang had learned to remember the cards; he was very skillful and soon pulled all of Qin Shi Huang's cards back. Li Shishi was reading a book—what a good girl.
I looked at it and found that there was nothing that could be considered foolproof. The bottle was thin and frail, looking like it was about to break. I couldn't let them see it.
My gaze then fell behind the sofa. Here I need to explain a crucial point: the reason I was able to pull the brick out from under the sofa (see the chapter on Fatty Ying vs. Silly Jing) is because one of the sofa's legs was broken. It's been put back on, leaving a 10-centimeter gap underneath, which should be the safest place to put the bottle. Even if the sofa collapses, the box will be strong enough to support it—this mahogany box probably costs several thousand yuan.
I bent over and put my things down. When I stood up, I saw Jing Ke lying on the bed watching me. The sofa was right across from his bedroom. I put my finger to my lips and made a "shh" gesture to him. The idiot gave me a mysterious smile, indicating that he understood.
I went downstairs feeling smug and started playing Minesweeper on my computer. Suddenly, my QQ flashed, and Wolf Head said, "Xiao Qiang, I've sold the other two photos of your cousin. I'll transfer the money to you when it arrives in a few days."
How could I possibly care about a thousand yuan now? I replied, "You're lucky you have a conscience. I don't want it, I'll buy you cigarettes instead."
Wolf Head: "Hehe, there's something I've always been too embarrassed to ask you: what exactly is your relationship with this 'cousin'? Anyway, if I take a picture of my cousin, she won't seduce the camera."
I yelled, "Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell..."
"Hehe, I'm serious. If that girl doesn't mind, I'd like to find her a way to make money. I know an editor at Playboy Hong Kong. One photo can fetch a lot of money. She doesn't even need to show her nipples. She just needs to hold her breasts with her hands and cover them with her thighs. One photo can earn her tens of thousands."
I imagined the erotic scene for a moment before replying, "Why didn't you, you son of a bitch, have your wife use a fishing line to block out the golden spot before sending it over?"