"Are you hungry?"Back home, Wen‑xian gently sat Jiang Chen on the bed and served him a hearty meal. Watching him eat, she asked:"So, what are your plans going forward?"
Jiang Chen paused mid‑bite, shook his head. "I don't have much in the way of a path."
"A path is something you pave yourself," Wen‑xian replied resolutely.
He sighed. "No, Wen‑xian… ideals are lofty, but reality is harsh. The social hierarchy is rigid. A rural kid like me—where's my opportunity?"
Wen‑xian looked him in the eyes. "Don't be so pessimistic. I have an idea—I'll fund us to open a small convenience store."
"A shop?" Jiang Chen blinked.
"Don't underestimate a village store—people come here to buy everything for weddings, funerals, ceremonies."
Jiang Chen thought: That means I'd still be living off Wen‑xian's money. Not the future of a real man. "Wen‑xian… can we talk about that later?"
After dinner, Wen‑xian brought him warm water for his feet to soak. They went to bed early—the next morning, Jiang Chen woke to find it nearly ten o'clock.
Wen‑xian returned from town saying the village's Zhang Qiang was taking his tractor to the county to sell hawthorns; she wanted Jiang Chen to accompany her to buy clothes. He ate hastily and followed.
They arrived in the county—officially called Xuefu County—a famous hub for antiques. Zhang Qiang headed straight to the wholesale market with his hawthorn, while Wen‑xian guided Jiang Chen into the county co‑operative department store, second floor—men's clothing.
"Why men's?" he asked.
"Gonna buy you some decent clothes," she smiled. "Look at you, wearing bargain crap—I want you to look like a gentleman."
"I like bargain clothes."
She shook her head. "Clothes reflect luck. If you dress ragged, your luck will be ragged."
Despite his protests, she bought him two upscale casual outfits. Stepping out of the store, he looked every inch a successful man.
"You see?" she said. "Tall, handsome, that air about you—if you don't become successful, there must be something wrong with you."
He teased, "You're dressing me up to show me off? What if I become so successful you ditch me?"
Wen‑xian laughed. "I'm not scared. Love matters. I treasure what we have now."
Jiang Chen smiled. "I'll love you forever."
At noon they enjoyed hot pot at a restaurant. As they finished, Wen‑xian got a call from a high-school friend asking her to meet. Jiang Chen decided to stroll around the streets.
He ended up on Antique Street: shops filled with ancient relics, jade, gold and silver jewelry. One old man walked quickly past him into a shop called "Rongyu Workshop." Curious, Jiang Chen followed.
Inside: around 80 square meters, display shelves with large antiques, glass cases filled with small artifacts. The old man stepped to the counter, unwrapping a package, revealing a ceramic bowl. He asked quietly, "Do you buy this?"
The clerk looked uneasy and fetched the portly, fierce-looking owner. He took the bowl, inspected it closely. Then his voice dropped: "Yup—fake."
The old man insisted it was family heirloom. The owner scoffed: "Just look at that craquelure—clearly artificially aged. I'll give you 300 yuan—but take it or leave it."
The old man pleaded—medicine bills, urgent need. The clerk gave him an empathetic look. The owner sighed, counted out 500 yuan, and handed it over. The old man left gratefully.
A crowd lingered. A well‑dressed middle‑aged man examined the bowl through a magnifier—hesitant. Another bystander said, "Nice workmanship. Even as a modern decorative piece it's worth 5,000 yuan." Someone argued the shopkeeper had lowballed the old man. The owner replied harshly, "Poor people don't deserve mercy. If you go easy, they'll take advantage."
Jiang Chen quietly frowned—this man had no compassion.
The owner noticed Jiang Chen. "Young sir—clearly educated. Interested in this?"
Jiang Chen nodded. "How much?"
"It's a Dao Guang official‑kiln blue‑and‑white bowl—an excellent replica. 15,000 yuan."
"Then why buy it for 500 yuan and mark up thirty‑fold?"
The owner shrugged. "Business costs money—you don't earn, you close shop."
Jiang Chen smirked. "I'll pay 5,500."
"Too low—13,000 minimum."
"Then I won't buy—just a fake bowl for that price?" Jiang Chen turned to leave.
The owner called after him: "Fine—nine thousand!"
Jiang Chen countered: "Six thousand, final. Else you sell to someone else."
The owner deliberated, then agreed. He bagged the bowl. Jiang Chen paid with Wen‑xian's card and left.
Unseen by him, the well‑dressed man followed quietly from behind. "Sir—wait!" he called. Jiang Chen stopped.
The man invited him for coffee at a nearby café. The man introduced himself as Jing Buli, a collector visiting Xuefu County.
They sat in a private room; he ordered two costly Starbucks lattes.
"To celebrating your lucky find," he smiled.
"How did you know it was a steal?" Jiang Chen asked.
"This is a Dao‑Guang official kiln bowl—easily worth 400,000 yuan," Jing Buli said, eyeing the bowl.
Jiang Chen was impressed. They chatted like old friends. Jing Buli finally offered: "I have three more Dao‑Guang bowls—odd‑numbered, four makes a set. Interested?"
Jiang Chen was moved—this man was sincere. Without hesitation, he nodded. "If you want it, it's yours."
Jing Buli beamed. "Really? Thank you. Let's be friends. You should visit Beijing—I'll show you my collection."
"I'd like that," Jiang Chen replied.
Jing Buli hesitated, then transferred 200,000 yuan into Jiang Chen's account. They talked until sunset.
Wen‑xian called. Back at her place, Jiang Chen greeted her: "Wen‑xian—we're rich!"
"What? How? Did Wu Feng and the others sell more wine?" she exclaimed. "You can't do that anymore."
"No, it's different," he said, then whispered today's story.
Wen‑xian blinked, then smiled. "I have an idea…"
"I do too," he said.
They drew words in each other's palms: hers said, "Return the money to the old man." His said, "Restore the artifact to its origin."
Laughing, they declared: "Let's go find him at the county hospital!"