Song Ziyan’s cheeks puffed out as she chewed, looking like an adorable little hamster. The meatballs in her mouth were crisp and springy.
“I handed out flyers here before and stumbled upon it by accident,” Xiao Chen said as he took out a tissue and gently wiped the sauce from the corner of her lips.
His movements were soft and careful.
Song Ziyan froze. As she looked at Xiao Chen’s face so close to hers, her cheeks instantly flushed bright red.
Seeing her blushing face, Xiao Chen suddenly realized that what he had just done might have been too intimate.
She was a girl in the bloom of youth. Of course she would feel shy. He quickly withdrew his hand.
A little apologetically, he said, “Sorry, you were eating too fast, so…”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Song Ziyan replied. Although her face was red, a faint, secret joy rose in her heart.
She lifted her head and asked, “Xiao Chen, do you know much about calligraphy and painting?”
“I know a little. I’ve read some books on the subject,” Xiao Chen nodded.
In truth, he knew far more than just a little. In his previous life, in order to please his family, he had dabbled in many fields. Because Xiao Yuanhe loved calligraphy and paintings, he had even carefully selected a painting as a birthday gift.
But in this life, the Xiao family did not deserve his efforts.
“Really? My grandfather’s birthday is coming up soon. He likes calligraphy and paintings,” Song Ziyan said with excitement. “Isn’t this Wanjia Garden Antique Market? Can you help me pick out a piece?”
“No problem, but authentic works by famous masters can be a bit expensive,” Xiao Chen said with a smile. “And they’re hard to come by.”
“It’s fine if it’s expensive. As long as it’s good,” Song Ziyan said as she grabbed his hand. “I’m full. Let’s go.”
Her small hand was warm and soft. Xiao Chen could not resist. The two of them headed toward the antique market together.
After asking about her grandfather’s preferences, Xiao Chen brought her to a calligraphy and painting shop.
“Calligraphy and painting are national treasures. In recent years, they’ve become more and more sought after,” Xiao Chen explained. “Whether for decoration or for collection and appreciation, they’re excellent choices.”
“But there are rules to this. Buy hand-painted pieces, not prints. If you can buy a name, don’t buy an unknown artist.”
“What does that mean?” Song Ziyan asked, half understanding.
“Better to buy one sheet with a famous name than a whole roll from someone unknown,” Xiao Chen said with a smile. “The market for calligraphy and paintings is very deep right now.”
“Many pieces labeled as authentic works of ancient masters are actually later copies. True antique calligraphy and paintings are very hard to find in an antique market.”
Song Ziyan nodded gently.
The shop owner came over to greet them. Seeing that they were students, he exchanged a few polite words and let them browse on their own.
After half an hour, Xiao Chen had taken her through three different shops.
Song Ziyan was very patient. She had spotted several impressive pieces and pointed them out, but each one was rejected by Xiao Chen.
“The old gentleman definitely wouldn’t like this kind. Trust me,” Xiao Chen said.
He looked up and asked, “Boss, how much is this piece?”
Seeing that they were students, the owner casually replied, “This is an authentic work by Wang Anshi, a scroll of The Essentials of the Shurangama Sutra. It’s worth over 1 million.”
“Boss, we’re sincere buyers. Give us a real price,” Xiao Chen said with a smile.
As if there were that many authentic masterpieces in the world.
“This is the lowest,” the owner said, raising five fingers. “500,000.”
“Ah?” Song Ziyan was startled. 500,000 was not exactly expensive, but that was two months of her allowance.
“This amount,” Xiao Chen said, raising three fingers.
“300,000? Sure, sure,” the owner nodded, thinking to himself whether these two students could even come up with 300,000.
“3,000. If that works, we’ll take it.”
Xiao Chen’s words nearly made the owner choke.
“Young man, you can’t bargain like that. This is Wang Anshi’s authentic work. Do you even know who Wang Anshi is?” the owner said with an exaggerated expression.
“This copy of the Shurangama Sutra is clearly a later reproduction,” Xiao Chen said with a smile.
“Although it’s not the original, the strokes already capture about thirty percent of Wang Anshi’s style. It still has strong collectible value.”
“Otherwise, you might as well buy a printed copy for 30.”
“Well…” The owner hesitated and shook his head. “That’s too low. Add a little more.”
“Boss, we’re just students. We don’t have much money,” Xiao Chen said, pressing his case gently. “This is my younger sister buying a gift for an elder at home.”
“Please consider her filial heart and give us a discount.”
After some persistent bargaining, the owner finally agreed helplessly.
“Xiao Chen, you’re amazing,” Song Ziyan said happily once they stepped outside, holding the painting.
“When you go back, tell your grandfather that there’s more hidden within the characters. He’ll understand,” Xiao Chen said with a smile.
This piece was a genuine calligraphy-within-calligraphy work. He had noticed it long ago.
The authentic piece was hidden within a layered sheet of xuan paper and artificially aged. That was a method used during wartime to protect valuable calligraphy and paintings.
Xiao Chen did not know what was written in the hidden layer, but a disguise done with such skill meant it was certainly worth a great deal.
He simply wanted to repay Song Ziyan for saving his life in his previous life.
“Okay, I’ll tell him,” Song Ziyan nodded happily.
By the time they left Wanjia Garden Antique Market, it was already late.
After parting ways, they each returned home. Back in his dormitory, Xiao Chen looked at the 50,000 in his account and thought of several stocks from his previous life.
Now that he was eighteen, it was time to open an account at a securities company and invest the money.
At midnight.
Zhou Jun had been temporarily transferred to the vice squad, responsible for inspecting nightclubs in a designated area.
Nightclubs had always been hotspots for prostitution, gambling, and drugs, so the municipal bureau carried out strict crackdowns from time to time.
However, anyone who could open a nightclub in Jiangcheng was someone with powerful connections.
So most of them would receive advance notice and lay low during inspection periods.
Zhou Jun led five or six criminal police officers, all wearing bulletproof vests with their weapons at their waists, fully armed.
“Hey, Old Zhou, your Third Unit is going all out for a routine inspection. Anyone who didn’t know would think you were going on a drug raid,” a colleague joked.
“Lately I haven’t felt lucky. It doesn’t hurt to be more cautious,” Zhou Jun replied with a smile.
The night inspection began. In one nightclub, the person in charge accompanied Zhou Jun and introduced the establishment’s operations.
Meanwhile, Zhou Jun led several subordinates to inspect the basement and private rooms.
Everything went smoothly at first. But when they reached an inconspicuous small private room, Zhou Jun suddenly stopped.
“What’s this used for?” Zhou Jun asked, pointing at the room.
The room was small, and there were some miscellaneous items piled outside.
“Captain Zhou, that’s the staff lounge. No guests go in there. You can take a look if you’d like,” the manager said with a smile.
Zhou Jun reached out and pushed the door open.
At the moment the door opened, Zhou Jun caught an unusual scent in the air.
He shoved the door wide open.
Inside the room, three men were sitting on a sofa.
Several army-green bags were placed beside them, and the smell in the air was all too familiar.
It was the acidic odor of burnt heroin.
They were inhaling it by heating it.