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墨書 Inktalez
"What jargon are you talking about?"
"Old Sun, if you don't know the jargon in our line of work, you're going to suffer a big loss."
"I heard him say it so seriously that I decided to believe him."
"Old Sun, don't be fooled by the small size of my shop or its quietness. As the old saying goes, if you don't open for three years, when you do open, you'll feast for three years." As he spoke, the fat on his face trembled, and his green military uniform was stretched taut over his round belly, giving him the air of a pompous landlord.
To say that Fat Ma had a fondness for military uniforms would be an understatement. From the days when he was sent down to the countryside during the educated youth movement to now, during the reform and opening up, he had changed uniforms several times. Although he wasn't a soldier, he always managed to squeeze into a military outfit.
As they stepped out of Fat Ma's shop, it was still relatively quiet at the Antique Market. Most people came during their free time on weekends to hunt for treasures.
There was an unwritten rule at the Antique Market: one party is willing to sell while the other is willing to buy. If you purchase a fake item and later discover it's counterfeit at home, you can't just come back and demand a refund. Once you've bought it, it's yours; no returns or exchanges.
Moreover, regulars at the Antique Market knew that there were far more fakes than genuine items. If a vendor had authentic goods, do you think they would risk selling them at this flea market?
"Let me tell you a funny story. There was once a Changsha native who was obsessed with antiques. He had some knowledge in this area. One morning, as usual, he went to browse the Antique Market and suddenly spotted a shiny cup that radiated white light. It looked fantastic, but there was a small black dot on it. He picked up the cup and muttered to himself: 'What a pity! Such a nice cup ruined by these little black dots.' In reality, his inner monologue was that if it weren't for those little black dots, he wouldn't even consider buying it."
Antiques are passed down through generations from deceased owners; if there are no signs of wear and tear, it feels unsettling. Although he verbally expressed dissatisfaction with those little black dots, he was secretly pleased—after all, it was a tactic to negotiate a lower price.
In the end, he happily bought the cup and felt like he had struck gold. The next morning, he woke up early again and returned to the Antique Market. To his surprise, he found another identical cup at the same stall. This time he felt anxious; he originally planned to confront the stall boss about it.
Finally, the boss told him: "This is a pair of Double Dragon Cups." With gritted teeth and determination, he bought it as well, feeling quite pleased with himself.
Then on the third day, he arrived early at the Antique Market once more and unexpectedly found yet another dazzling sight before him.
I couldn't help but interject, "Is it another identical cup?"
"Guess what?" Fat Ma replied.
"If he buys it again, he's a fool," the Mud Man chimed in.
I said, "He definitely bought it."
"Old Sun, you got it right," Fat Ma said, his anger flaring as he prepared to confront the stall owner. However, before he could sit down, the stall owner spoke up, "Congratulations! You truly are a fortunate person to come across such good fortune." This left him momentarily speechless. The stall owner continued, "I didn't expect them to be the Three Lives Cups." In the end, he bought that last cup.
I listened intently. "What about the fourth day?"
"This is a joke circulating in the market, illustrating the complexity of the Antique Market. Usually, it's a mix of genuine and fake items. Of course, Old Sun, we can't rule out that there are real treasures in this Antique Market; otherwise, it wouldn't attract so many people."
Fat Ma suddenly lowered his voice. "I once stumbled upon a genuine piece."
Seeing my puzzled expression, Fat Ma explained, "A genuine piece refers to Mingqi that has just been unearthed."
"I understand now; you could have just said that instead of being cryptic."
"If you want to dig deeper into this, just say so, Old Sun. Besides, you're legally blind when it comes to this; haven't you heard the state say that any antiques or treasures unearthed from underground belong to the nation?"
I looked at Fat Ma in surprise; I was impressed. This Fat Ma certainly had hidden depths.
I gave him a thumbs-up. Fat Ma smiled modestly and handed me a cigarette. "Don't rush to praise me yet; there's still much for you to learn. Once you've learned it all, you can join my business. At that time, the three of us will enjoy wealth and prosperity together."
The Mud Man took Fat Ma's cigarette and casually lit it. "You talk better than you sing. Fat Ma, do you dare to come clean now?"
Fat Ma chuckled lightly, his head turning elsewhere.
"Come on, just say it!" I urged impatiently.
Seeing that he couldn't avoid it any longer, Fat Ma made a bold statement: "Don't worry, if one day you end up underground, I will definitely take good care of your families. You won't have to worry about them down there."
For the next minute, we gave him a good beating.
The stroll through the Antique Market continued, and Fat Ma was still explaining things.
"Old Sun, did you see that piece of jade?" I followed Fat Ma's pointing direction and nodded. "In our trade, we call jade 'stone,' and those who work in this field are part of the 'stone gang.' Similar to them are jadeites, which we refer to as green heads, old types, and new types—these correspond to jadeite, old jadeite, and new jadeite."
Fat Ma spoke with such authority that I couldn't help but admire him more.
"You know about calligraphy and paintings, right?"
I nodded.
"When it comes to modern times, it's still the works of Qi Baishi that are valuable. If we go further back, there are many more. The top recommendation is the Qingming Riverside Scene. Of course, that's something you can never get your hands on. Then there's Wang Xizhi's famous Lantingji Xu. Legend has it that it was taken underground by Emperor Taizong of Tang; it's a forgery but still circulated in the world. The real one might never see the light of day—this is something we still have a chance at," Fat Ma said with a few chuckles.
"Do you even dare to think about that?"
Fat Ma immediately stopped laughing: "It's good to indulge in fantasies sometimes."
"In our trade, we refer to these calligraphy and paintings as paper heads, pieces, or simply paper."
Fat Ma continued, "Actually, that's not all. Do you know what we call each other when we run into fellow traders underground?"
I shook my head as Fat Ma lowered his voice again, saying, "It's called Yuanliang; it's a term of respect we use for each other."
I nodded in understanding.
"Damn, why are there so many rules?" the Mud Man interjected.
"You know better than I do," Fat Ma replied.
The Mud Man fell silent.
"If we're talking about our line of work, there are actually two factions. Last time we were out in the field, Old Mountain Master mentioned it too: the Southern School and the Northern Faction. They have different terms for going underground; the Southern School calls it Panning for Gold, while the Northern Faction refers to it as 'flipping over.' We in Changsha have our own term called Dirt Scholar. Essentially, they mean the same thing, but there are distinctions in the details. The Northern Faction and Southern School have always been at odds. The Northern Faction people criticize the Southern School for being unruly, claiming that Mingqi is practically wasted in their hands. In response, the Southern School retorts that the Northern Faction is hypocritical. Thus, the two factions remain at odds. The Old Mountain Master we met last time is a representative of the Northern Faction."
"So who represents the Southern School?" I asked.
"Let me think... Actually, the Southern School doesn't have a systematic set of rules, so it's more chaotic. But if I had to name someone, it would be Sun Wukong."
"Sun Wukong?"
"That's a nickname we use for him in our circle. If you dare call him that to his face, he might beat you so badly that even your ancestors wouldn't recognize you. He has a unique skill: he can read mountains. This means that no matter what mountain he stands before, big or small, he can instantly identify where a Tomb is located. Once he finds a Tomb, he can smell its age from the soil dug up with a Luoyang Shovel."
Hearing Fat Ma's incredible claims made me unable to resist asking, "Is he really that amazing?"
"Of course! But this person is also quite elusive. I once tried to visit him but couldn't catch even a glimpse."
When discussing the Northern Faction, the Mud Man's expression became somewhat uneasy.
As for us Dirt Scholars from Changsha, we should be classified under the Southern School. Fat Ma took a drag from his cigarette and said, "Right now, whenever these two factions meet, they end up fighting, but the Northern Faction seems to have the upper hand."
"You know nothing, just talking nonsense," the Mud Man retorted.
"Dead Mud Man, can you not interrupt Fat Master while he’s giving a lecture to Old Sun?" Fat Ma said, getting into the conversation.
"The Southern School has its contradictions; otherwise, how could they compare to the Northern Faction?" The Mud Man finished his sentence with emotion and immediately shut his mouth.
Both Fat Ma and I stared at him.
"What are you looking at?"
We shifted our gaze back. "Where were we? Old Sun."
"We were talking about that Sun Wukong."
"Oh! Right, right, it's Sun Wukong. Speaking of him, he is indeed a remarkable person. He goes underground but doesn’t come out during the day. It’s said that when he goes underground, he doesn’t come out until nightfall. His strikes are incredibly precise; he never returns empty-handed, and the key point is that every time he acts, it’s with significant impact."
Hearing Fat Ma say this, I couldn't help but recall what Hills mentioned about the Ghostly Heavenly Palace. It seems like a place everyone wants to get their hands on, and Sun Wukong is likely one of them.
"Old Sun," Fat Ma called out to me loudly.
"I'm not deaf; you don't have to shout."
"Ever since you returned from Xing'an Ridge, you've been absent-minded. Have you been haunted by evil spirits?"
"Shut up."
Fat Ma coughed a few times and suddenly squatted down in front of a street vendor. The vendor called out, "Boss Ma." Fat Ma was quite familiar with his territory.
The stall owner appeared to be in his fifties, with his hair styled in a side part and dressed in a Tang suit, his face glistening with oil.
“Liu, it’s been a while! How’s business lately?” Fat Ma greeted him with clasped hands.
“Don’t even mention it, Ma! I recently missed out on a treasure, and just thinking about it makes my heart ache!” Liu said, his expression one of utter despair.
Fat Ma perked up at the mention of Liu's lost treasure. “How much did you miss?”
“At least this much,” Liu replied, holding up five fingers.
“Five hundred?”
“No, it’s five thousand!”
“Come on, Liu! You’re just making things up. We’re friends here.”
“Ma, why would I lie to you? Last time I misjudged a piece—a Blue and White Porcelain from Jingdezhen. I sold it for five hundred, and now I realize I lost at least that much.”
Fat Ma exchanged a few more words before getting up. After walking a few steps, he remarked, “That old man really took a hit.”
“Old Sun, you’re still too young; you actually believe that?”
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