I sighed inwardly, thinking that it looked like today was wasted again. This was really frustrating, and the more I thought about it, the more depressed I became. I simply couldn’t keep looking anymore. I lit a cigarette, cursed to myself, and headed toward the guesthouse.

If I had decided to take a few more glances back then, or sat somewhere to rest for a bit, what happened next might have had nothing to do with me. But fate is just like that—what’s meant for me to encounter, I will encounter.

The guesthouse where I stayed was right next to Nangong, only about a hundred meters away. It was an unlicensed operation, with all sorts of people gathered there. Fortunately, the price was cheap, so I could afford to stay for a while.

The room was only a little over five square meters, but since I lived alone and had a private bathroom, I didn’t have to wait in line for the shower or toilet. In this guesthouse, that was already the equivalent of a presidential suite. At that moment, I was covered in sweat and especially missed that tiny private bathroom that couldn’t even fit two people.

I had only walked a few steps when suddenly someone poked me from behind with a finger. I thought it was a pickpocket, so I quickly covered my pocket and turned around. It was a skinny old man, probably in his fifties or sixties, with a head of white hair, wearing shabby work clothes, clutching a bag in his hand, and looking at me eagerly. He looked like someone who’d had a hard life.

This old man didn’t seem like a city dweller. Was he asking me for directions? I looked at him curiously and asked, “What do you want?”

The old man first glanced around furtively, then whispered to me, “Pá yá lǐ tái zi, děng dǎ?”

When I heard that, I thought, what’s this about benches and stools, and waiting for a beating? You’re the one waiting to get beaten up! I said, “I don’t need any benches or stools.”

The old man was stunned for a moment, as if he didn’t understand what I said, and repeated, “Pá yá lǐ tái zi, děng dǎ děng dǎ?”

I was in a bad mood and getting a bit angry, so I said to him, “I’m not waiting for a beating. If you are, just go kick someone at random, and I guarantee you won’t have to wait!”

The old man scratched his head, seemed startled by my expression, looked at me a few more times, and slowly walked away.

“Crazy,” I cursed inwardly, and continued walking toward the guesthouse. I walked straight to the entrance of Nangong, looked back, and saw that the old man hadn’t followed me. I didn’t know where he’d gone.

I felt puzzled. What he said wasn’t a Shanxi dialect, nor did it sound like any neighboring province’s. What was he up to? Was he a beggar?

If he was a beggar, he was a clever one. People who find treasures are usually in a good mood, and when they meet a beggar, they’re more likely to give alms. But this old man was unlucky—he ran into me when I was in a terrible mood.

I went back to the room I always booked at the guesthouse, took a shower to wash off the sweat, and then went downstairs to the restaurant to eat. The restaurant owner was an old acquaintance from my hometown, surname Li, given name Shaoye. Since he was the young boss of the place, we all called him Young Master.

I’d always eaten at his place whenever I came to Taiyuan. He was a fan of antiques, especially interested in curios. Every time I came by, he’d chat with me about antiques and sometimes take out some so-called treasures for me to look at. So as soon as I sat down and saw him walking over with two bottles of beer between his legs, I knew this guy was at it again.

I looked up, and sure enough, it was him, munching on peanuts, a bottle of beer in each hand, and a plate of honey-glazed roast duck in the other. He sat down across from me and asked, “Bro, how did it go today?”

I took the beer, let out a long sigh, and said, what harvest? Nothing at all. If things keep going like this, my shop will have to close sooner or later. When that happens, I’ll just set up a street stall here and sell some fake goods.

Young Master laughed and said, “That’s your own doing. Think about it—your Shanghai client isn’t some expert with a sharp eye. You could just pick up some high-quality fakes for a hundred or eighty yuan, or find a few damaged pieces, take them to Xicheng and have a few masters ‘give them a new look’—fix the big ones to look small, the small ones to look long—and that’s it. Why make things so hard for yourself? I don’t believe your Shanghai client’s eyesight is that good.”

I shook my head, smiled without answering. Young Master’s method is something anyone could think of, but the antique business isn’t like running a street stall, where you scam whoever comes along. If you do that a hundred times, that’s a hundred times. In this business, you have to earn people’s trust, or else who would buy from you? If you trick someone once and get away with it, sooner or later you’ll be found out, and then you’ll have no place in this line of work.

Young Master saw I wasn’t saying anything and knew I didn’t agree with him. He said, “Hey, don’t laugh. I’m being serious. Look at the way things are—sooner or later, you’ll have to close up shop. Why not make a quick buck before you do? It’s better than starving. You know how hard it is to run a shop these days. Most of the people we used to know have already switched careers.”

I hear this kind of talk from Young Master almost every day. I sighed and waved my hand, saying, “Cut the crap. You’re not even in this business, so what’s the point of your opinion? I have my own principles.”

Young Master chuckled and said, “Principles? People in the antique business have principles? No wonder you’re broke—what else can you do?”