El beso inolvidable de Ghost Lips

Capítulo 2

Speaking of his sorrow, and recalling his bronze ware business, he couldn't help but sigh.

Just then, a man entered through the door. The young master, seeing a guest, naturally had to greet him, so he immediately stood up and asked, "Boss, what would you like to eat?"

I turned around and was stunned. The person who came in was none other than the old man I had just met. He was still clutching that tattered bag. When the young master asked him a question, he ordered a bowl of noodles in heavily accented Mandarin. He didn't seem to notice me and found a seat.

Seeing it was a small business, the young master didn't bother with serving customers. He went into the kitchen to instruct the cook, then came out again to continue chatting with me. I lowered my voice, pointed with the tip of my chopsticks at the person next to me, and asked, "Can you tell where this person is from?"

"Shanxi, huh? A Shanxi accent?" The young master lowered his voice, "You've spent quite a bit of time in Shanxi, and you can't even hear that?"

I turned my head slightly and secretly glanced at the old man who was looking down, seemingly lost in thought. I thought to myself, "Shanxi? Then what he just said to me was Shanxi dialect?" No, even though I'm often in other provinces, there's no way I wouldn't understand Shanxi dialect. So, is it some newly invented Shanxi dialect?

The young master slapped me on the shoulder and asked, "What are you doing? Have you gone mad with antiques? You're even into old men now?"

I chuckled upon hearing this and turned around, saying, "What nonsense are you talking about? I just think something's strange..." Then, suddenly remembering that the young master also spoke with a Shanxi accent, I immediately asked, "Oh, by the way, you're a local from Shanxi, right? Tell me, what does '等打等打' mean in Shanxi dialect?"

"Just wait to be beaten?" The young master frowned, his expression changing. "Where did you hear that?"

"What are you saying?" I asked, noticing his changed expression and finding it strange.

The young master lowered his voice: "That's the slang of the Southern bandits. I've heard a few old men in the hotel say a few words before, but I couldn't understand them, so I asked my uncle. It was my uncle who told me."

I said "Oh," and was startled. I turned to look at the old man again, thinking, "Could this unassuming old man actually be a scoundrel?"

"Nanpaizi" is the term used by people in the Shanxi region to refer to tomb raiders. I've also heard my family mention it. Nanpaizi are very mysterious, and there are many ancient tombs in Shanxi. Moreover, large tombs in Shanxi are prone to yielding "zombies" (zombies). The saying goes, "The world's corpse-raising traditions are concentrated in the 'two wests': first, Shaanxi, and second, Shanxi." Nanpaizi make a living in Shanxi, and their methods are far more sophisticated than those of the "walking immortals" or "mountain ghosts" from other places.

In the most common legends, tomb raiders in the south always worked in pairs, one old and one young, wearing long gowns and felt hats. Some even set up stalls to tell fortunes, looking exactly like feng shui masters. They generally didn't dig tombs themselves. Their daily means of making a living was called "identifying eyes," which meant pinpointing locations for other tomb raiders. They had special skills that allowed them to understand the landscape and know where ancient tombs were. When business was good, they would charge fifteen silver dollars for a trip. They would look around, point with a fan, and leave, never leaving empty-handed.

Only in special circumstances, such as when times are bad or when they encounter a very high-status ancient tomb, will they personally go down to the site. In the trade, this is called "setting up the pot." If the pot is set up, the robbery is successful; if the pot is not set up, the robbery is a complete failure.

The Southern Crawlers are very particular about their tomb raiding methods. They never raid in large groups; usually, it's an uncle leading his nephew. When raiding a tomb, the uncle must be inside, followed by the nephew. Before entering the tomb, they must wash their hands and light a nine-inch-long incense stick. They must exit before the incense burns out. Like the Tartars from beyond the Great Wall, they don't speak human language while working; they have their own set of coded language. This language is basically incomprehensible to those outside the profession, and it's said that to learn this language, one must join the Southern Crawlers' school. If you haven't joined, even with a teacher, you won't be able to learn it—it's somewhat like the divinely inspired poets of Tibet.

I asked the young master, "So what does 'waiting to be beaten' mean? Do you know?"

The young master shook his head: "I'm not some scoundrel, how would I know... What's this old man doing? Could it be...?"

I nodded and recounted what had happened at the South Palace gate. Upon hearing this, the young master's eyes lit up: "I say, Old Xu, you're in luck! Your bronze artifact might have a chance now."

I was puzzled. "Why do you say that?"

"When a scoundrel from the south enters the city, he's definitely carrying something good. His things can't be exposed; he only does business with those who know the rules. The things he said to you just now, and the way he was loitering in front of the South Palace Gate, suggest he has something to sell." The young master squinted, noticing the old man's tattered bag, and said, "Look at that little tattered bag; it's brimming with vital energy. That's right, your business has arrived."

I was skeptical. How could there be such a good deal? We've seen all kinds of scammers in this line of work. Last time in Henan, I met a seemingly honest farmer. He was so honest, you could even say he was a bit simple-minded. He said he dug a bowl out of the mud and wanted to sell it for twenty yuan. I took the bowl, looked at it, and smacked him on the head. It was a high-quality fake porcelain. Later, I searched him and found that this farmer, who looked like he came from the mountains, actually had a ticket stub from the Shanghai Great World Ballroom in his pocket.

In the antique world, all swindlers are honest and simple-minded. This is because people who deal in antiques all have a get-rich-quick mentality and always hope to find treasures that others have overlooked. Their honest and simple appearance makes it easy for people to lower their guard.

Looking at the young master's expression, if it weren't for the years of drinking and eating together between us, I would have really thought that he was in cahoots with the old man and putting on a show for me.

While I was still having doubts, the young master had already had someone bring over a bottle of strong liquor, which he shoved into my hand, saying, "You drink three times a day, you rascal. Take this, and don't say I haven't been loyal to you. It'll be good to see you again when you make your fortune. Go now! Don't let anyone block your way."

I whispered to the young master, "Forget it, there are too many scammers these days. Let's avoid dealing with these kinds of people. If we're destined to be poor, we'll just stay poor."

The young master turned his head, chuckled, and said, "You're the kind of person who has the guts to kill but the fate to be killed. You're too conventional." He then took my beer away and shoved the liquor into my hand. "With your eye for talent, you're among the top ten in Hedong. What are you afraid of?"

I thought about it and realized that made sense. If he was a conman, that would be fine. But if he wasn't, then it was God giving me a chance to get rich, and I wouldn't take it. But if I heard from others that the old man really had something good, and that other people had bought it and made a fortune, then I would just buy it without hesitation.

Thinking about it, I took the liquor and said to the young master, "I give up. Go get a few more dishes and a duck, and bring them up quickly. I'll show you what Master Xu is capable of." As I spoke, I walked towards the old man.

Chapter Two: The Southern Crawler

The old man ate his noodles in silence. I sat down opposite him with some dishes and wine, and he seemed a little strange. He started eating his noodles awkwardly, without asking me what I was doing. His hand unconsciously went to cover his tattered bag.

When I saw this, it seemed there really was something good in the bag. I thought to myself, could it be that the young master was right?

The young master brought out two cups and placed one in front of the old man. The old man thought someone was trying to take his seat, so he stood up and tried to change seats.

I thought to myself, "This guy's living a pathetic life," and grabbed him, calling out, "Hey, don't go!"

The old man, holding a bowl of noodles, chuckled, "Give your friend a seat, give your friend a seat, I'll go eat over there."

I pressed him down and said, "What friend? This wine is for you." As I spoke, I opened the bottle and poured it for him.

The old man looked strange, but once the alcohol hit him, I saw his legs go weak and he couldn't walk. He asked me, "Are you treating me to food? I don't even know you, why are you treating me to drinks?"

I offered him a cigarette, but he waved it away. I insisted, and he finally took it without smoking it, setting it aside. I put on the expression of a professional antique dealer and said with a smile, "You may not recognize me, but I know you."

The old man was even more confused and asked, "If you know me, there's no reason why I shouldn't know you, is there?"

I pretended to look around, then lowered my voice, pointed to the tattered bag in his hand, and whispered to him, "Don't believe me? I not only know you, but I also know what's in that bag."

The old man's face immediately changed, and he clutched his tattered bag, standing up abruptly. Seeing this, I thought to myself, "Is it really necessary? Why is he so nervous?" I quickly stood up and blocked his path, saying, "No problem, no problem. Would I rob you?"

The old man wasn't buying it and asked, "What exactly do you do for a living?"

I gestured for him to sit down and said softly, "Didn't you ask me outside the Nangong Palace whether we were going to wait for a fight or not? Do you remember?"

The old man looked at me suspiciously, as if trying to remember, but couldn't. He shook his head and said, "I don't remember. Just tell me straight, what do you do? You look so smiling, you're not a good person. If you don't tell me, I'm leaving."

I cursed inwardly, slapped him lightly, and said softly, "Look at your memory! I'm just an antique collector in Nangong Village. Are you really forgetting me, or are you pretending?"

Upon hearing this, the old man quieted down, sized me up, and asked, "You're really an antique collector? That's incredible! How did you know I had something to sell?"

I coughed, pointed to his bag, and said, "Look at you, always carrying that bag around, and speaking such a slangy language as you wander around the South Gate. Everyone knows you're some old scoundrel from the south coming into the city to smuggle goods. You don't need to be taught that." That was nonsense. It's actually quite difficult to tell that he's carrying goods.

The old man was taken aback: "What nonsense? What's 'Southern traitor'?"

I was also puzzled when I heard that, and asked, "Is it what you meant by 'waiting to be hit' or 'not waiting to be hit'?"

"Oh, that's nonsense. I didn't know that. My friend taught me that. He said that's how you call out when you're selling antiques," the old man said.

Upon hearing this, I realized he himself didn't know what he was saying, so I laughed and said, "Old man, times have changed. Nobody talks that nonsense your friend taught you anymore, which is why you can't sell your stuff. Let's sit down and talk, instead of putting on a show for others."

As he spoke, he pointed to a few other customers who were eating. They were watching us like it was a show, wondering why I was flirting with an old man.

The old man, seeing everyone staring at us, seemed to understand. He sat back down and whispered, "No wonder no one paid me any attention for six or seven days—boss, did inviting me for drinks mean you wanted to buy my stuff?"

I had no idea what was in his bag. Judging from his appearance, he seemed like a clueless newbie who couldn't even tell the value of antiques. But I'd been fooled too many times, and I knew that people like that were more likely to be con artists. I didn't dare underestimate him and said, "Yes, if you want to sell, but I need to see your stuff first."

The old man gave me a suspicious look, carefully took out his bag, then took it halfway before pulling it back: "How about we go somewhere else? My friend said if I'm caught selling this stuff, I'll be shot. It wasn't easy for me to bring this out."

I found it amusing, thinking to myself, "Is that a terracotta warrior or the Simu Fang Ding inside? If I caught him, I'd be shot. He really seems more and more like a conman. But seeing how serious he was, I didn't want to go against his wishes. Looking around, I saw that everyone around me was from Nangong, and they were all listening intently. What he said made sense. So I pointed to the kitchen door and said, 'Alright, let's not show the good stuff to others. Why don't we go inside and I'll explain this to you in detail?'"

The old man looked at the wine and nodded. I gave the young master a wink, and he led us into the back of his shop, where his employees ate, and brought in all the food and drinks from outside.

This small room has no back passage, so it's very quiet. If I need to take a nap here, I just leave. The young master sets out a round table, and I tell the old man not to be shy.

He had been eyeing this liquor for a long time, and with a flick of his head, he took a big gulp, his face immediately turning red. Then he picked up some food and started eating. He looked like he'd never tasted anything good before.

When I looked at this old man, I realized he was too naive. What kind of charlatan would drink when someone tells him to? But then a thought suddenly struck me: what if this guy is just trying to scam people out of food and drink? What if he pulls out a huge piece of tile from his bag? We'd be furious, and then we'd have to cover a whole table of food with it.

Thinking about it, I stopped him from eating more and asked, "Grandpa, don't just focus on eating. Let's talk while we eat. Can we see your stuff now?"

The old man ignored me, downed a glass of baijiu in two gulps, and without any hesitation, poured himself another, emptying the bottle in no time. He said, "You drink this wine well."

When I saw that he could really hold his liquor, I told the young master to bring two more bottles of Fenjiu and tell him to take it easy.

The old man was only focused on eating. I asked him for something several times, but he didn't seem to hear me. Finally, I snatched his wine from him, and only then did he shove the tattered bag into my hand.

I rushed to open it, thinking to myself, if it's junk, don't blame me for disrespecting the elderly; I'll beat you until you vomit everything you've eaten.

This bag is from before the liberation, the kind that landladys used to take when they went out in the late Qing Dynasty. Although it smells very strong, it can still hold a few ten-yuan bills if you take it to Nangong. I unzipped the bag and looked inside. It was full of clumps of things wrapped in newspaper.

There's an old saying that every word can suppress a ghost, so funerary objects are always wrapped with writing on them. In the past, they used Xuan paper with writing on it; now, newspapers are naturally used. With so many words on it, even a reinforced division of ghosts would be trapped and killed. This custom exists in many other places now; many industries use newspapers to wrap things, and it's not just for convenience.

I took them out and counted them; there were six: three large, two small, and one flat.

When I opened the large one, my ears started twitching. The newspaper was full of mud. After a quick look, I realized it was a bronze zhi (wine vessel) with two handles and a narrow neck from the Western Han Dynasty. Judging from its condition and state of preservation, this drinking vessel was probably worth less than twenty coins back then, but now it would be worth at least five thousand yuan.

What was the concept of 5,000 yuan back then? I felt dizzy just looking at it. I quickly looked at the other items. The other two small ones and two large ones were bronze gu and bronze you vessels of different sizes and shapes. They were obviously from the same set. I estimated that this set could sell for 30,000 yuan in Nangong. If it went to Shanghai or Beijing, it would be hard to say.

The last flattened object was a piece of decayed bronze, engraved with bird-script inscriptions and cloud and thunder patterns, seemingly broken off from a large bronze vessel.

These few small items alone are enough for me to make a small profit. Looking at this bronze piece, I guess he might have some bigger things he didn't bring out. I couldn't help but gasp. These things, let alone treating him to a meal, even treating him to a week's worth of food would be extremely rare.

I was dumbfounded, so I asked the old man, "Sir, where did you get all these things? Wow, they've really dazzled me."

The old man glanced at me and said, "Don't ask. Just name your price if you want it."

At this point, I really didn't dare to set a price casually. These items were of such high quality and in excellent condition that it's rare to see things of this caliber these days. I felt that these items might not have been stolen from tombs, but rather stolen from the homes of wealthy people who collect such things. I wouldn't be afraid if they were from tombs—the dead won't call the police—but if they were stolen from someone's home, then these items would be a hot potato. If they ended up on the market, it would likely lead to my investigation.

I was caught in a dilemma. After thinking for a moment, I said, "Old man, to be honest, this thing of yours is of such high quality that not many people would dare to buy it. You should tell me the truth about where you got it, or I'll introduce you to a few daring people. You can give me a referral fee. Otherwise, if this thing is smuggled, I'll be ruined by you."

"Black market goods, really black market goods?" The old man was puzzled, but when he saw that I wasn't going to buy this stuff again, he became nervous and stopped drinking.

I explained the black market goods to him, saying, "I'll take anything, but I wouldn't dare take this black market stuff. Lei Zi is more dangerous than a ghost."

He thought for a moment, then said to me, "Don't worry, boss, these aren't smuggled goods. I fished these things out of the Yellow River."

"In the Yellow River?" I really didn't expect this answer.

"Yes, it's been about six months."

The old man put down his wine, seemingly having made up his mind. "Don't let my appearance fool you," he said, "I'm actually a skilled worker; I work on boats on the Yellow River. Here's the thing—"

The old man's real name was Wang Quansheng. Although he was an old man, he said he was only forty years old. It's not surprising that people who do manual labor usually look older.

The old man's profession was very unusual, and I was shocked when I heard about it. His profession is now called "Yellow River Water Ghost". To put it officially, what he did was salvage waste; to put it simply, he picked up trash in the Yellow River.

Chapter Three: Pottery Figurines

Every year, millions of tons of garbage are washed down from the upper reaches of the Yellow River, including a large amount of industrial waste, parts, and building materials, which settle at the bottom of the river.

Wang Quansheng and a few others contracted a small boat and used a special sled to sink into the Yellow River. They pulled it downstream, scooping up garbage from the riverbed, washing it, and sorting it. Basically, 90% of the garbage they scooped up was useless and was dumped back into the Yellow River, leaving only metal, plastic, and glass, which could be recycled and sold.

Even so, Wang Quansheng's annual income was still quite considerable because the section of the Yellow River he contracted was a sedimentation zone. The river was wide and the current was slow, so a lot of garbage settled there. He could earn at least twenty yuan per round trip, an income that was unimaginable in those days and in that place.

The bronze artifacts he has in his hand were retrieved from under the dam last December. He said that when his sled reached that spot, the water suddenly swirled, and based on his experience, he knew that the silt at the bottom of the river had collapsed.

The Yellow Riverbed is very uneven, with many places having open spaces underneath. When his sled pulls, the balance is broken, and the open spaces above will sink. If the sled is pulling a heavy load, Wang Quansheng's boat might be pulled below the waterline. So he immediately let go of the sled rope to let it sink. Strangely, even after he let down six or seven meters of rope, the sled was still falling, as if the hole below was very deep.

He didn't feel the bottom until the rope had been lowered more than ten meters. Then he tried to pull the sled out, pulling it back and forth in several directions for a long time before it finally loosened.

They struggled to pull the rope up from the water, but before they could even get out, someone shouted. They looked down and immediately stopped pulling. It turned out that what was hooked onto the sled underwater looked like a person.

Finding a dead body is considered very unlucky by them, but if they have already found one, they must bring it out of the water, otherwise the dead body might capsize their boat the next time they go out to sea.

This wasn't the first time Wang Quansheng had encountered this situation. Although he was unwilling, he had no choice but to let them continue pulling, as the rules of their ancestors couldn't be broken.

Pulling it out of the water, they discovered that the sled hadn't hooked a dead body, but a black pottery figure. This black pottery figure was clearly an ancient artifact; it was a woman, half-squatting, life-size, with her hand making a gesture, presumably originally holding something.

Wang Quansheng realized something was wrong; it looked like a clay figurine. In ancient times, if someone drowned and went missing, their relatives would sink a clay figure resembling the missing person into the water to exchange for the river god, and the body would float to the surface.

This thing is even more unlucky than a dead person, Wang Quansheng cursed and said it was bad luck. But when they looked closely at the pottery figure, they found something was wrong. The pottery figure had delicate patterns, vivid movements, and a peaceful expression. It looked very exquisite and did not seem to be made by a poor family.

After a moment's thought, the group realized, "Oh, they're tomb raiders."

These people are very superstitious. They all know that such things only exist in tombs. Realizing that their rake might have struck some ancient tomb buried at the bottom of the Yellow River, they were terrified and dared not touch it. They wanted to throw the thing back into the water.

However, one of his partners on the boat stopped them. This man, nicknamed Er Mazi, used to work in the antique business. To be objective, he was more knowledgeable than Wang Quansheng. As soon as he saw the pottery figure, his eyes lit up, and he knew that his money-making opportunity had arrived.