The building was fifteen years old, but the location wasn’t bad.
The two of them reached the door, and at Xu Ye’s signal, Zhang Xinzhou knocked twice.
Knock knock~
Footsteps sounded inside, and a few seconds later Feng Shaoping opened the door. He looked to be in his forties, with square-framed glasses and a fleece-lined business jacket — a look that suited his position well.
“Director Feng.” Zhang Xinzhou gestured at Xu Ye. “This is my… our company’s boss, Xu Ye.”
Zhang Xinzhou had been about to say “this is my roommate,” but realizing how unimpressive that would sound, he quickly changed course.
Xu Ye stepped forward, taking Feng Shaoping’s hand and elbowing past Zhang Xinzhou with a smile. “Director Feng, coming by so late — I really am sorry to intrude.”
“Not at all, not at all. Come in.”
One look was all it took for Feng Shaoping to size things up. Who was socially adept and knew how to talk, who was a blockhead with no social grace — after a decade-plus in the logistics director’s chair, he could tell at a glance.
Xu Ye walked in, and Zhang Xinzhou handed him the gifts they’d bought. Feng Shaoping’s wife, hearing the noise, came out of the bedroom. Xu Ye smiled and nodded in greeting, then deliberately played dumb. “Director Feng, and this is…? Your daughter?”
Feng Shaoping’s wife did look a bit younger than him, but not that dramatically.
Zhang Xinzhou was cursing internally: Bro, are you blind?
But to his surprise, Feng Shaoping’s wife froze for a beat at the words, then immediately covered her mouth and giggled. “This young man really knows how to talk — Auntie’s already past forty this year.”
She said it, but the smile on her face was impossible to suppress.
Feng Shaoping looked delighted too.
What man doesn’t like hearing his wife called young? A young, pretty wife was a man’s greatest source of face, after all.
Zhang Xinzhou was dumbstruck. You could actually play it like that?
“Seriously? I thought Auntie was in her twenties.” Xu Ye’s astonished expression didn’t look the least bit put-on.
“Haha~” Feng Shaoping’s wife breezed off with a happy step. “Sit wherever you like, I’ll brew you some tea.”
“Auntie, no need to go to the trouble, water’s fine for us.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Zhang Xinzhou sat down beside Xu Ye. He finally understood the benefits of a high EQ. Damn — last time I came, I didn’t even get a cup of plain water, let alone tea.
Xu Ye didn’t bring up the vending machines right away. He let his gaze sweep the living room, then settled on a calligraphy scroll hanging on the wall.
The calligraphy was written in running script — its content the theme song from Romance of the Three Kingdoms, from “the rolling Yangtze surges east” all the way to “how many things now dissolve into idle talk,” signed “Feng Shaoping, guisi year.” [TL: the opening ci poem of Romance of the Three Kingdoms (attributed to Ming poet Yang Shen), universally known in China as the theme song of the beloved 1994 TV adaptation. “Guisi year” (癸巳年) refers to a year in the traditional sexagenary cycle — here 2013.]
Xu Ye studied the calligraphy without blinking. Bringing over the tea and seeing no reaction from him, Feng Shaoping’s wife asked, “What are you looking at?”
Xu Ye hurriedly took the teacup, then asked, curious, “Did you write this, Director Feng?”
Calligraphy was one of Feng Shaoping’s few hobbies. He hadn’t expected Xu Ye to have an eye for it, and grew modest at once. “I’m getting on in years — when I’ve nothing to do I like to practice the brush. What do you think of it?”
“The whole piece is vigorous and forceful, the strokes flowing and free, with a grand, steady feeling to it. Before I saw the signature, I thought it was an art piece bought off Taobao.”
He wrote these at home, and hardly anyone knew — his wife often disparaged him, saying an amateur had no business playing the calligrapher. But Xu Ye’s words hit Feng Shaoping’s vanity squarely.
His mood lifted instantly.
“I copied nearly every one of Wang Xizhi’s works before I could write that piece. [TL: Wang Xizhi (303–361), universally regarded as the greatest calligrapher in Chinese history, the ‘Sage of Calligraphy’; his running-script style is the model every serious practitioner studies.] It’s one of my prouder efforts — otherwise I wouldn’t have hung it in the living room.”
“Seems you’re a man of real refinement, Director Feng.”
“Just a hobby.”
The two followed the thread, drifting further and further afield — calligraphy first, then history, then specific historical figures, and eventually even a couple of remarks on what impact the bilateral security agreement between the U.S. and Afghanistan might have on the international situation…
Zhang Xinzhou was completely lost, thinking to himself: What the hell did I even come here to do?
It was almost eight before Xu Ye steered things back. “Director Feng, regarding the vending machines — do you think we’ve got any hope of a partnership with your school?”
Feng Shaoping said calmly, “Hard to say. This kind of thing is simple if you make it simple and difficult if you make it difficult — it comes down to the school’s attitude.”
“Director Feng, you surely carry some weight at the school. If there’s anything that needs smoothing over, I hope you’ll let us know, and we’ll do exactly as you say.”
Feng Shaoping smiled. “Mm. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Xu Ye set down his teacup, then suddenly walked over to the cabinet, pointing at a vase. “Director Feng, this vase looks so exquisite. Is it an antique?”
Zhang Xinzhou rolled his eyes, nearly blurting: Have you ever seen anyone leave a real antique just sitting casually on a living-room sideboard?
But Feng Shaoping asked, “You know something about antiques?”
“I don’t, really. But if it were an antique, it’d be worth something, wouldn’t it?”
“If it’s an antique, then it’s worth something.”
Xu Ye asked, “May I take it out for a look?”
“Go ahead.”
Xu Ye lifted the vase down, gave it a show of careful examination, and asked, “I’ve heard that at auctions, a fine piece of blue-and-white porcelain can sell for tens of millions.”
“The waters in this trade run deep — ordinary people can’t even get near it.”
“So how much is this vase worth?”
The two of them had long since stopped talking about antiques — only Zhang Xinzhou was still in the dark.
Feng Shaoping countered, “What do you think?”
Xu Ye said, “Twenty, thirty thousand?”
“Definitely more than twenty or thirty thousand.”
“Then what’s it worth?”
Feng Shaoping thought about it, then smiled. “Something with good condition might be worth a hundred thousand and up — the key is whether the buyer has an eye for it.”
Xu Ye smiled too. “I’m young, I don’t really understand these things. But if I were to get into antiques, the most I’d be willing to pay for this vase is fifty thousand.”
“Uh…”
Xu Ye pointed at a flaw near the mouth of the vase. “Look here, Director Feng — there’s a little chip missing right here. I’d expect that to knock quite a bit off the price.”
Feng Shaoping came over for a look, and finally relented. “Then I suppose that’s about what it’s worth.”
“Looks like I’ve got a decent eye after all, huh.”
As Xu Ye spoke, smiling, he moved to set the vase back on the cabinet — but the words had barely left his mouth when his hand suddenly gave a jolt.
Crash~
The vase slipped from his grip and shattered to pieces on the floor. Xu Ye “jumped,” startled, and hurriedly said, “Director Feng, I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s all my clumsy hands’ fault. Director Feng, don’t worry, I’ll definitely pay you back for this vase.”
“As long as you’re not hurt.”
Xu Ye crouched to pick up the fragments, but Feng Shaoping stopped him. “Let your auntie clean that up later — don’t cut your hand.”
“Director Feng, I’ll head back for now. I’ll pull the money together for the vase and bring it over to pay you next time. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Director Feng, whenever you’re free, just send me a message and I’ll be sure to come by again.”
“Alright.”
“Zhang Xinzhou, we’re going.”
“Oh.”
“No need to see us out, Director Feng, we can find our own way down. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye~”
Xu Ye led Zhang Xinzhou downstairs and rode the little scooter back toward school.
Zhang Xinzhou still hadn’t quite caught up. Halfway back, he finally said, “So — you two weren’t talking about antiques at all just now. You were talking about our business?”
“You’re only realizing that now?”
“Holy — what kind of acting is that?!” Zhang Xinzhou’s eyes went round. “When that vase hit the floor, the base rolled over next to my foot — and it had ‘Made in Jingdezhen’ stamped on it!” [TL: Jingdezhen is China’s famed porcelain-producing city, but a modern factory-stamped ‘Made in Jingdezhen’ mark on the base means the vase was mass-produced tableware, not a genuine antique — confirming the whole ‘valuation’ was a coded negotiation, not a discussion of a real treasure.]
“Heh.”
“Damn — no wonder I couldn’t understand a word the two of you were saying even though it was all in Chinese. Every single sentence had a second meaning buried in it. Son of a — I really learned something today.”
(End of Chapter 135)