Chapter Thirty: The Blue and White Porcelain Bowl

With money, everything becomes easier. When Zhang Jiye approached Zhang Kuan about renting a truck for the journey to Jincheng, he learned that the usual freight charge was around thirteen thousand yuan. But when Zhang Jiye called Zhang Can, Zhang Can immediately offered thirty thousand—twenty thousand up front, and the remaining ten thousand upon arrival in Jincheng. The other party, naturally overjoyed, agreed without hesitation.

Zhang Can’s father, Zhang Guonian, fared even better. When it came to buying potatoes, the market price was 0.8 yuan per jin, but he offered 1.5 yuan per jin instead. The villagers, thrilled by the offer, eagerly fetched their own sacks and packed the potatoes themselves, tying the bags up one by one. Opportunities like this were rare indeed. Normally, they would have to haul their produce to the county seat themselves, bearing both the labor and the transport costs, only to fetch about 0.8 yuan per jin, sometimes even less. But now, a client had driven a truck right into the village, offered an excellent price, and saved them the trouble of even leaving their homes. It was truly a stroke of luck.

The villagers were also grateful to Zhang Can for having donated a hundred thousand yuan for road repairs. Unseen but powerful, this gesture lifted the standing of Zhang Guonian’s family to the very peak of village esteem, even above the village chief.

Zhang Kuan and Zhang Jiye drove into the village with the truck driver, and then Zhang Jiye enlisted the help of several able-bodied villagers to load the four logs of golden-thread nanmu onto the truck, using the excuse Zhang Guonian had suggested: the logs were for weighing down the truck on winding roads. The spots Zhang Jiye had shaved with an axe had already been touched up with black ink by Zhang Can; they were now indistinguishable.

Under Zhang Guonian’s supervision, the villagers loaded the bags of potatoes onto the truck. Zhang Guonian and his daughter-in-law, Zhu Hongyu, recorded the numbers. When Zhang Can went to get money to pay for the potatoes, Zhu Senlin immediately produced twenty thousand yuan. In total, about ten thousand jin of potatoes had been collected.

With so many villagers as witnesses, Zhang Can naturally didn’t try to outbid Zhu Senlin for the payment, so as not to arouse suspicion. The four nanmu logs were placed at the very bottom of the truck bed, covered by over five tons of potatoes. It was as safe as it could be. Besides, none of those present, not even the two drivers, had any idea that such a secret was hidden there. After the loading was complete, Zhang Can handed the two drivers twenty thousand yuan in cash, with the remaining ten thousand to be settled in Jincheng.

Once the truck departed, Zhang Can gave Zhang Kuan five hundred yuan to drive him and Zhu Senlin to the county seat. Zhang Guonian and Zhang Jiye had no idea Zhang Can was about to leave; they thought he was merely seeing Zhu Senlin off and didn’t ask further.

After getting off in the county seat and boarding the express bus to the provincial capital, Zhang Can finally breathed a sigh of relief once Zhang Kuan had left. At last, he was on his way.

Zhu Senlin chuckled, “Little Zhang, you seem so anxious—what’s going on? There’s no one else around now, you can tell me, can’t you?”

Zhang Can shook his head and sighed with a wry smile. “Old Zhu, it’s a long story. My parents and brother are eager to arrange a marriage for me, but there are some misunderstandings between me and the girl. It’s bound to be trouble, so I decided to leave—out of sight, out of mind. That’s why I used you as an excuse.”

Zhu Senlin waved his hand. He had already said he’d never believe Zhang Can couldn’t find a wife. In this world, as long as your prospects are good enough, what kind of woman couldn’t you marry?

The express bus made it to the provincial capital in just an hour. However, when they tried to book a flight back to Jincheng, there were no flights left for that day—the earliest was at 7:30 the next morning. It seemed they would have to spend a night in the city.

Both of them were traveling light, without even a suitcase, which made things easy. They strolled around the streets, found a restaurant for a meal, and then prepared to check into a hotel for the night.

They had eaten more than enough, so Zhang Can smiled at Zhu Senlin. “Old Zhu, I’m stuffed. How about we walk it off instead of taking a cab?”

“Sure! I’m putting on weight faster than ever. My wife keeps trying to ration my food, but damn it, I gain weight even drinking water!” Zhu Senlin shook his hefty frame and frowned.

They ambled along the street and soon found themselves at the gate of a middle school. A large crowd of students poured out, blocking their way. Zhang Can and Zhu Senlin stood aside, waiting for the throng to pass.

Most students headed straight for home, but a smaller group clustered around several street vendors selling snacks—beef offal, sweet radish, and stinky tofu.

Zhang Can glanced at the scene and felt a little tempted. He called Zhu over. Zhu, a man with a hearty appetite, started to drool at the sight of the students eating, despite having just eaten himself.

Zhang Can couldn’t help but laugh and thought he might as well buy him something. With that, he squeezed through the crowd to a stall run by an elderly woman selling beef offal. On her cart sat a large pot of beef offal, with a row of small foam boxes beside it. The students were buying in two- or three-yuan portions, keeping the woman busy. Zhang Can waited until she was less harried and then said, “Auntie, I’ll have ten yuan’s worth.”

The woman was taken aback. Though it was a small business, a single order of ten yuan was unusual, and her little boxes couldn’t hold that much. After a moment’s hesitation, she bent down and retrieved a large celadon bowl from beneath her cart. “Boss, the boxes won’t hold it. Is it all right if I use this bowl? It’s clean—I’ve scalded it with boiling water.”

Zhang Can glanced at Zhu, who was squeezing his way over, mopping sweat from his brow. No way would he turn down food, especially since street snacks had their own unique flavor.

Zhang Can nodded, pulling out his wallet. “That’s fine,” he said.

The woman filled the bowl generously and Zhang Can handed her a hundred-yuan note. She placed the bowl on the cart and went to find change.

As she set the bowl down, it knocked against the edge of the beef offal pot, producing an odd sound. Zhang Can’s heart skipped a beat, and he took a closer look at the bowl. The more he looked, the more surprised he became. He summoned his “black-and-white eye.”

In a world of black and white, the molecular structure of the porcelain revealed itself to him. Zhang Can was shocked to discover that the bowl was actually a piece of official kiln blue-and-white porcelain from the late Qing dynasty!

The bowl was somewhat grimy, probably from years of exposure to grease, which dulled its color. It bore no mark, as it was from a later period, and the value of late Qing official porcelain was not as high as that from the mid-Qing or the Ming, Song, or Yuan dynasties.

Still, even if it couldn’t compare to blue-and-white porcelain from earlier eras, the bowl was worth at least five or six hundred thousand yuan!

Zhang Can stood dazed, marveling at his luck. He had always assumed that stumbling across treasures would be difficult, but it seemed they simply appeared in his path. This blue-and-white bowl might not be the most valuable, but to acquire something worth half a million or more so casually—who could complain?

As he stood there, he mused: when fortune is against you, even drinking water can chip your teeth, but when luck is on your side, not even a door can keep it out. Wherever you go, something extraordinary might happen. Returning to his poor, remote hometown, he’d found four logs of golden-thread nanmu—a windfall. Now, on a trip back to Jincheng, he stumbled on a piece of blue-and-white porcelain from a street vendor’s cart!

The old woman rummaged in her bag for change, but Zhang Can came to himself and said, “Auntie, if you don’t have small bills, just keep it. I’ll take the bowl and eat as I go—I’m in a hurry to catch a ride. Is that all right?”

The old woman paused, then laughed. “Of course, no problem, except—”

Before she could finish, Zhang Can picked up the bowl of beef offal, shot a glance at Zhu Senlin, and slipped out of the crowd. Zhu hurried after him, sweating profusely. “Little Zhang… why the rush?”

Zhang Can smiled without answering. He carried the bowl to a nearby trash can and dumped the beef offal inside.

Zhu Senlin was bewildered. “Hey, what are you doing? You spent a hundred yuan on a bowl of beef offal—I thought you were just being generous to the old lady. But why throw it away? Was it inedible?”

“Got a tissue?” Zhang Can asked, holding out his hand.

As Zhu Senlin handed him a tissue, still puzzled, he said, “Little Zhang, you’re acting so strange. I just don’t get you.”

Zhang Can carefully wiped the bowl clean, then went to a newsstand, bought a newspaper, and wrapped up the bowl. He winked at Zhu. “Let’s check into the hotel. I’ll explain there.”

Zhu was momentarily stunned, then realization dawned. “You… this bowl… is it something valuable?”

Being in the antiques business, Zhu Senlin couldn’t help but jump to that conclusion.

“Heh… not the best, but it’s worth…” Zhang Can looked around. The passersby took no notice of them, each absorbed in their own affairs.

He leaned in and whispered, “Not a fortune, but this is an official kiln blue-and-white bowl from the late Qing dynasty. It should fetch five or six hundred thousand. That should help cover the shop’s expenses, eh?”

Zhu Senlin was dumbstruck. Five or six hundred thousand—not just a little help! When Old Su was the expert in their shop, the total annual profit was only about a million. Comparing oneself to others was truly maddening. Little Zhang was simply more skilled. As for luck, no one’s fortune could keep yielding windfalls, as if winning the lottery again and again. The odds of winning five million even once were one in millions; for it to happen twice was near impossible.

But with Zhang Can, as Zhu recalled, from the painting at Yuji, to the ivory miniature sold to Wang Qian, to identifying Wang Qian’s fake jade pendant, to discovering golden-thread nanmu worth millions in his hometown, and now, to finding a bowl worth half a million on a trip—could this really be luck? There probably wasn’t anyone else in the world with such fortune. It was no longer luck; it was as easy as eating, dressing, or taking a stroll—he could stumble on treasures anywhere, anytime!

In such a short time, Zhang Can had earned him more than Old Su could in years!

It seemed he was right to bring Zhang Can into the fold. Zhu Senlin sighed, clapped Zhang Can on the shoulder, and said, “Brother, I can’t take this bowl. Honestly, you treat me as your boss, but I’m profiting off you for nothing. No worker ever made his boss seven or eight million before even formally starting work! So, from now on, let’s not talk about boss or worker. We’re brothers. After expenses, let’s split every profit fifty-fifty—half for each of us!”