The Autobiography of a Tomb Raider

Chapter Vol. 1 Ch. 3

At that time, the Baoguo Temple still had street stalls, and quite a few of them. Most of the vendors sold coins and ceramic shards. It was said that a renowned antique dealer in Beijing, who made a fortune with his “片白” (white shards), had started their business at Baoguo Temple.

Every "carrot" has its "hole." Coincidentally, I had brought ceramics and coins with me, perfectly matching the type of goods sold here. My previous sense of despair was swept away in an instant, and my confidence surged.

I refused to believe that my old antiques wouldn’t find any buyers!

Luck was on my side. I managed to secure a spot right at the front of the street stalls. With my remaining three yuan, I bought two chicken sausages.

As I ate the chicken sausages, I thought to myself: “Will I starve and freeze to death in Beijing, or will I feast and thrive? It all depends on today.”

Unexpectedly, things took a surprising turn.

I had barely set up my stall for ten minutes when a large crowd gathered in front of it.

“Boss, how much for these Song Dynasty coins and Qing Dynasty coins?”

“Boss, can I take a look at that pastel-colored salt jar?”

In no time, I was so busy I could hardly keep up.@@@@

“Boss, how much for that pair of Western-style blue vases? Just name your lowest price—if it’s reasonable, I’ll take them.”

Flustered by the sudden rush, I blurted out, “The pair of blue vases? At least eight hundred.”

"Alright, wrap them up. I’ll take them. How should I pay you?” The man nodded decisively and told me to pack them up.

“Hold on, don’t rush things. I’ll pay 830 for that pair of vases,” another voice interjected, raising the bid.

“Ma Laosan, aren’t you breaking the rules?” The first man asked coldly.

“Ha! Rules? You haven’t even paid yet. It’s up to the young boss here to decide who he wants to sell to!”

“You’re talking to me about rules? Song Laoban, antiques like these are becoming rarer and rarer. Especially a pair of wedding dowry vases like these—you’ll have no trouble selling them. Throw them in a box, stick them in your shop, and you know exactly how much they’ll fetch. Don’t play dumb with me.”

Song Laoban slapped his thigh with a loud smack.

“Damn it! Ma Laoliu, what business is it of yours how much I sell them for? Mind your own damn business!”

Seeing the two of them about to come to blows, I quickly stepped in to mediate.

“Please don’t argue! There are plenty of other items here to check out. Look at this pastel salt jar—though it’s missing a lid, the craftsmanship is excellent.”

Song Laoban glanced at the salt jar in my hands and shouted, “Young man, earlier you said you’d sell the vases to me for eight hundred. Who do you plan to sell them to now?”

In my heart, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Why is it that the items nobody wanted at Panjiayuan are suddenly being fought over here?”

After a brief moment of thought, I looked at him and said, “Big brother, I did say earlier that I’d sell the pair of vases to you for eight hundred. So, for eight hundred, they’re yours. I can’t go back on my word.”

“Haha!”

“Good!” The man laughed heartily, giving his beer belly a satisfied pat. He shot a smug glance at Ma Laoliu, his face brimming with triumph.

The stout-bellied Song Laoban swept his eyes over the rest of the items on my stall.

The 4,000-plus yuan I had worked so hard to earn—gone.

"Where's my money?! Where is it?!" I was so frightened that my face turned pale. I frantically tore through the bed sheets and flipped over the pillow in desperation.

But there was nothing left, only a deflated black plastic bag.

Terrified, I hurried to find the landlady. I demanded that she check the surveillance cameras and told her that my money had been stolen and I wanted to call the police.

The result? Predictable.

Not a single cent of the money was recovered.

To this day, I have a lingering distaste for those small inns near railway stations.

It’s been more than ten years since then, and I reckon that little inn probably doesn’t even exist anymore. Do I still hate it? Not really.

If that money hadn’t been stolen back then, I might have turned into a small-time antique shop owner today. Perhaps I would’ve gotten married, had kids, and lived a stable, ordinary life. My entire trajectory might have been entirely different.

But no one gets a chance to live their life over again.

If the money hadn’t been stolen back then, the antique world wouldn’t even know my name. The nickname “God-Eye Feng” wouldn’t exist in the trade.

The police came and made a brief record of the incident. They subtly hinted that the chances of recovering the money were slim to none.

I was left with nothing, utterly broken and devastated.

I didn’t dare return to Mohe. I didn’t dare go home.

I knew exactly what would happen if I went back. I would be mocked and ridiculed—laughed at by my peers, belittled by my uncle's family.

I felt humiliated.

Even if I told the villagers I had earned 4,000 yuan, they wouldn’t believe me.

Standing on the pedestrian bridge outside the West Railway Station, there was a fleeting moment when I just wanted to jump off, to end it all.

I thought about just dying.

I had no father, no mother, no one who cared about me. I was just a wild child, unloved and unwanted. Might as well die and hope for a better start in the next life.

The mind of a teenager is immature, and thoughts like mine at that time are dangerous.

I truly intended to jump off that bridge. Even if I wasn’t killed by the fall, I’d probably be run over by a passing truck.

My legs were already dangling over the edge.

And then, at that moment, someone patted me on the back.

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