I will translate and then polish the provided Chinese text into natural, idiomatic English fiction, strictly maintaining the original paragraph structure.

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“Mr.

Paul is an architect; collecting porcelain is his hobby.” Along the way, Yu Wei explained, “He’s been collecting porcelain for over ten years now, and since he usually has a lot of free time, everyone recommended him as the contact person.

Generally speaking, he should have a clear understanding of the basic information of all the association members.” “That’s for the best,” Fang Mingsheng smiled.

“If that person hasn’t left London yet and is still in contact with the association members, that would be even better.” “Let’s hope so.” Wang Guan wholeheartedly agreed, though his own hopes weren't high.

During their idle chat, the group soon arrived near Mr.

Paul’s residence.

After getting out of the car, they walked down a narrow alley and saw a small, three-story building.

“This is the place,” Yu Wei chuckled, then rang the doorbell.

It didn't take long for the front door to open, revealing a somewhat plump middle-aged woman.

Seeing Wang Guan and the others, her face was filled with surprise, yet she greeted them kindly.

Wang Guan understood the basic greeting words well enough and naturally offered a polite smile.

Well, he just smiled; the actual negotiation would be handled by Yu Wei.

After exchanging a few words with the woman, Yu Wei frowned immediately and turned back, “Mr.

Paul had an urgent matter and had to leave; he might not be back until noon.

She invited us in to wait—what do you all think?” “Uh…” Wang Guan didn't even think about it before refusing, “Forget it, we won’t go in.

We’ll come back around noon.” This was the curse of not knowing a foreign language—what else could one do as a guest besides smile foolishly? “Yes, that works too.” Yu Wei smiled and turned back to communicate with the middle-aged woman again.

Perhaps she insisted, and perhaps Yu Wei politely declined.

After a brief back-and-forth, the woman smiled, waved goodbye, and they left.

“Let’s go,” Yu Wei called out.

“I told her we’d browse the nearby flea market first and come back to visit around noon.” “That’s a great idea.” Hearing this, Fang Mingsheng’s eyes lit up with interest.

“Actually, even if you hadn’t said that, I was planning to go.

London’s flea markets rival the likes of Panjiayuan or Liulichang.

I hear many people strike it rich here by finding bargains every year.

Especially recently, someone bought a bowl for a few pounds only to discover it was from one of the Five Great Kilns of the Northern Song Dynasty…” “Mr.

Fang, since you know this place is like Panjiayuan, you should also realize that those so-called bargains are likely ninety-nine fakes for every genuine piece,” Yu Wei kindly reminded him.

“From what I know, many of the Chinese antiques here were actually shipped directly from the mainland.

It’s not as wonderful as you imagine.” “That’s true.” Wang Guan agreed.

“Elder Qian also told me about this.

Some experts, while traveling abroad, see Chinese antiques and instinctively think they are genuine, then rush to buy them.” “When they get them home, they find they are fakes, and upon careful inquiry, discover the items were sold to them from Panjiayuan in the first place.

At that moment, they lament the consequences of being connected globally—it's one of their own countrymen conning them.” Wang Guan sighed softly.

“And foreign experts aren't fools.

Once they noticed Chinese people swarming here to hunt for treasures, they naturally realized the value of these items.

The chance for a lucky find is definitely shrinking.” “You are absolutely right,” Yu Wei said with deep feeling.

“Elder Kong once said that he looked down on the same item ten years ago, but suddenly developed an affection for it now.

When he checked the price again, it had increased by at least twenty or thirty times.” “Twenty or thirty times is on the low side; in China, some items have increased several hundredfold,” Wang Guan shook his head.

“The collecting market is hot right now, but it lacks a bit of rationality.

It will probably take at least another decade to stabilize and form an orderly structure.” As they spoke, the group slowly arrived at the flea market Yu Wei mentioned.

Upon reaching the location, Wang Guan realized Yu Wei was correct: it was indeed bustling, just as lively as Panjiayuan.

Along the street, streams of people of all complexions mingled, moving slowly, occasionally stopping by various stalls to examine items and haggle with the vendors.

In fact, the term "flea market" actually originated in the West.

Early Britons often sold their used clothes and old items on the street, and those old items frequently harbored small bugs like fleas and lice.

Although they have a specific term for it, Chinese people, being more concise, literally translated it as tiaozishichang (flea market).

Simply put, this was a second-hand market composed of countless ground stalls, varying in size.

Most items for sale were used goods, surplus articles, and unused but outdated clothing.

Everything was available, from tiny ornaments on clothes to complete VCRs, televisions, and washing machines.

Of course, these items today certainly don't have fleas, so the meaning of "flea market" has gradually evolved to imply something fragmented or minute, like fleas.

Furthermore, as the market grew larger, it was no longer limited to second-hand goods; many new products also flooded the market, and their prices were relatively low, making them very popular.

However, this market leaned more towards old items and antiques of dubious authenticity.

Don't assume Westerners don't make forgeries; their methods aren't necessarily inferior.

It's just that their counterfeiting targets are not Chinese porcelain or calligraphy and paintings, but high-end artistic treasures more aligned with Western tastes, such as diamonds and oil paintings.

For instance, Wang Guan had recently heard news from America: a certain centuries-old gallery had quietly been selling a batch of forged oil paintings by master artists for over a decade, accumulating total sales exceeding eighty million US dollars.

Leaving aside the sheer magnitude of that sum, this incident alone showed that the world was much the same everywhere; the moon outside China wasn't necessarily whiter or purer.

Compared to the items handled by major galleries, large auction houses, and major art investors, the goods at this flea market felt like small-time stuff.

It was relatively more egalitarian, satisfying the common person’s desire for treasure hunting.

However, this also implied that the probability of finding a true gem here was negligible.

After passing more than a dozen stalls, Wang Guan and the others hadn't found anything that interested them.

It must be said that compared to Panjiayuan, the items at this flea market were more geared towards daily life—exquisite little things like pins and buttons, as well as some music boxes.

Perhaps due to cultural differences, Wang Guan didn't find these items particularly appealing, but many people were examining them at the stalls, and the rate of sale seemed quite high.

Seeing that everyone lacked interest, Yu Wei immediately smiled, “Let’s keep moving forward.

Beyond that corner are the antique shops.

I recall several of them also deal in Chinese antiques, so we can take a look.” Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng naturally had no objections.

They immediately wove through the crowd and soon arrived on a street dedicated to antiques.

Just across the street, compared to the bustling stalls, this area seemed somewhat deserted.

This was understandable: if the stalls catered to the common populace, the antique shop clientele would certainly target middle-to-high income groups.

Yet, in any nation, low-income individuals always form the vast majority, meaning societal wealth inevitably concentrates in the hands of a few—a solidified pyramidal structure.

In the current context, concepts like common prosperity, universal harmony, and everyone becoming exceptional were certainly ideals confined to utopia.

Of course, different levels of national development also meant that low-income populations in different countries couldn't be compared directly.

Once compared, developed nations looked like paradise—the income of an average citizen was dozens of times that of someone in a developing country.

However, they often ignored the most critical factor: the cost of living.

A nation’s price foundation was the true benchmark for distinguishing between high, middle, and low-income brackets.

In truth, for common people, nowhere in this world is paradise.

It’s just that for the wealthy, they can create a heavenly environment for themselves even in a poor African tribe.

“Oh.” Just as Wang Guan’s thoughts were drifting, Fang Mingsheng suddenly chuckled, “Is that stone lion placed outside the shop to ward off bad luck or just as a gimmick to attract business?” “What?” Wang Guan followed his gaze and saw a fierce-looking stone lion positioned outside an antique shop.

The piece wasn't very large, but it was saturated with Chinese carving style, making him feel a sense of familiarity.

“Probably both,” Yu Wei smiled then.

“If you like it, you can buy it directly.

Otherwise, the owner treats it as something to protect the feng shui or as an eye-catching advertisement.” “Then I have to admit, the owner achieved his goal,” Fang Mingsheng laughed.

“Let’s go inside and have a look.” The other two nodded in agreement, following Fang Mingsheng into the shop.

Upon entering, Wang Guan surveyed the space, finding it reasonably spacious, though the contents within were rather disorganized.

There were not only items native to Britain but also pieces with Egyptian and Arabian styles.

Unlike the situation in domestic shops, the owner of this establishment noticed their entrance, but he only glanced up and showed no intention of attending to them, continuing with his own task.

This suited them fine; the group preferred to quietly examine the objects without the interference of the owner’s sales pitch.

However, almost instantaneously, all three spotted porcelain pieces displayed prominently within the shop.

“This is Guangcai!” At first glance, Wang Guan was certain of the porcelain's origin.

The characteristics were too distinct: the designs were tightly composed, the colors intensely rich, and they exuded an air of dazzling splendor everywhere.

Apart from Fencai (famille rose) porcelain, this had to be the famous Guangcai (Guangzhou polychrome enamel).

Compared to the elegantly restrained Fencai, the coloration on these pieces was even more vibrant, shimmering with gold highlights, and their rather unusual shapes immediately identified them as Guangzhou gold-woven enamel porcelain… No Pop-up Novel Network…RS