Chapter 1: Leaving Home

I spent seven years inside, but due to good behavior, I received a reduced sentence.

On the first day out, I received several calls. The bosses tried hard to persuade me to join them—one promised 100,000 a month plus a car, another offered 200,000 a month plus shares.

Most of these calls came from two places: Panjiayuan in Beijing and Shenyang Road in Tianjin.

After considering it, I still declined all offers.

The reason I entered this line of work in the first place was a mistake. Even though I got rich overnight, I paid the price—seven years gone. From a young, clean-shaven boy, I had turned into a middle-aged man with a belly. The girls I knew back then now have kids of their own.

With no family or connections, I chose to move to Dali in the end.

I bought a small shop on the edge of Erhai Lake, opened a tiny supermarket, and when there were no customers, I'd take walks by the lake, enjoying the sea breeze. Life became calm and easy.

The shop was located on Cangshan East Road, next to Le Marte. If any friends are passing by, I'll treat them to tea.

A while ago, there was the discovery of ancient Shu civilization, including the sensational golden mask unearthed, which stirred up the whole country. Actually, my path to riches has something to do with these kinds of things—especially two words: antiques and tomb robbing.

A few years ago, with shows like Ghost Blows Out the Light, Tomb Raider Notes, and Golden Eyes all over TV and film, I've now got some free time to write about the things I've experienced in this line of work.

Although I haven't seen the Heavenly Palace in the Clouds or the Sacred Tree of Qinling, and don't possess golden eyes, I entered the antique business when I was sixteen, and I've seen many things that others can't understand.

Let me start from the beginning.

I was born in a small village in the northeast of China, right next to Mohe. Winters there are so cold they can freeze you to death.

My grandmother raised me. I've never met my parents, nor do I care to know their names.

They say grandparents are closer to their grandchildren, and I was a very mischievous child. I never listened to my teachers, and my grades were horrible—always at the bottom of the class.

At that time, the village had a welfare program. I received a monthly stipend of around 80 RMB, plus some additional support for orphans, which brought in over 100 RMB a month. It wasn't much, but it kept us going.

During middle school, I was obsessed with a treasure hunting show on CCTV. I was fascinated by how ordinary items, like jars and bottles, were suddenly worth thousands, identified as antiques that could be traded for houses or cars.

I used to lie to my grandmother, telling her the school needed money for learning materials. She'd give me the money, and I'd run off to the bookstore to buy antique-related books.

I still remember the first book I read: Ancient Treasures by Mr. Dai, a thick volume.

The term "ancient coins" refers to copper coins, which we called "purple coins" in our area. This book opened my eyes, and I became completely obsessed with antiques.

I would rummage through our house, coax my classmates into stealing copper coins from their homes, and then buy them from them.

I saved every penny and never ordered food from the school cafeteria. I even sold my textbooks for seven RMB. My teacher always sighed, saying I was hopeless and would end up being a social outcast if I didn't study hard.

I didn't care about what my teacher said. I had dreams of getting rich, and even if I became a social outcast, I'd still be a rich one.

By the time I was in my third year of middle school, the year before the final exams, I was sixteen.

One day, my grandmother had an accident while shoveling snow in the yard and broke her leg. The medical and surgery costs came to over 3,000 RMB.

At the time, our family couldn't even come up with 600 RMB. I remember vividly how my grandmother lay on the kang, wrapped in thick blankets, crying at night.

My uncle, who ran several rural guesthouses in Mohe, was doing well in business. So, I went to him to borrow money for my grandmother's medicine.

Though he didn't openly say anything, I overheard him one day. He called me a "bad omen," and said our family was poor. He added that the money he lent would never be paid back, and that my aunt should stop associating with us.

That winter night, with temperatures in Mohe dipping below minus thirty degrees, I sat on a rock for more than three hours.

Youthful arrogance—my uncle's words shattered my self-esteem as a teenager.

Gripping the borrowed money, I swore to myself, "I, Xiang Yunfeng, will make something of myself!"

I dropped out of school. Technically, I didn't even graduate middle school—just an elementary school dropout.

The 3,000 RMB—after paying for my grandmother's surgery and medicine—left me with 730 RMB, which I secretly kept for myself.

Not only did I collect copper coins, but I also went to the neighboring village to collect ceramics and silver dollars.

Rural people thought silver dollars were valuable, but they didn't know much about jars, bowls, and other ceramics. They didn't care much.

I kept reading books and watching antique appraisal shows. Slowly, I developed a decent eye for antiques.

With 100 RMB, I bought a pair of Qing Dynasty blue chicken feather vases. For less than 200 RMB, I bought several Republican-era small salt jars with ladies' portraits in famille rose. I also spent 180 RMB on three Qing Dynasty blue-and-white bowls, though they were all damaged, with big cracks and chips.

I had also saved a small bag of copper coins, around 200 pieces, mostly Song and Qing coins, including Daoguang, Guangxu, Qianlong, and some Yuanfeng coins. These were common, and I knew they weren't worth much. But I was particularly proud of three well-preserved Yongzheng coins, which I knew could fetch a good price—though at the time, I didn't know how much.

After buying all this, I had spent nearly all my money, leaving only 240 RMB. At that time, the average monthly wage was just over 300 RMB.

I had a good relationship with a female classmate, and she helped me out by lending me two large 30-inch suitcases.

Altogether, I had 11 pieces of ceramics and a small bag of copper coins. I carefully wrapped them up in blankets, fearing they might break, and packed them with foam.

In the end, I filled two big suitcases and a backpack.

My grandmother didn't understand what I was doing. She said I was wasting my time and that she had raised me for nothing. My uncle knew about it too, and soon the whole village was gossiping about me.

Despite the sideways glances and the misunderstanding, I left Mohe on the 17th morning of the twelfth lunar month.

At the time, I believed the richest people were in Beijing, and I thought my antiques should be sold to them. I had long been fascinated by the legendary Panjiayuan market in Beijing.

There were no direct trains from Mohe to Beijing, so I had to take a train to Siping, then transfer to Beijing West.

The total journey was over 2,000 kilometers, and since I was trying to save money, I opted for the cheapest hard seat ticket.

I carried two large suitcases, a backpack, and wore old, shabby clothes. People at the station couldn't help but stare and whisper behind my back.

I'd never traveled far before. This was my first time on a train, and I was alone.

After buying my ticket, I was left with less than 100 RMB. If I couldn't sell my antiques, I wouldn't even have enough money to buy a return ticket, let alone for food.

Train food was expensive, so I didn't dare to spend much. I just kept getting hot water from the train's dispenser. When hunger hit, I bought a 4 RMB bag of fried dough twists.

A country boy in Beijing for the first time, everything was new to me. I was fascinated by the security check at the station.

Even though I was young, I wasn't shy and dared to talk to strangers. I asked someone how to get to Panjiayuan Antique Market. The ticket lady was very helpful. She told me to take the subway and explained how to transfer.

I had a good memory and didn't get lost. Back then, the subway only cost two RMB for a ride, and as long as you didn't exit the station, nobody would bother you.

After getting off at the subway station, the sidewalks were full of anti-slip pits. I struggled to carry my heavy bags and suitcases.

Walking past Huawai Bridge, I finally saw the golden plaque at the North Gate.

"Panjiayuan Antique Market."

"I made it..."