Chapter Thirty: The Legend of the Prodigal Son

Ren Jifu instinctively felt that something was off. He scanned the furniture in the house, and his gaze finally settled on an old-style round-backed chair, the only piece of furniture in the house that still looked somewhat decent.

"The other furniture can be sold, but this chair was left by my grandfather. It's an antique, has sentimental value, so I'm not selling it. If you really want it, you'll have to pay an extra thousand!" Ren Jifu declared.

Hearing this, even Ren Bida couldn't stand it anymore. He snapped, "Boss Zhao has already gone out of his way for you, giving you plenty of face. How can you keep pushing for more? Greedy as ever! That old chair isn't worth much, you really think it's an antique?"

When Zhao Zejun mentioned the furniture, both Ren Bida and Ren Jifu grew suspicious.

Ren Bida, having traveled far and wide, was far more worldly than Ren Jifu. He knew all sorts of tricks, while Ren Jifu only had a vague sense that something wasn’t quite right. Ren Bida, however, immediately recognized the typical methods used in antique acquisitions.

This young man insisted on buying a house in Gaogang Village—perhaps he had another motive, such as antiques?

Gaogang Village was poor, but it had existed since the early years of the founding of the country, with over half a century of history. Many families had lived here for generations, with roots going back centuries, far deeper than those so-called high-end communities that had only been around for a few years or decades. While it was impossible for every household to own antiques, there was always a chance that a hidden treasure might turn up in one or two homes.

But as for the Ren family's belongings, Ren Bida knew them well. The bed had been made by a carpenter for Ren Jifu’s wedding, the table was crafted for his own convenience during mahjong games, and the seemingly antique chair was worthless—his grandfather was an old-fashioned man, preferred sitting in such chairs, and after the reforms, they had it copied. The chair was finished just as the old man passed away.

So Ren Bida was certain: the Ren family had no antiques.

Ren Bida was clear on this, and so was Ren Jifu. Ren Bida thought his cousin was being unbearably greedy and feared that Zhao Zejun would lump him in with Ren Jifu, so he cursed him outright.

Seeing his cousin expose him, Ren Jifu stubbornly argued, "Whether or not it's an antique, it was left by grandpa—it's our family heirloom, has sentimental value!"

Ren Bida lost his temper, pointing at Ren Jifu's nose and swearing, "Damn you, now you remember the family? What were you doing before? Grandpa left so many things, and you sold them off for next to nothing!"

"Ha, my uncle is your dad! Why don't you insult your own mother!" Ren Jifu spat, refusing to back down.

If they weren’t busy with business, Zhao Zejun might have burst out laughing at the exchange.

With an impatient wave, he said, "Enough! You want the chair? Take it! What else do you want? Move it all out! These worthless pieces—I’d have to pay someone to haul them away. If you want them, take them all!"

Since Zhao Zejun didn’t want the chair, Ren Jifu was at a loss and tentatively asked, "How about, you add three hundred, no, two hundred will do. I’ll need to pay movers anyway."

"Are you done yet?" Zhao Zejun’s expression darkened.

"Alright, keep at it and you’ll piss off Boss Zhao—you won’t even sell the house then!" Ren Bida was fuming; how could he have such a shameless cousin? He quickly turned to Zhao Zejun: "Boss Zhao, don’t bother with him. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot—shall we go to the company to sign the contract and complete the formalities?"

"One last time—are you selling or not?" Zhao Zejun fixed his gaze on Ren Jifu.

Ren Jifu gritted his teeth. "Fine! But I want cash!"

Leaving Gaogang Village, the three got into Ren Bida’s Xiali and returned to the Aijia real estate office to sign contracts and register the transaction. Ren Bida personally handled all the paperwork, working efficiently—everything was settled in less than two days.

Four houses, a courtyard, and a few worthless pieces of furniture—ninety-five thousand. Add in the Aijia service fee of two thousand five hundred, plus taxes, came to just over a hundred thousand in total.

Money changed hands, and so did the property.

Seventy thousand—Ren Jifu had never seen so much in his life; his eyes gleamed green.

"Boss Zhao, let me say this up front: if the house isn’t demolished, you can’t ask me for a refund!" Ren Jifu clutched the money.

Zhao Zejun didn’t bother responding, so Ren Bida said, "The contract's in black and white, the procedures are done, nobody can back out. If demolition happens, don’t be jealous! Listen to your cousin, take the money, buy a house, bring your wife home, and live a good life."

"This money isn’t enough for a decent life!" Ren Jifu grabbed the cash and turned to leave.

"That wastrel, probably off to gamble again!" Ren Bida said angrily.

Zhao Zejun smiled, scribbled a number, and handed it over: "Mr. Ren, you’re busy, I’ll be heading off. Here’s my number—if there are any more houses in Gaogang Village, call me directly."

With the deal done, Ren Bida finally voiced his doubts: "Are you really buying the house for investment, waiting for demolition?"

"Of course. I’ve got someone on the inside, confidential news. But don’t spread it around," Zhao Zejun answered mysteriously.

If he told the truth, nobody would believe him. Ren Bida thought to himself, if there really was such luck, would you tell me outright?

Whatever this ‘young Boss Zhao’ was up to, at least the commission was paid in full. Two or three days’ work, some talk and gas money, two thousand five hundred earned easily—not a fortune, but a few thousand profit wasn’t bad.

"Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Shall I drive you somewhere?"

"No need, no need. I’ll be off."

Leaving Aijia, Zhao Zejun hailed a cab, took a brief detour around the city, then returned to his newly acquired Ren family old house in Gaogang Village.

Entering, he locked the door from the inside.

In the room stood a table, a shabby bed, and the ‘chair of great sentimental value’—which Zhao Zejun refused to pay extra for, so Ren Jifu had ultimately left it behind.

But Zhao Zejun didn’t even glance at the chair. Instead, he squatted beside the thick, heavy, greasy, pitch-black mahjong table.

He took out a key and began scraping away the grime layer by layer.

Gradually, the wood grain beneath appeared.

Dense, overlapping black-brown lines, flowing and well-arranged, resembling a natural ink painting.

A smile curled on Zhao Zejun’s lips.

Just as Ren Bida suspected, Gaogang Village was a city enclave rich in history, with many stories handed down. After the demolition, especially when many residents became rich overnight, those tales often became legendary.

In his previous life, Zhao Zejun had heard a legend about a 'wastrel' from his parents.

The first part matched Ren Bida’s story: the wastrel Ren Jifu was addicted to gambling and had no integrity, sold off the family belongings, racked up debts in underground casinos, creditors came knocking daily, and his wife and child ran away.

The second part had yet to unfold.

After the demolition, a construction crew collecting debris found an unremarkable table amid the ruins. When several men tried to lift it, it was unexpectedly heavy. The foreman sensed something was odd and called in an expert to appraise it—the table turned out to be made of rosewood.

That table was found in the Ren family ruins.

Local elders said that when Ren’s grandfather was alive, he prepared coffin boards. During the campaign against the ‘Four Olds,’ he was denounced, and both he and his son passed away early. Afterward, the government banned earth burials, so the boards remained in the backyard.

When Ren Jifu inherited the house, he felt keeping coffin boards at home was unlucky, so he used them to make a mahjong table.

He was quite proud—saved on materials, and the symbolism was auspicious: coffin, official, prosperity.

He didn’t get rich, but the construction crew did, pocketing a windfall. Ren Jifu, hearing of it, regretted bitterly and went to demand money from the crew. But the crew were all connected to local bosses like Mr. Song—they wouldn't pay any attention to a scoundrel, and he was beaten and thrown out.

Ren Bida, the courtyard, gambling, wastrel—all these clues reminded Zhao Zejun of the legend he’d heard in his previous life.

He did indeed buy the house, and the furniture, but not for the so-called chair.

Zhao Zejun reckoned Ren Bida never imagined his wastrel cousin would use grandfather’s coffin boards to make a mahjong table—no normal person would do such a thing.