Chapter Fifty-Two: The Storm Approaches

As always, whenever Zhao Zejun appeared, there were no customers at the Antiquities Studio.

This time, Shen Lian wasn't reading. In front of him sat a set of old vine wood tea ware. The small red clay kettle bubbled away, filling the room with the fragrance of tea. Clearly, he was waiting specifically for him.

It had rained on the way, so before entering, Zhao Zejun shook the water from his umbrella and propped it in the corner. Then he sat opposite Shen Lian.

Shen Lian glanced up at him, rinsing the tea ware with hot water as he spoke. “I had those photographs of the Yuan Big Heads examined again. They're definitely all fake.”

Zhao Zejun laughed at his words. “Boss Shen, you keep saying they're fake, which makes me suspicious. Are you deliberately calling them fakes so you can buy them at a low price? We aren't doing business for the first time, you know. This is getting tedious.”

“I'm not buying.” Shen Lian cut him off, expressionless, using tea tongs to grip the cups, pouring out the water one by one, rinsing again, then pouring out the water once more.

“If you’re not buying, what did you call me for?” Zhao Zejun asked, puzzled.

“I want to borrow them for a while. At most, two months, and I'll return them,” said Shen Lian.

“Borrow?” Zhao Zejun was even more confused. “Why borrow a bunch of fakes?”

If Shen Lian had pretended they were fakes to buy at a low price and then sell high, that would make sense. Or even if they truly were fakes, but Shen Lian managed to swindle some gullible buyer and sell them as genuine, that could be reasonable. But borrowing? That was inexplicable.

Shen Lian said, “Don’t ask what I need them for. I’ll borrow them for a month, pay you ten thousand. In two months, I’ll return them to you just as they are.”

The more Shen Lian spoke this way, the more Zhao Zejun felt something was off. He'd bought the bag of Yuan Big Heads for three thousand. Now Shen Lian wanted to borrow them for two months and pay ten thousand? Was he mad?

The man before him was strange, but definitely not an idiot, nor a spendthrift. This could only mean Shen Lian had a way to profit from these coins within a month, far more than ten thousand.

“Boss Shen, if you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I can’t be at ease.” Zhao Zejun hesitated, then continued, “If you use these coins for something illegal, I might suffer for it as well.”

“We’re doing this in person, with no paperwork. Heaven knows, earth knows—how would you get implicated?” Shen Lian replied offhandedly.

Hearing this, Zhao Zejun became certain: Shen Lian must be planning something illegal with the coins. Otherwise, he wouldn’t answer that way.

But what exactly was he planning?

Zhao Zejun narrowed his eyes, pondering for a while, then suddenly had a flash of insight.

This man was no ordinary antique shopkeeper; he hailed from that southern town infamous for counterfeiting...

Could it be that he intended to use these meticulously crafted, hard-to-distinguish Yuan Big Heads as templates, to mass produce counterfeits?

The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Behind Shen Lian was a vast counterfeiting operation, with a complete production line; counterfeiting and aging was the region’s pillar industry, perfectly capable of large-scale manufacturing.

At least half of the high-quality aged replicas on the domestic market came from there. Linking this to Shen Lian’s earlier actions—taking photos of the fake Yuan Big Heads, telling him not to sell yet, to wait a month—it all made sense. He was likely sending the photos back to his hometown, where his associates would discuss and decide to launch a new business line: high-grade Yuan Big Head replicas. Then he’d contact Zhao Zejun again.

Zhao Zejun quickly ran through the calculations in his mind and probed, “Boss Shen, these coins are useless to me. Why don’t you name your price and buy them all?”

Shen Lian shook his head without hesitation. “I won’t buy, only rent. Rent them for two months, ten thousand. After two months, I return them as they are.”

That only confirmed his suspicions. Two months would be enough to replicate the coins exactly, after which the templates would be meaningless to them. Renting was much more cost-effective than buying.

“Ten thousand is too little for rent, isn’t it?” Zhao Zejun tried a new angle.

Shen Lian gave him a wooden look. “You bought them for three thousand, I borrow them for a month, pay you ten thousand, and return them. If that’s not enough, you might as well go rob someone.”

“Boss Shen, if you’re willing to pay ten thousand, it means these coins are important to you, and their value far exceeds ten thousand.”

“Everyone calculates things their own way,” Shen Lian said, shaking his head. “I offer ten thousand, not a cent more.”

“Tell you what, Boss Shen—take them, I don’t want a penny.”

Shen Lian’s eyelid twitched, surprised at Zhao Zejun’s maneuver. He couldn’t guess his game.

Zhao Zejun steeled himself, lowering his voice. “Consider this my investment. Whatever you do, however much you profit, I want a ten percent share.”

Shen Lian lowered his gaze, picked up the red clay teapot, poured a cup for Zhao Zejun, and said calmly, “Once you finish this tea, you can leave.”

At this point, Zhao Zejun was one hundred percent sure: Shen Lian’s scheme was not for a paltry ten or twenty thousand. Even if his guess about the mass production of counterfeit coins was wrong, the profits involved were certainly significant, far beyond what he could hope to share.

Having realized this, Zhao Zejun wasn’t about to be intimidated. He was resolved—whether there was real profit or not, he'd take his shot. Fortune favors the bold, and he needed money for renovation and expansion; whether he succeeded depended on today.

“Boss Shen, whether you rent or buy, whatever you do with them is none of my business. I don’t want them anymore. Flat price, ninety thousand.”

Hearing Zhao Zejun suddenly open with a lion’s roar, leaping from ten thousand to ninety thousand, Shen Lian’s hand trembled slightly and a few drops of tea spilled from the red clay pot onto the table.

He looked up, a sharpness flashing in his eyes as he stared at Zhao Zejun, asking, “Were you trying to trick me all along?”

At this stage, nothing could frighten Zhao Zejun. He stuck to his principle: this was business, not a criminal racket. In broad daylight, Shen Lian’s background notwithstanding, the worst was a failed negotiation—there could be no drastic consequences.

“Boss Shen, take them if you want. If not, so be it,” Zhao Zejun said, face unchanged.

Shen Lian stared at him for a moment, the sharpness in his gaze gradually fading, replaced once again by the dull, vacant look of an uncle.

“Thirty thousand. I’ll rent them, and pay upfront.”

“I don’t want them anymore. Only sell, not rent. Ninety thousand, not a cent less.”

Zhao Zejun refused to budge on the price, though his tone softened slightly. “Boss Shen, we’ve always had smooth dealings. Frankly, these cost me three thousand, and making ninety thousand on them is pretty steep. But I really need money right now. How about this: fifty thousand in cash, and for the remaining forty thousand, I’ll write you an IOU, count it as a loan. I’ll repay you within half a year, at most.”

Shen Lian glared at him, asking, “Are you really short on cash?”

“I urgently need money,” Zhao Zejun nodded.

“Wait here.”

Shen Lian didn’t say yes or no, but stood and went into the inner room of the Antiquities Studio.

As soon as Shen Lian left, Zhao Zejun pushed open the shop door, which faced the busy street. He didn’t stay inside, but leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette.

To say Zhao Zejun wasn’t nervous after demanding such a high price would be a lie. Shen Lian’s operation was far from a small-time gangster’s nightclub. With business of this scale, human life was insignificant.

If this really was a counterfeit coin business, spreading nationwide and even abroad, the profits would be unimaginable. The value of a template could easily reach hundreds of thousands or even millions.

But Zhao Zejun knew if he dared to ask for a hundred thousand, or fifty thousand, he might not live to spend the money.

Under ten thousand—ninety thousand—was a figure the other party could accept. At worst, if Shen Lian didn’t buy, neither would be so foolish as to cause trouble over such an amount.

Waiting at the door, ready to leave at a moment's notice, Zhao Zejun watched as, after ten minutes, Shen Lian emerged from the inner room, carrying something wrapped in newspaper that looked like a slab of brick.

“I only have eighty thousand cash in the shop. No need for IOUs. Eighty thousand, and not a penny more,” Shen Lian said, setting the bundle on the table and opening the newspaper to reveal several stacks of hundred-yuan bills.

Zhao Zejun placed the bag of Yuan Big Heads on the table, quickly counted the money, and found it all in order.

Once the transaction was complete, Shen Lian asked again, “Are you really short of money?”

“I really am,” Zhao Zejun replied earnestly.

“I've known you for a while. You look like a student, but I still don’t know what business you do. Why not tell me? If there’s profit, I might consider investing. Money is easy to arrange,” Shen Lian said.

Zhao Zejun waved him off with a smile. “Boss Shen, each profession has its own expertise. Let’s stick to our own paths and make our own fortunes. Don’t worry, if I come across something good, I’ll definitely sell through your channel.”

Shen Lian didn’t press, responding with a simple, “Alright.”

With eighty thousand in hand, Zhao Zejun hurried to the bank and transferred forty thousand to Jiang Xuan’s account for the expansion of the recently purchased small building. Compared to the surrounding shanties, the two-story concrete building had much more room for expansion than the pseudo-quadrangle.

As for Shen Lian, Zhao Zejun set a rule for himself: from now on, aside from business, keep contact to a minimum, especially with the forces behind him. He wouldn't get involved until his own position was secure.

Just after leaving the bank, a thunderclap roared overhead, darkening the sky. The wind picked up, leaves swirling wildly—it was about to pour.

Yijiang City was prone to rain, entering the rainy season early each year, with periods of heavy downpours. Zhao Zejun quickly called Jiang Xuan again, telling him not to rush the construction, but first buy some materials to reinforce the existing houses, lest they collapse in the rain. The old houses in Gaogang Village leaked every year during storms, and some even collapsed.

Just as he finished the call, the rain came down in torrents.