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At this juncture, Xing Qiu had completely lost the confidence he once possessed. Some things are just like that—they seem wonderful in theory, but the moment you actually try to execute them, you realize how incredibly difficult they are.

“Now you know it’s tough, don’t you?” Wang Guan chuckled. “You’ve barely hit a wall and you’re already backing down?”

“I’m not backing down, I just don’t know where to even begin,” Xing Qiu sighed. “It feels like running around like a headless fly. This feeling is awful.”

“It’s good that you know that,” Wang Guan countered. “Then where did all that confidence of yours come from before?”

“Uh, haha…” Xing Qiu gave an awkward laugh and quickly changed the subject. “Do you know anyone else? Maybe we can ask around some more.”

“I’m not familiar with this area; managing to know even one person is a stroke of luck,” Wang Guan shook his head. “Besides, asking anyone else will yield the same result. Didn't Boss Ding tell you? Nine out of ten people in all of Yixing are looking for Tianqing clay. Even if someone has some, they’re probably keeping it like a family heirloom, locked away, and would never dream of selling it to you.”

“Of course, I know you have the money to just throw at people. The problem is, many people share your mindset, but they just can't find a target to shower with cash.” As he spoke, Wang Guan beckoned. “Let’s go, time to head back.”

“Leaving already, just after arriving?” Xing Qiu was taken aback. “Isn’t it a bit early?”

“Not home, back to the city,” Wang Guan said impatiently. “We’ll check into a hotel in the urban area first, and while we’re there, we’ll pick up a local gazetteer. We can pore over some data and see if we can find any leads.”

“Oh.” Xing Qiu suddenly understood and quickly hailed a car.

Not long after, the two returned to the city, settled into a decent hotel, and immediately pulled out the gazetteer to start reading. However, it was a pity. While the book extensively detailed the historical evolution, cultural history, and famous sites, even dedicating considerable space to Zisha teapots, there was not a single mention of Tianqing clay.

This was to be expected. If Tianqing clay could be found by simply reading a local gazetteer, the people who compiled it would surely have dug it all up first. Thus, Wang Guan wasn't disappointed and continued to study the material with great interest. Xing Qiu, however, noticed him studying the transportation routes of Yixing's various townships and grew thoughtful. “Are you planning to go into the countryside?”

“Mm,” Wang Guan nodded. “Going down to the villages increases the chances of finding something in old homesteads. Of course, it will definitely be harder work. Are you coming?”

“That’s a stupid question. If I say no, you’ll probably use it as an excuse to go back,” Xing Qiu gritted his teeth. “I’m going. I absolutely must go. I refuse to believe that even after climbing mountains and crossing ridges, we still won’t find the Tianqing clay.”

“It wouldn’t be strange if we don’t find it.”

Wang Guan poured cold water on the excitement. “Don’t assume I’m the only one who thought of scouring old village houses. Others must have thought of it too, especially the local Zisha masters; they spend years trekking into the countryside for a single piece of good material. What we need to do now is hope our luck is good enough to pick up something they overlooked.”

“That sounds bleak,” Xing Qiu hesitated, his enthusiasm noticeably dampened.

“Let me put it this way.”

Wang Guan set the gazetteer down and spoke seriously. “Going to the villages is not only arduous, but there’s no guarantee of a harvest. It’s entirely a gamble based on luck. If I weren't keen on finding a superb Zisha pot to give as a gift, I probably wouldn't have the spirit to go scouting. So, you need to think clearly. If you can’t stand the hardship, just give up now to avoid constant complaints later.”

“Hey, you’re underestimating me,” Xing Qiu boasted, his confidence returning. “I go up and down the mountains frequently; my experience must be richer than yours.”

“How so?” Wang Guan sounded curious. “Setting aside your status as a second-generation rich kid, you’re a senior manager in an office, right? When do you find the time for rural trips?”

“To source inventory,” Xing Qiu explained. “Most of the chickens, ducks, geese, and fish nowadays are raised free-range in the hills and mountains. I have to check on them periodically and negotiate farming contracts with the villagers…”

“Alright, we’ll see tomorrow if what you’re saying is true,” Wang Guan smiled, returning to his research.

The rest of that day was spent flipping through documents. The following morning, fully prepared, the two immediately set off on their motorcycle toward the villages outside the city.

It wasn't that cars were unavailable for rent; it was simply that a motorcycle was far more convenient and swift on rural roads. Yixing has many hilly areas, especially in the more remote mountain villages where cars simply couldn't penetrate. Even if they could get in, the jarring ride would be life-threatening.

Therefore, the motorcycle was the best choice—and cheaper, too. Even if it rattled itself to pieces, they wouldn't feel too much pain.

In any case, the pair set off, bumping along the way, their destination set for the more remote parts of Yixing. After all, the chances of finding overlooked treasures near the city were slim; it was more practical to venture further out.

The start was fine, as they could stick to the national highway, but once they officially entered the countryside, the road surface became decidedly less smooth. After an hour or two of jostling, they finally arrived at a cluster of mountain villages.

Of course, "remote" didn't mean completely isolated. If a place were truly too remote, Wang Guan wouldn't have bothered going. The road conditions there would be worse, rendering the motorcycle useless, forcing them to proceed on foot. Wang Guan felt he lacked the fortitude for that kind of hike. He couldn't help but admire the perseverance of the old collectors who, back in the day, might walk for two days and nights to acquire an item, then carry heavy objects back alone, even to the point of blood soaking their shoulders. Such an experience was beyond Wang Guan’s current imagination.

Naturally, effort yielded rewards. In the golden age of collecting, there was virtually no concept of forgeries. As long as one was willing to sweat blood, substantial gains were guaranteed. As far as Wang Guan knew, the prized collections held by the great contemporary collectors were largely amassed during that period of vigorous searching, and those collectors were now objects of envy.

But envy was all one could afford now. While there might still be good things hidden in the villages today, success still hinged on luck. With good luck, one might stumble upon a genuine treasure. With bad luck, encountering a landmine planted by a competing dealer would result in tragedy.

This was precisely what happened to Wang Guan now. Upon entering a village, he inquired around, and on the suggestion of a kind-hearted local, he visited a villager’s home to inspect some old objects.

However, after only a couple of glances, Wang Guan knew the score. He immediately frowned, feigning disinterest. After browsing for a bit, he finally shook his head and led Xing Qiu out of the house.

As they walked away, Xing Qiu asked curiously, “Even though there was no Tianqing clay, that plate looked quite old. Wasn’t it an antique?”

“A fake, deliberately aged,” Wang Guan sighed. “It seems that for the sake of profit, those people stop at nothing. They even plant traps in the most remote places.”

“Plant traps?” Xing Qiu was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Traps,” Wang Guan said casually. “Don't you think the sheer volume of old objects in that villager’s house was a bit excessive?”

“Ah…”

Xing Qiu understood and immediately frowned. “So, house-to-house searching in the countryside also means running into fakes?”

“It’s normal. The city has its risks, and caution is necessary in the countryside—that’s the industry consensus,” Wang Guan laughed, shaking his head. “Outsiders don’t know about this situation. They think things in the villages are genuine, buy what catches their eye, and congratulate themselves on finding a bargain, unaware they’ve fallen right into someone’s trap.”

“How crooked. Truly dark,” Xing Qiu lamented. “According to you, then we’ve come all this way for nothing.”

“Not necessarily,” Wang Guan smiled. “There are still good things in the village, but it depends on whether you have the eye to recognize them.”

“For example?” Xing Qiu asked curiously.

“For example, the long bench in that household earlier was likely made from peach wood over a hundred years old,” Wang Guan said casually. “You could buy it, take it home, have it planed smooth, and then sell it at a major Daoist temple like Wudang or Longhu Mountain. You could definitely make a tidy profit.”

“Huh?”

Xing Qiu paused. “Then why didn’t you buy it?”

“That thing is too heavy and difficult to transport,” Wang Guan replied smoothly. “Besides, I don't particularly want to deal with religious figures right now…”

As he spoke, the two proceeded to the next village. That village had no traps, but the old items in the households had already been scoured clean by other dealers. The few trinkets left didn't interest Wang Guan, and more importantly, they contained no Tianqing clay. So, the pair had no choice but to move on again.

It was a day of driving back and forth, resulting in nothing, so they returned empty-handed.

By the time they got back to their city hotel, it was late, and both were too exhausted to feel like talking. After a perfunctory meal, Wang Guan looked thoroughly worn out. “Are we going again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Xing Qiu’s expression remained firm. “There’s no reason to quit halfway…”

“Alright, let’s go then,” Wang Guan nodded.

The next day, the two ventured out to different villages, returning at dusk. Compared to the first day, it was slightly better; at least Wang Guan brought back one or two items, but still no Tianqing clay.

After dinner, Wang Guan asked the same question again.

“Keep going!” Xing Qiu gave the same answer.

On the third day, they returned to the hotel dragging heavy limbs. Faced with the same question, Xing Qiu’s tone lost its earlier firmness, but he felt he could persist, so they went out again on the fourth day.

“How is it?”

“…Let’s see how things go!”

This was the conversation on the fifth day. When they returned on the evening of the sixth day, neither had the energy to talk. After eating, they casually washed up and immediately collapsed into bed.

When they woke up on the morning of the seventh day, both tacitly avoided mentioning the countryside excursions. Instead, they went to a teahouse near the hotel for breakfast and began discussing their return journey.

“Do you think if I just give up like this, it makes me look weak,” Xing Qiu mused hesitantly. “Is it considered falling short after coming so far, failing at the final hurdle?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Wang Guan drawled lazily. “The term ‘failing at the final hurdle’ doesn't really apply to you. That phrase describes someone who was on the verge of success but couldn't hold on, thus failing. We haven't even seen a shadow of success, so giving up early is the wise choice.”

“Yes, yes, but you sound like you’re speaking from a position of comfort…”