Chapter Eight: Master Jin the Third

The two of us stared at each other for a long time. I tried to discern Third Master Jin’s intentions, but he was impenetrable—courteous and meticulous, leaving nothing for me to grasp. Yet when he looked at me, it was as though he could see straight through to my core, a gaze so unsettling it made my skin crawl.

At last, he spoke. “You’re quite concerned about that fellow, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Jin Yitiao may have a penchant for petty gains, but he isn’t a bad person at heart. You’re a man of great stature, able to part the clouds with a wave of your hand. I beg you to show mercy and give him a way out. I’m willing to pay ten times the price to buy back the Jade Maiden Pitch-pot—let that be my apology to you.”

Third Master Jin chuckled at my cautious manner. “The moment you entered, you first observed the people before you spoke. That told me what kind of man you are. That’s good. In our line of work, dealing with old wares, you can’t afford to be too foolish, but being too clever is no good either. Honest men may take a loss, but they rarely lose their lives. Take your friend, for example—he dared storm the thieves’ guild gate for a mere hundred thousand yuan. If you hadn’t known the art of distinguishing the extraordinary, I wouldn’t have let you off so easily today.”

A cold sweat broke out on my back. The method I used to identify the “Dog Oil” just now was precisely the “Perceiving the Extraordinary,” as recorded in the “Record of the Top Scholar.” It’s something outsiders can hardly learn, as it’s documented only in that book. It’s my trade’s secret weapon.

Could it be that Jin Zhenbang has set his sights on my book?

“Don’t be nervous,” Third Master Jin smiled. “I have no intention of taking your book. The reason I called you here today is actually to ask for your help with something.”

The illustrious head of the thieves’ guild—what could he possibly need from a nobody like me?

Third Master Jin flipped the jade pendant on the table upside down and sighed. “Though I oversee a vast organization, there are some matters I can’t entrust to my own men. You’re new to the trade, but you understand loyalty. If you can handle this for me, not only will I have my men safely send your friend home, but I’ll also reward you handsomely. You’re a businessman—don’t you think my offer is fair?”

It was both a threat and a request, and I found myself in a bind. But now that I was sure Jin Yitiao was indeed in his hands, and that the unlucky fool had landed in the lap of this King of Hell, if I didn’t try to save him, I’d probably be fishing his corpse out of the Haihe River in a few days.

I had a premonition that the fate the old monk at the Great Compassion Temple had foretold for me when I was seven was about to come true.

I glanced back at the wooden door behind me, thought for a moment, and said, “May I see my friend first?”

“You’re not concerned about what I want you to do, but you insist on seeing your friend?” Third Master Jin waved his hand with a smile. “He’s in the next room. Go and see him.”

I thanked him, rose, and left the private room. At the door next to us, I took a deep breath and knocked.

The wooden door slid open from inside. The young man who’d brought me into the garden was standing before me. He glanced at me, then stepped aside. On the floor behind him lay a bloody, battered figure—when I looked closer, I realized it was Jin Yitiao.

He was a mess of blood, lying there like a freshly gutted sow, and I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

“Did you do this?” I turned to the young man beside me.

He grinned. “If it weren’t for Third Master’s orders, this bastard would already be fish food in the Haihe. He’s luckier than he knows.”

“So he’ll be all right?”

“Just flesh wounds. Third Master has already given instructions—next time you come, you’ll get him back safe and sound. If a single hair is missing, you can come looking for me.”

I sighed, glanced at Jin Yitiao, unsure what to say, then turned and left.

Back in the private room, Third Master Jin stood by the window, teacup in hand, gazing outside. “Satisfied now?” he asked coolly.

Sensing his tone had changed, likely because we were about to discuss business, I got right to the point. “What is it you need me to do, Third Master?”

“Deliver something for me.” He turned to face me. “Go to Hezi Village, Second Crossing, find a man named Ji, and hand him what I’ll give you. Do this, and I’ll return Jin Yitiao to you.”

That was all?

I asked cautiously, “Is there anything else?”

Third Master Jin burst into laughter. “You’re neither one of my guild nor an expert from the Eight Outer Professions. The task I have for you couldn’t be simpler. Someone will bring the item to your shop early tomorrow. You must deliver it before nightfall. If you do, not only will your friend be returned, but I’ll see you well rewarded—enough to live in comfort for years to come.”

I had no choice but to nod.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. A strange woman entered and said, “Third Master, your guests have all arrived and are waiting for you.”

Third Master Jin nodded and said to me, “It’s late. Go home and rest. And keep this matter strictly confidential. No one else must know, do you understand?”

“Yes, Third Master,” I replied.

He left, and I made my way out of the building alone. The middle-aged man and Old Rong were still waiting for me at the entrance. When they saw me, Old Rong wiped the sweat from his neck—he seemed genuinely concerned for my safety.

We took the Red Flag sedan and returned the way we came. The middle-aged man said nothing along the way. Old Rong looked at me several times as though wanting to speak, but held his tongue. When we got out, he handed me a business card with both hands.

“Master Bai?”

I took the card, puzzled. It read, “Chairman Rong Defa, Dagu Haihe Cultural Trading Company.” Suddenly, everything clicked. I smiled and slipped the card into my pocket. “You’re a few years my senior, Old Rong—just call me Bai.”

He grinned, “Then I’ll take the liberty of calling you Brother Bai?”

“No need to be so formal. If you’re ever free, come by my shop for tea. I may not have Biluochun, but there’s always plenty of Xinyang Maojian.”

We exchanged a few pleasantries at the door; by now, night had fully fallen. Rong Defa patted his chest, promising that anything pertaining to the Old Zhai Hall would be his concern from now on, then drove away, leaving me with his card.

Watching him leave, I let out a long breath. I’d heard and seen too much tonight and needed time to digest it all, or my head would surely explode.

Once back at the shop, I locked the door, retrieved the “Record of the Top Scholar” from its secret compartment under the antique cabinet, and placed it on the counter, pondering how Jin Zhenbang could have learned of the book. My family had never had anything to do with the Eight Outer Professions; we were ordinary folk, living on Chongqing Road, eating, drinking, and studying like anyone else. If I hadn’t failed the college entrance exam and been forced by my father to learn the trade, I’d never have entered this world.

What could have drawn Jin Zhenbang’s attention to Old Zhai Hall—or to me?

After a long while, I put the “Record of the Top Scholar” away and took out another book, poring over it at the counter.

By the next morning, I’d cleaned the shop, bought two baskets of steamed buns from a street vendor, and was walking back, eating as I went, when I saw two figures—one short and one fat—loitering at my shop door, peering inside.

“Looking for someone?” I asked, glancing at the two.

The fat one was bald, wearing a black T-shirt and a thick gold chain. The short one was about my age, in sunglasses and a garish shirt, exuding a roguish air.

The fat man spotted me and nodded to his companion. “That’s him.”

I was taken aback, but before I could say anything, the short one swaggered over and eyed me up and down rudely. “You do appraisals here?”

“Depends on the item,” I replied.

He fished a piece of jade from his pocket and tossed it to me. “My friend picked this up recently at the Panjiayuan market. Take a look—how much is it worth?”

I held the jade piece, glanced at the two of them, and immediately understood. I tossed it back. “It’s worthless. You can leave now.”

The short one was about to roll up his sleeves, but the fat one stopped him. “Come on, don’t be like that. We know the rules. How about five hundred yuan for your trouble?”

I popped a bun into my mouth and spoke as I chewed, “And if I’m wrong, do I owe you five hundred?”

“What else?” the short one sneered.

My heart skipped a beat. So, it had come to this. In our line, this stunt is known as “Eye Duel”—a kind of challenge, or sometimes a test of judgment, but when run by these two, it was nothing short of extortion.

They’d buy a trinket for ten yuan at the night market, bring it to an antique shop like mine, and demand an appraisal. If you said it was worthless, they’d claim they’d paid thousands elsewhere and insist you’d made a mistake and ought to compensate them. If you said it was worth five hundred, eight hundred, or a thousand, they’d say you’d damaged it and demand you pay that price. In short, unless you handed over money, they wouldn’t leave you in peace.

In business, especially antiques, harmony means prosperity. With these two pests hounding you, you could kiss your business goodbye. And with everything else going on lately—nearly a hundred thousand lost already—what was another five hundred to ward off disaster? I was about to pay them off and send them packing when someone walked in from outside.

A woman dressed all in black.