Brother Xiong’s stall was just like the other roadside booths—a two-meter square piece of red cloth spread on the ground, covered with coins and bronze items. From the outside, they all looked rusty and weathered, like they’d been around for years. But with these things, Zhuang Rui couldn’t see through them with his spiritual energy, so he hadn’t stopped earlier and had just skipped over this stall.
“Monkey, didn’t I already tell you? That painting’s reserved. See? I didn’t even put it out. Why are you still bringing people to look at the goods?” The stall owner, Brother Xiong, put on an impatient face. He seemed to be talking to the skinny young man, but Zhuang Rui noticed Brother Xiong’s eyes were fixed on him.
Back when Zhuang Rui was chatting with Uncle De at the pawnshop, Uncle De once mentioned that back before Liberation, there were people in the underworld who specialized in trading fake and real antiques, dealing in calligraphy and paintings. Later, some grave robbers and tomb raiders joined in—stealing chickens and dogs, cheating and swindling by any means possible. They even traced back their roots, acknowledged the thief ancestor Shi Qian as their patron saint, and called themselves the ‘Scroll Sect’ of the underworld. Their behavior matched these two pretty well.
“If it’s taken, then forget it. I couldn’t afford a real Zheng Banqiao anyway. Alright, I’m leaving.”
In this market, Liu Chuan was someone who carried some weight. So although Zhuang Rui wasn't afraid of trouble, he didn't feel like messing with these local snakes. He turned to leave—it was almost noon and he needed to take Nannan to lunch.
"Hey, hey, hold on, big bro! This stuff is a rare find—no harm in taking a look before you go! Xiong Ge, I've never seen you chase away customers like this." The skinny young man quickly grabbed Zhuang Rui, while incessantly signaling to Xiong Ge with his eyes. If he kept holding back like this, the customer would really be gone.
"Taking a look's fine, but if this brother here actually wants it, I'll be in a tough spot—I've already promised it to someone else. Well, take a peek first, we'll see..." Xiong Ge, seeing Zhuang Rui about to leave, also showed a flicker of panic in his face, and his tone immediately softened.
Actually, Zhuang Rui was overestimating these two. The gang of charlatans from the rivers and lakes might have really existed seventy or eighty years ago, but after Liberation and then that decade, those monsters and demons had long since been swept away. These two in front of him were, at best, putting on an act to fool rookies or newcomers in the trade, scraping together a bit of petty cash. Their professional skill was a far cry from the old-timers Uncle De talked about—even the little tricks they played between them were transparent to Zhuang Rui at a glance.
Zhuang Rui stopped at his words. Anyway, taking a look couldn't hurt. With Liu Chuan looking out for him in this market, he wasn't afraid of these two forcing a sale. He also harbored a sliver of hope—he had once scored Wang Shizhen's original manuscript of 'Notes on the Fragrant Herb' from an old village lady. Who knew, maybe this guy really had some good stuff. If it was genuine, even if he couldn't afford to buy it, absorbing its spiritual energy alone would be a surefire win-win deal.
Seeing this young man turn back around, Xiong Ge was secretly pleased. He and Monkey had watched him for a while, noticing that he lingered at every stall selling old calligraphy and paintings but only looked, never bought. To them, this guy probably knew a thing or two about calligraphy and painting, but judging by his age, he must be a newcomer to the field—a half-full bottle that sloshes around, the easiest type to fool with their high-quality counterfeits.
Xiong Ge stood up, and only then did Zhuang Rui see that he wasn't sitting on a stool but a rattan-woven box. After opening it, Xiong Ge carefully lifted out a scroll wrapped in yellow cloth with both hands. When he uncovered the cloth, the wooden rollers at both ends of the scroll looked worn and old. At first glance, it seemed like an antique.
Xiong Ge spread the scroll open on the rattan box. Zhuang Rui saw it was a vertical scroll, roughly 50x110 centimeters, with slightly yellowed paper. It depicted bamboo growing among rocks, with a poem inscribed： “Bamboo shoots skyward, covering earth; wind and rain stirred by the brush tip; I refuse to follow others' rules, writing dragon whiskers and phoenix tails.” The handwriting varied in size and leaned unevenly. Below the poem were the characters “Zheng Xie” and several seals.
“Who’s Zheng Xie？”
Zhuang Rui blurted it out, but regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth—he’d made a fool of himself. Zheng Xie, styled Banqiao, was better known by the name Zheng Banqiao, and it took Zhuang Rui a moment to make the connection. This was almost as embarrassing as Yang Wei's dad’s joke about Tang Bohu and Tang Yin being two different people.
Xiong Ge and Monkey exchanged glances, their eyes full of suspicion. This guy doesn't even know the original name of Zheng Banqiao—how could he tell if it's real or fake? If he were impulsive, it'd be easier to handle; he'd buy it if it looked genuine. But this guy seems pretty steady from his face; it won't be easy to fool him today.
Zhuang Rui lowered his head, using his forehead hair to block others' gaze as he focused on that so-called Zheng Banqiao painting. A flash of yellow light passed through his eyes, and spiritual energy had already circled inside the painting. When the energy returned to his eyes, there was no unusual sign at all. Needless to say, Zhuang Rui had already sentenced it as a dead loss in his mind.
Ever since he could absorb spiritual energy from the couplet and the manuscript, Zhuang Rui had experimented on many books, but none contained spiritual energy. After pondering for a long time and combining the two experiences of absorbing energy, Zhuang Rui reached a conclusion: objects that can contain spiritual energy must be from ancient times. In terms of time, at the earliest they should be from before the Liberation. This basis came from his judgment of the couplet by the Couplet Sage.
Zhuang Rui even suspected whether the spiritual energy in the couplet and the manuscript came from the author's intense concentration during creation, which caused the work to produce spiritual energy. But this idea was too absurd, and Zhuang Rui only thought of it casually. However, at this moment, Zhuang Rui was certain that the thing in front of him was definitely a fake.
'You two, I can't quite call this one right. You'd better put it away first,' Zhuang Rui said, raising his head to face Xiong Ge and Monkey, who wore expectant expressions.
Uncle De once told Zhuang Rui that in the antique trade, there's no such thing as real or fake, only old or new. And one must always leave some leeway. Even if something is new, people usually just say they can't quite tell or can't say for sure, without directly pointing it out. The seller naturally understands and won't press the issue.
When Zhuang Rui said this, Xiong Ge and Monkey exchanged glances. They never expected that this man who didn't even know Zheng Banqiao's real name would speak like a pro without even asking the price. They had misjudged him. Little did they know, without those eyes of his, how could Zhuang Rui tell real from fake? If you handed him a modern print, he might just think it was authentic if the printing looked realistic enough.
Monkey and Xiong Ge running into Zhuang Rui was their bad luck. This high-quality forged painting of Zheng Banqiao had been aged using fairly sophisticated methods. The paper was indeed from the Qing Dynasty, the calligraphy and painting were done by masters, nearly indistinguishable from the original. Even the scroll's rod had undergone aging treatment. Any casual appreciator who wasn't a Zheng Banqiao expert would absolutely take it for the real deal. But unfortunately for them, Zhuang Rui was a guy who didn't follow the usual path — all their painstaking efforts went down the drain.
Xiong Ge was straightforward about it. After hearing Zhuang Rui's words, he didn't say much more and neatly packed up the painting back into its case. This was their bread and butter, after all. There were plenty of people out there looking to get something for nothing. If they hadn't fooled Zhuang Rui, there would definitely be others who'd fall for it.
Zhuang Rui was equally disinterested. The spiritual energy in his eyes had been largely depleted from curing his mother's illness, and he was eager to replenish it. After wandering around all morning without finding anything valuable, he realized that even with these eyes, legendary bargain finds weren't so easy after all.
"You two, if you ever come across real antiques, go to the Love Pet House ahead and let the owner know. You guys carry on..."
Zhuang Rui exchanged a few pleasantries. He'd be heading back to Zhonghai City for work in about a month anyway — he couldn't stay around here forever. But these guys hung around here every day, and they might just stumble across something good from time to time.
“Chirp chirp chirp chirp... chirp chirp chirp chirp...”
After greeting him, Zhuang Rui was about to leave when a very familiar, pleasant chirping sound suddenly reached his ears.