After much deliberation, Wang Guan spread his fingers and tentatively offered, “Grandpa, how about this price?”
“Five thousand?” Old Man Cao’s eyes were filled with suspicion.
“How could that be? It’s fifty thousand.”
Wang Guan couldn't help but laugh, knowing full well how shrewd Old Man Cao was; there was no chance he’d be so easily taken in. Regardless, with the rule of starting high and settling low, Wang Guan decided to quote his absolute minimum to gauge Old Man Cao’s reaction.
In truth, that’s how transactions work: you try to read my mind, I probe the depths of your means, and eventually, both sides compromise to close the deal.
“If you can afford fifty thousand, you must have quite a nest egg saved up.”
Old Man Cao smiled, then without a second thought, tripled the offer. “One hundred and fifty thousand. You can take the crate.”
“Grandpa, I want the ink blocks, not the crate,” Wang Guan replied, though a small measure of relief settled in his chest. After all, the price of 150,000 was still within his acceptable range.
However, Wang Guan dared not show it; the deal wasn't sealed yet. In this current society, where integrity was scarce, even signed contracts could be broken. Much less so when the goods were not yet in his possession—Old Man Cao could change his mind at any moment.
“Grandpa, I don’t have much savings. Fifty thousand is everything I’ve managed to scrape together over several years of working hard, penny by penny. I truly don’t have any more.”
Wang Guan wasn't entirely lying; having worked for over two years, even five thousand would have been a significant sum, let alone fifty thousand.
“Heh, nephew, you’re trying to fool me,” Old Man Cao chuckled. “Don't think I don't know; Cidu is a big city. Working there, how could you be short of money? Besides, you buy this from me, and you’ll turn around and sell it for a hefty profit.”
“Grandpa, didn't I already say it? Only those who truly appreciate this kind of thing will pay for it. And people like that are rare, even in a big city like Cidu.”
At this point, Wang Guan was purely spinning tales: “If I’m lucky, I can sell it. If my luck runs out, it’ll just sit here gathering dust with me. Truthfully, this venture carries a certain risk.”
“That does sound plausible…”
Old Man Cao thought about it and felt Wang Guan had a point. Over the years, he had seen many people come to the village buying all sorts of things—broken porcelain, gold, silver, bronze, iron, furniture, and wooden chairs—but never anyone interested in blocks of ink like these.
Feeling Wang Guan’s words held merit, Old Man Cao lowered his head in thought and conceded a step. “Thirteen thousand then.”
“Sixty thousand!”
Wang Guan shook his head, gesturing with his hand.
“Didn’t you just say you were short on cash?” Old Man Cao became suspicious.
“Grandpa, if you put it that way, I shouldn't increase the price at all,” Wang Guan laughed wryly, defending himself. “I really don’t have that much money on hand, but if the price is right, I can borrow some. As long as I can sell it, I can make a little profit. But how much I profit depends entirely on luck. If I lose out, I’ll suffer a major loss.”
“How could something this good fail to sell?”
Old Man Cao smiled. “You can make money, but you can’t let Grandpa lose out either. We’re practically family here; let’s drop the games. Just tell Grandpa the real price—what’s the absolute most you can offer?”
Wang Guan fell silent, tapping his fingers on the table, slowly calculating. Old Man Cao didn't rush him, lighting another cigarette and calmly taking a drag.
Time crept by. Old Man Cao had finished two cigarettes and, seeing Wang Guan still hesitant, finally lost patience. “Nephew, why deliberate so much? It’s just a single price. If it suits, it suits; if not, forget it. Why hold out?”
Wang Guan frowned, let out a long sigh, and gritted his teeth. “Eighty thousand!”
“Add another ten thousand, ninety thousand, and the stuff is yours,” Old Man Cao stated decisively.
“Uh…”
Wang Guan paused, then asked weakly, “Can you possibly knock off five thousand?”
“Deal.” Old Man Cao slapped the table and stood up, extending his hand. “Did you bring the money?”
“Why would anyone carry that much cash around for no reason?” Wang Guan was momentarily stunned, feeling his empty pockets with a sense of helplessness. He looked up, “The money is in the bank. Grandpa, do you prefer a transfer or cash?”
“Cash would be best.”
Seeing Wang Guan’s reaction, a sense of relief washed over Old Man Cao's eyes. His sudden reach-out was a test to gauge Wang Guan’s true state. If Wang Guan had instantly produced the money, it would imply prior preparation and ulterior motives. Not having the cash, however, made Wang Guan’s story more credible—that he had genuinely stumbled upon this place by chance.
Wang Guan didn't overthink it. Hearing Old Man Cao preferred cash, he glanced at the sky, figured he had enough time, and immediately nodded. “No problem, but you’ll have to wait. I need to return to the county seat to gather the full amount.”
“That’s fine, you go ahead,” Old Man Cao smiled. “Don’t worry, both the man and the goods will stay right here; they aren't running off.”
Wang Guan nodded, walked out, and headed back to his maternal uncle’s home.
On the road, once Old Man Cao’s house was out of sight, a triumphant smile spread across his face. “Only eighty-five thousand for a whole crate of ancient ink—I must have gotten an incredible bargain!” He hadn't expected that a simple visit to relatives would yield such an unexpected prize. Yet, amidst the excitement, Wang Guan felt a slight prick of conscience. Was deceiving an old man like that somewhat immoral?
“Uncle.”
Burdened by his thoughts, Wang Guan returned to his uncle’s house, finding his uncle had already brought food home and was busy with chores in the open courtyard near the entrance.
“Back so soon?” his uncle expressed surprise. “I thought your second uncle would keep you for dinner.”
“I didn’t go to Second Uncle’s place.”
At that moment, a thought struck Wang Guan, and he explained, “Just now, halfway down the road, the front of a certain house looked very lively. I was curious, so I went in…”
Wang Guan told his uncle everything that had transpired, omitting the part about later spending over eighty thousand on the crate of ancient ink. After all, with the difference in generational perspectives, his uncle would surely assume he had been grossly cheated buying such items.
After finishing, Wang Guan sighed with a touch of emotion. “That Old Man Cao truly has a certain pride. Knowing the other party was an official, he refused to sell the inkstone to his dying day.”
“Hey, Little Guan, you’re mistaken,” his uncle scoffed casually. “It’s not pride; it’s sheer resentment towards officials.”
“What do you mean?” Wang Guan was taken aback, suddenly understanding a little. He guessed, “Could it be that Old Man Cao suffered oppression from some officials in the past, leading him to believe all officials are cut from the same cloth…?”
“Haha, if you don't know, don't go guessing wildly.”
His uncle swung his cleaver, severing a section of bamboo, and spoke dismissively. “If you ask others, they might not know the details, but I know a bit about this. Do you know what Old Man Cao used to do?”
Wang Guan shook his head, deciding against guessing, and simply asked, “What was his profession?”
“The leader of the Rebel Faction!”
His uncle collected the severed bamboo sections, splitting them open one by one, his tone laced with disdain. “Talk about ancestors being high officials, treasures passed down through generations. Anyone from the older generation knows the Cao family were poor peasants for eight generations. What treasures could they possibly have left behind? However, in that era when poverty was glory, he climbed the ladder of success based on that very status…”
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