As half a month slipped by, drawing near the traditional Chinese Spring Festival, we shelved our plan to celebrate the New Year in America. By then, the New Year's atmosphere in Beijing was already thick in the air; before the eve of the Lunar New Year, the sound of firecrackers could be heard rising and falling, adding a layer of chaotic noise to the already bustling Antique Market.

The Panjiayuan Antique Market now was far livelier than when we first arrived, packed with surging crowds, wave after wave of people. Of course, this was also because the New Year was approaching, and more people were visiting the non-staple food stores and markets to purchase festive goods. Many people had a shared habit of gathering in crowds; seeing the throngs at the Antique Market, they came to join the excitement. Despite the cold weather, the numbers only grew larger.

Over the past year or so, Panjiayuan had truly established itself; compared to the beginning, it was unrecognizable. Beyond broken odds and ends and secondhand goods, the sheer variety of recognized antiques and curios was beyond measure. Those paintings and calligraphy, porcelain, pottery, bronzes, Guqin, ancient coins, incense burners, old bronze mirrors, jades, inkstones, ink sticks, old books, rubbings, historical papers, ancient bricks and tiles, seals, silk embroidery, Jingtailan cloisonné, lacquerware, Yixing pots, enamel pieces, glasswork, ivory carvings, bamboo carvings, fans, wooden furniture, weaponry, famous stones… they were piled up like mountains. Standing at one end, you couldn't see the other. Consider this: if you looked at ten items a day, you might never see everything in this market in a lifetime.

However, unlike Beijing’s Liulichang, which originated in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties and dealt primarily in "literary objects" (Wenwan), Panjiayuan’s origins were wilder, and its goods much more miscellaneous. Of these items, nine-tenths were counterfeit "knock-offs" made to look antique. To unearth anything genuine in Panjiayuan, besides having the discerning eye of the Fiery Golden Gaze to separate the true from the false, one also needed the luck of finding a needle in a vast haystack.

Fatty and I had established reputations, so we couldn't be lumped in with those second-hand dealers peddling fakes. Some regular patrons of Panjiayuan—who knows where they heard it—seemed to know that Old Master Hu and Master Pang possessed genuine Ming Dynasty funerary objects (Mingqi). These were the real deal—Mingqi sifted out from ancient tombs, and even if it was just an unremarkable ancient bronze coin, it might well have been a "mouth-sealing coin" pried from the jaws of an old grave robber by a Mojin Xiaowei.

I saw many people approach me immediately upon sight, asking, "Do you have any Mingqi plundered from ancient tombs? Master Hu, just name your price. As long as it’s genuine, we won't bargain a penny."

I thought that since I hadn’t shown my face at Panjiayuan for some time, Big Gold Tooth must have sent all his clients my way after going abroad. But I had no Mingqi on hand, and besides, frequently dealing with such items was already illicit. Fortunately, I had acquired quite a bit of "Green Head" material from the South Sea. In nature, Green Head and Mingqi were practically similar—it was just that one came from the earth and the other from the water, essentially the difference between a mountain bear's paw and an ocean shark's fin. So, I steered the eager buyers toward looking at the Green Head pieces.

The current collectors all felt that the jade market was heating up, but they only recognized old jade bearing deep patinas. Although the ancient Green Head jades had profound color changes, because they had been soaked in seawater for years, the chalcedony was sealed by salt brine, appearing as if coated in a heavy layer of lime. Even connoisseurs would shake their heads upon seeing them.

As we were discussing prices, someone familiar from the Antique Market informed us that "Second Master Qiao" from the Zangzhen Hall in Liulichang had requested our presence, which I found somewhat strange. That Second Master Qiao held great sway in Beijing’s Liulichang. He had operated an antique shop, Zangzhen Hall, since before the Liberation, and in all those years, he had never made a mistake. Countless antiques had passed through his hands, and even at Panjiayuan, everyone knew him as the "Old Yuan Liang" of the antique circle. I had long wanted to pay him a visit but lacked the connections to be introduced. I never expected him to invite us over for a talk—who knew what game he was playing?

Upon inquiring further from the messenger, I learned that Second Master Qiao had heard I possessed ancient South Sea jade. He had a lifelong obsession with antiques, and rare Green Head old jade was extremely uncommon in Beijing, seldom seen on the market. He had specifically asked someone to relay a message, inviting me to bring the ancient jade to his residence for a look and assessment.

I thought, finally, here was an expert with discerning taste. Eager to visit Second Master Qiao’s place and broaden my horizons, Fatty and I quickly packed a bundle of goods and headed straight to Yanshou Temple Street at the east end of Liulichang. The first two-story storefront, antique and distinguished, was indeed the time-honored Zangzhen Hall, judging by the black plaque with gold lettering.

After stating our purpose to the staff inside, we were not taken upstairs but were instead escorted to an old tongzilou (a type of tenement building) far away, nearly reaching the Temple of Agriculture. The building was dilapidated inside; the corridor was piled high with winter fuel from various households, along with stacks of Chinese cabbage reaching the height of a wall. Second Master Qiao was accustomed to living here and, being elderly, was unwilling to move, so he conducted his daily life right there.

Second Master Qiao looked nearly eighty; not a strand of hair remained on his head, but his long beard was pure white. His two eyes were strikingly bright, giving him an energetic and robust appearance—old but not decayed. Seeing us, he quickly invited us to sit. A servant brought tea; the utensils were exquisite, and the aroma rich. However, Fatty was used to large bowls of tea and didn't understand the art of savoring it. Coupled with the freezing cold outside that had chilled us to the bone, he downed the cup of hot tea in one gulp, exclaiming, "Good tea! How about another bowl? Preferably in a big enamel mug." I laughed, "Please forgive him, Second Master. After half a day squatting at Panjiayuan, we’re thoroughly frozen." After a few cups of tea warmed us up, we finally took time to survey our surroundings. There was hardly anything new in the room of this old building. Old-fashioned bookcases were filled with ancient texts, while the edges facing the outside were lined with white jade, crystal, Shoushan stone, Buddha statues, ivory carvings, biyanhu snuff bottles, and other antiques, making the already small room feel crammed. If someone unfamiliar with the tongzilou didn't know the backstory, who could imagine that Second Master Qiao, who had spent a lifetime dealing in Mingqi, would live in such an unremarkable place?

Yet, seeing his contentment with a simple life, Fatty and I felt a rising respect. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Second Master Qiao seemed aware that we were Mojin Xiaowei (tomb robbers). He asked me about the Feng Shui of Beijing city and inquired about the business climate in Liulichang.

I became more cautious. Although Second Master Qiao was a well-known figure in Beijing, not comparable to someone like Uncle Ming, I had no intention of revealing the essence of the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Art. I only offered pleasantries suitable for the New Year: "The city of Beijing has water and land dragons, and the shape of the dragon veins perfectly covers Liulichang. It’s a place where carriages flow like water and horses like dragons. With two streams of wealth energy running through the center, business here should make one count money until their hands cramp up."

Second Master Qiao was overjoyed and began to offer further praise, but Fatty, eager for profit, found the old man too talkative. He quickly took out the Green Head pieces, urging Second Master Qiao to examine them and state a price. Second Master Qiao took out a magnifying glass and reading glasses, examined them repeatedly for a long time, then handled them in his hands, repeatedly saying, "Good jade, truly good jade. They are ancient jades from the depths of the sea for a thousand years. It is only a pity they haven't developed an aged patina. Brothers Hu and Wang, by the scent on you, I know you constantly deal with Mingqi. I won't lie to you, fellow master. Before the Liberation, I, Qiao, was in the same trade as you. Times were different then; without real goods, how could one do antique business in Liulichang? Therefore, I know that old jade like this can only be found in ancient undersea ruins and mountain tombs; such quality absolutely does not exist in the common market."

Fatty and I were also astonished upon hearing this. We hadn't expected Second Master Qiao to be so straightforward; it turned out he was also a grave robber. Beneath the very building where he lived was an ancient tomb dating back to the Yuan Dynasty. Back then, Second Master Qiao had plundered that tomb, gaining the capital to start his business in Liulichang. He was reluctant to leave this location because the Feng Shui near the tomb was auspicious. After the tomb was leveled and the building constructed, he stayed. His reasons for inviting me were, first, to acquire the Green Head material, and second, because this building was scheduled for demolition, he asked me to find him a location with good Feng Shui to relocate his home.

I said, "Master, you make things difficult for me. Mojin Xiaowei don't commit burglaries or robberies; how would we know how to read the Feng Shui of a dwelling house? Moreover, since we are all practitioners of the tomb-robbing trade, why would you still put so much stock in Feng Shui theories?"

I tried to persuade him not to be so obsessed with this path, but Second Master Qiao remained unmoved. He pointed at the floor tiles beneath his feet: "This Yuan Dynasty tomb truly was an auspicious Feng Shui spot. When I infiltrated the tomb official’s quarters from the robbery tunnel and saw the scene inside, I was so shocked my jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Only then did I truly believe that the talk of Feng Shui was not just some vague, mystical nonsense…" As he spoke, he used a piece of tomb-robbing jargon to tell us what he saw that night: "In this ancient tomb… there was water but no fish!"

When I heard Second Master Qiao say that the tomb beneath the tongzilou had "water but no fish," I also found it strange, because I had always known that deep Yuan Dynasty tombs were buried profoundly, without markers or trees on the surface, adhering to Esoteric Buddhist Feng Shui principles, which are notoriously difficult to locate. In the jargon of tomb robbing, porcelain found in ancient tombs is called "water," and the most common funerary objects in Yuan tombs were porcelain. Tomb robbers always referred to the Yuan Dynasty corpses as "fish," because when Yuan noble corpses were interred, the coffin was often wrapped in a fishing net—this was a custom of the Esoteric Buddhist ethnic groups, which is hard for modern people to understand.

If it was "water but no fish," did that mean the tomb only contained ancient porcelain but no ancient corpse? Was it a cenotaph? Fatty and I were exceptionally interested in tomb robbing; curiosity piqued, we asked Second Master Qiao to elaborate on the details, especially how much "water" there was and what its market value might be.

It turned out that Second Master Qiao had made a fortune through tomb robbing in his early years, but he had retired from that life many years ago and now focused on dealing in antiques and calligraphy. His background was similar to Big Gold Tooth’s ancestors—they were low-class folk robbers. He possessed skills in discerning traces in the mud and identifying soil colors, and his senses of taste and smell were naturally sharp. He abstained from tobacco and alcohol his entire life. When recounting his tomb-robbing days to his peers, he still spoke with zest, carrying himself with the air of the Old Yuan Liang, looking quite pleased with himself.