Given the condition of the injured, we didn't linger long in Kalameer. Three days later, our international contingent bade farewell to the local herdsmen and set off for Beijing.

As soon as we hit the city limits, I told Fatty to hurry and find Da Jinya so we could all meet at Uncle Ming’s residence and collect all the valuable antiques. Of course, I kept this from Shirley Yang; she was taking Ah Xiang to the hospital for a follow-up on her wounds. I made a quick excuse and slipped away first.

Uncle Ming had tried to leave several times but couldn't manage it, so he reluctantly led me back to his home with a troubled expression. Beijing was once famous for having "three thousand six hundred large hutongs and hutongs as numerous as ox hair." After the Reform and Opening Up, the number of siheyuan courtyards gradually decreased due to urban redevelopment. Uncle Ming’s house was near Fuchengmen, a location that managed to be quiet despite being in the city's bustle. Though somewhat dilapidated, every brick and tile possessed an ancient, decadent beauty, still retaining a trace of the atmosphere of "canopy skies, fish tanks, pomegranate trees, a gentleman, a fat dog, and a plump girl." The more I looked at the courtyard, the more refined I found it, and I couldn't help but regret not having asked Uncle Ming to include the house itself as part of his payment; he surely wouldn't have refused. It was a pity we only asked for the house's collection of antiques and calligraphy.

It wasn't long before Fatty and Da Jinya arrived, each carrying two large suitcases, bustling in to meet us. The moment Da Jinya saw me, he flashed his glittering golden teeth and said, "Aiyo, my Master Hu, you have no idea how much I've missed you, brother. Ever since you left for Tibet, my eyelids haven't stopped twitching. It feels like we’ve finally waited for the Central Red Army to arrive, like waiting for rescue in the Yan'an caves. Now the situation at Panjiayuan is terrible; business is impossible. These days you were gone, your brother didn't even have anyone to consult with..."

I told Da Jinya, "We nearly lost our lives on this trip in the Kunlun Mountains. I didn't expect our base area would also be facing difficulties? But we can discuss these things later when we have time. Right now, we're like the great landlords dividing up the land. Uncle Ming has already given us all the antiques and artifacts in this house as payment. Fatty and I are novices when it comes to authenticating the age and value of antiques—we're barely half-baked. So, these things will have to rely on your sharp eye to appraise them so we can liquidate them quickly."

Da Jinya replied, "Master Hu, Master Fatty, just watch and see, don't worry. I may not be skilled at tomb raiding, but when it comes to judging ancient calligraphy, jade, and miscellaneous items, I truly won't boast—in the Four-Nine City, among all the experts, I really haven't met anyone who can be compared to me."

Fatty was so happy at this moment his mouth nearly couldn't close. He threw an arm tightly around Uncle Ming's neck: "Tidying up the Golden Bowl, dividing the land—so busy! Uncle Ming, we won't be polite with you. What's the point of formalities between brothers? You even shot at me back then, and I didn't make a fuss about it. So cut the nonsense, hurry up and open the door."

Uncle Ming had no choice but to open the door to the room housing the antiques for us. Everything inside was as it had been: numerous antiques of all sorts were arranged on several ancient, dark sandalwood cabinets, leaving one unsure where to look first. This room was no different from when we first visited, except there was now a thirteen-whiskered flower porcelain cat. That item wasn't valuable to begin with, and we didn't pay it much mind anyway. What Da Jinya kept thinking about and yearning for was the Phoenix-shaped lubricated jade that Uncle Ming always kept on his person. That piece had long since fallen into Fatty’s hands, and now it was brought out so they could inventory and estimate the total value. The funds for our business venture in America this time depended entirely on this collection.

Da Jinya couldn't bother with anything else. Now that he finally held the Jade Phoenix in his hand, he couldn't help but offer another heartfelt exclamation: "Saying that grinding jade into powder and eating it can grant eternal life is unscientific, but it's an undeniable fact that fine jade has effects that beautify the complexion, nourish the body, and preserve youth. Empress Dowager Cixi insisted on using jade for beauty every day. Back in the day, Emperor Yang of Sui, Zhu Gui'er, inserted lubricated jade into his Kunshan region to treat his hair; without using lan gao [a cosmetic], his hair and temples were lustrous and radiant, unmatched by any woman in the world. But he used Kunlun jade, which is far inferior to this Jade Phoenix from the bottom of the East Sea. The ancients said: 'A gentleman does not part with jade without a good reason.' In my opinion, Master Hu, this Jade Phoenix should not be sold; it should be kept close as a treasured heirloom to pass down through generations."

I took the Jade Phoenix and examined it. Although historical records confirm this was an authentic piece used by Yang Guifei, even I could see that the carving style clearly carried the mark of the "Han Eight Slashes" technique, indicating it was far older than the Tang Dynasty—a rare, once-in-a-lifetime piece of exquisite jade. However, this was ultimately an item meant for a woman. What use did we have for it? It would be better to sell it for cash. But then I thought, why not give it to Shirley Yang? It wasn't something we dug out of a tomb; she would certainly like it. So, I nodded in agreement, telling Fatty not to include the Jade Phoenix in the final accounting.

Subsequently, we inspected the rest of the antiques one by one. Had we not looked, it wouldn't have mattered, but once we did, we realized Uncle Ming had fooled us. Antiques, by the Ming and Qing dynasties, already had many fine imitations created. It is precisely because they possess the value of being collected, appreciated, and having their authenticity judged that they create space for major collectors to display their discernment, wealth, and boldness. Becoming proficient in distinguishing authenticity is difficult once you learn the basics. In a sense, the charm of antiques lies in that very ambiguity between true and false. Many items in Uncle Ming’s room looked real, but upon closer inspection, feeling them and smelling them, you knew their value was low; most were just decorative pieces meant to impress.

Fatty was furious and was about to use Uncle Ming’s ribs as a washboard, but Uncle Ming quickly begged me for mercy. He explained that he had collected this house full of items over half a lifetime in the South Seas just to maintain appearances. Most of his collection had been used to pay off his two precious sons' gambling debts; he was effectively nearly bankrupt, which was why he risked his life going to the Kunlun Mountains. However, not all these items were fake; a few pieces were genuinely valuable.

I waved my hand at Fatty, letting it go. Beating him wouldn't produce gold bars. We decided to clear out all the fakes first and see what remained. So, I, Da Jinya, and Fatty got to work, overturning drawers and cabinets to inventory these numerous objects.

Fatty, thinking he had a keen eye, picked up a dark red lotus-shaped porcelain bowl and said, "Old Hu, Old Jin, take a look at this. This is definitely a yaobian (kiln-transformation) glaze. The glaze on the outside of the bowl is deep red like blood, and the inside is all striped glaze patterns. I saw Baldy Li, who deals exclusively in porcelain at Panjiayuan, handling a piece almost identical to this. He said this color is called 'chicken blood red' or 'cinnabar red,' and the internal stripes are called 'rain-washed wall,' looking like rain trickling down a wall. If it were a Jun ware piece, it could be worth a fortune."

Da Jinya took it over for a look: "Master Fatty, your standards are truly high, but there aren't that many Jun ware pieces. As the saying goes, one piece of Jun ware is worth ten thousand pieces of gold. In all my years, I've seen very few complete pieces. Jun porcelain is unmatched, kiln transformation is unparalleled; you don't just run into them. Glaze the color of rouge is the best; those blue-green like verdigris or purplish-black are second. Its kiln transformation is called the 'earthworm crawling mud pattern,' where lines appear in the glaze, winding and extending, varying in length, running from top to bottom, like earthworms crawling through the soil—very unique. First of all, this vessel is not a bowl; it's a brush washer. This color is rose red, a replica of purple Jun. It imitates the incomparably rich grape purple. Judging from the form, the glaze color, the foot rim, the air bubbles, and the body material, it is not authentic. It's merely a high-quality imitation from the late Republic period, possibly from Suzhou. It might fetch a thousand yuan at best."

I said to Fatty and Da Jinya, "Even among the fakes, some are exquisitely copied. Although they aren't worth as much as the genuine articles, they are better than scrap. Who knows, we might be able to take them to Dayangzhuang [a reference to trading abroad] and exchange them for some foreign exchange certificates." With that, I packed the brush washer away.

Among these miscellaneous, truly and falsely mixed antiques, one piece caught my eye. It was a porcelain cup: the body was regular, the glaze pure white, shaped like the cups used by leaders during meetings in the Great Hall of the People, but the craftsmanship seemed even more refined, and the texture was excellent. Of course, its strongest attraction was its pronounced historical characteristic: the handle was shaped like a sickle and hammer, the lid featured a red five-pointed star and a clenched fist symbol, and it was inscribed with the words, "To implement the general line and the general task in all work." On the front of the cup was the slogan, "Carry the general line and general task through in all work."

I asked Uncle Ming, "This cup probably isn't fake, but I wonder which leader used it and had it left behind. Where did you acquire it?"

Uncle Ming said it certainly wasn't fake. A mainland friend gave it to him a couple of years ago. He said it was an out-of-print item, and its value wouldn't be low; it was a typical cultural relic of the Republic era. "You all just take it. Maybe leave a few of the other things for me."

Fatty looked at it and said, "I think my family used to have a set like this; it was distributed to my old man when he went to meetings. I was young then, and Old Hu always egged me on to sneak them out of my house and smash them with my slingshot. Can this piece of junk actually be valuable?"

Da Jinya said, "Cups distributed to leaders for meetings in that era, and even now, are generally similar, but this one is definitely different. Everyone look at the inscription on this cup: it bears the signature of Zhang Songtao, and also the Jingdezhen City First Porcelain Painting Craft Cooperative. This cup is no small thing. As far as I know, this must have been custom-ordered specifically for the Lushan Conference. At that time, it was a major political task, bringing together Jingdezhen's master porcelain painters. The quantity was small, and a Songtao signature piece is even rarer—it has very high value. As an out-of-print item, its value might not be fully apparent now, but as the years pass, this cup will become increasingly valuable."

I held the teacup, admiring it again and again. If I kept it at home to drink from, wouldn't I feel like a leader? Although this wasn't what one would technically call an antique, its craftsmanship was exquisite, its style unique, and its quantity extremely limited. More rarely, it witnessed the historical ebb and flow, possessing a deep, special significance. It fit two of the five criteria for measuring antique value—'Age, Rarity, Finesse, Beauty, Goodness'—namely 'Finesse' and 'Rarity.' If we could even complete a set, its value might surpass ordinary funerary items. It seemed Uncle Ming did have a few good things among his collection. Although the haul wasn't as large as we anticipated, it counted as some unexpected gain.

Most of the objects displayed in Uncle Ming's room had been acquired through "one-shot deals" from antique dealers simply to maintain appearances. The term "one-shot deal" meant purchasing a large batch of items simultaneously, the majority of which were high-quality imitations from the late Republic period or earlier. While they wouldn't fetch exorbitant prices, they weren't as worthless as common junk either. Among these items, there were indeed a few genuine treasures. Thus, the three of us shook off our fatigue and began sorting the items into categories. Those Da Jinya deemed worthless were piled up in a corner of the room.

As the clearing operation progressed, the items on the sandalwood shelves dwindled, and Uncle Ming’s expression grew gloomier. At this moment, Fatty spotted an unassuming, dull, and rustic-looking Zisha teapot in a place where low-grade items were stacked, and he casually tossed it toward the corner reserved for inferior goods. Da Jinya, who was sniffing a small bronze Buddha statue at the time, suddenly saw the Zisha teapot Fatty threw. His mouth fell wide open, and his eyes stared fixedly at the parabolic trajectory of the teapot falling through the air. He even abandoned the bronze Buddha in his hand. I don't know where he suddenly found such agility, but he managed to catch the Zisha teapot just before it hit the ground and shattered. Sweat beaded on Da Jinya's forehead: "Master Fatty, you really are a menace! If I hadn't seen it at that exact moment, you would have carelessly smashed this pot."

Fatty retorted, "What's all the fuss about? This junk pot is terribly common; it doesn't even have the luster of Zisha anymore. Who knows what sewer it was dredged up from? Who would want to buy it?"

I also thought the pot looked unimpressive. The shape was acceptable, but the body material was too dull; it lacked the smoothness polished by generations of handling—what we commonly call the bāo jiāng (patina) on the surface of old pots. It was impossible to tell if it was any good. However, Da Jinya rarely misjudged things. Could this actually be something valuable?

Da Jinya carefully stroked the body of the pot and then sniffed it a couple of times: "Don't let this Zisha teapot fool you; this is an ancient item from the Ming Dynasty. This style is called Jin-Nang [ribbed/string-purse shape]. Most Ming Dynasty Zisha we see today lack the smooth, lustrous bāo jiāng on the surface because ninety percent of them are funerary items dug from tombs. After being buried in the soil for so long, any original luster would have been soaked away. Furthermore, the craftsmanship of that period hadn't been perfected; the clay was only slightly refined, containing many impurities. Thus, its initial appearance isn't as good as Qing Dynasty pots. But this is a genuine Ming artifact."

Fatty, Da Jinya, and I carefully wrapped the Zisha teapot, satisfied. In the end, we selected just over twenty items in total. Unconsciously, the sky had turned late; looking at the time, it was past nine in the evening. Everyone had been busy counting the goods and naturally hadn't thought about eating. Fatty said that on the way over, he saw a restaurant at the entrance of the hutong and suggested we go there for a meal before heading home. So, we grabbed our things and bolted. We hadn't intended to bring Uncle Ming along, but he seemed reluctant to part with a few of his items and insisted on following us, shamelessly tagging along.

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