I spent seven years inside, earning a reduced sentence for good behavior.
On my first day out, I received several calls from bosses urging me to join them. One offered a monthly salary of 100,000 yuan with a car; another, 200,000 yuan plus shares.
Most of these calls came from two places: Panjiayuan in Beijing and Shenyang Road in Tianjin.
After some thought, I declined all their offers.
Entering this line of work was a mistake from the start. Despite the potential for overnight riches, it cost me dearly—seven years of my life. I went from a fresh-faced young man to a pot-bellied man in his thirties.
The girl I knew back then now has a child old enough to fetch soy sauce...
With no family or reasons to stay, I chose to move to Dali.
I bought a small storefront by Erhai Lake and opened a convenience store. On days without business, I walked along the shore, enjoying the sea breeze. Life became quite peaceful.
The store, located on Cangshan East Road next to Lemart, welcomes friends with tea.
Recently, they uncovered ancient Shu relics and a sensational gold mask. My path to sudden wealth was somewhat connected to such items, revolving around two words: Antiques and Tomb Raiding.
Shows like "Ghost Blows Out the Light", "The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles", and "The Golden Eyes" were blockbuster hits a few years ago. Now, with some free time, I've started writing about my experiences in this industry.
I've never seen the Cloud Top Palace or the Qinling Sacred Tree, nor do I have golden eyes. But since the age of ten, I've witnessed many things that most people can't comprehend.
Let's start from the beginning.
I was born in a small village in Northeast China, next to the frigid Mohe.
Raised by my grandmother, I never knew my parents and had no interest in learning about them.
As the saying goes, grandparents dote on their grandchildren. I was a handful as a child, unruly and academically poor, often ranking last in my class.
The village provided minimal social assistance, which barely supported our living.
During that time, I became fascinated with a treasure-hunting show on CCTV. Items dismissed by others as mere junk were deemed valuable antiques by experts, capable of buying houses and cars!
I lied to my grandmother, claiming I needed money for school materials, then spent it all on books about antiques.
The first book I read was "Fifty Famous Ancient Coins" by Mr. Dai—a thick volume that opened my eyes to the world of antiques.
I rummaged through our home and deceived classmates into selling me old coins they stole from their households for 0.50 yuan each.
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Living frugally and never ordering extra dishes in the cafeteria, I eventually sold my textbooks for seven yuan. My teacher constantly sighed, predicting a bleak future for me as a societal menace.
I disregarded his words, dreaming of wealth—even if it meant becoming that menace.
In my last year of middle school, at age 16, my grandmother fell while shoveling snow and broke her leg. The combined medical bills were over 3,000 yuan—a sum we couldn’t afford. I vividly remember her lying on the heated brick bed, covered in blankets, crying at night.
My uncle, who ran several successful guesthouses in Mohe, was well off. I approached him for a loan to pay for my grandmother's medical expenses.
Though he said little to my face, I once overheard him label me as bad luck and our family as destitute. He advised my aunt to keep her distance from us.
On a bitterly cold winter night in Mohe, with temperatures plummeting below -30 degrees Celsius, I sat on a rock for over three hours, my youthful pride crushed by my uncle’s harsh words.
Clutching the borrowed money, I swore to myself: "I, Xiang Yunfeng, will make something of myself!"
I dropped out of school then, effectively just a primary school graduate.
Of the 3,000 yuan, after covering my grandmother's medical costs, I secretly kept 753 yuan.
I expanded my collection beyond coins to porcelain and silver yuan, items undervalued by most rural folks.
Daily reading and watching appraisal shows sharpened my eye for value.
I acquired a pair of late Qing Dynasty blue chicken feather dusters for 100 yuan, several Republic-era lady figure salt shakers for under 200 yuan, and three Qing Dynasty blue-and-white bowls for 100 yuan, although they were poorly preserved and had significant cracks.
I also saved a small bag of copper coins, mostly common Song and Qing dynasties coins. Among them were three well-preserved Yongzheng coins, which I knew had some value, though I was uncertain of the exact amount.
After purchasing these items, I had spent over 500 yuan, leaving me with 240 yuan—a reasonable sum considering the average monthly wage was just over 300 yuan.
A female classmate, who was quite close to me, lent me two 30-inch rolling suitcases.
I carefully wrapped 11 pieces of porcelain and a small bag of coins in blankets and foam to prevent breakage.
Eventually, I filled two large suitcases and a backpack.
My grandmother disapproved of my actions, saying I was irresponsible. She lamented raising me in vain, and soon the entire village was aware of my endeavors.
Many gossiped and looked down on me.
Facing disdain and misunderstanding, on the seventeenth day of the twelfth lunar month, I left Mohe with my belongings.
I believed the wealthiest lived in Beijing, and naturally, I aimed to sell my antiques there, especially drawn to the legendary Panjiayuan.
There was no direct train from Mohe to Beijing. I first traveled to Siping, then from Siping to Beijing West.
The journey spanned over 2,000 kilometers and took more than fifty hours. To save money, I opted for the cheapest hard seat.
Carrying two large suitcases and a backpack, my appearance—greasy hair and shabby clothes—drew whispers and stares at the station.
Having never traveled far, this was my first time on a train, and I was alone.
After buying the ticket, I had less than a hundred yuan left. If I couldn't sell the antiques, I wouldn’t even afford the return trip, let alone food.
Train meals were costly, so I abstained from spending, continually refilling my cup with hot water. When hunger became unbearable, I bought a four-yuan bag of twisted dough snacks.
For a rural kid's first time in Beijing, everything was new, including the security scanners at the station.
Despite my young age, I wasn’t shy. I asked for directions to Panjiayuan Antique Market. A friendly ticket seller advised me to take the subway and explained how to transfer lines.
From Beijing West, I took Line 9, transferred at Liuliqiao to Line 10, and disembarked at Panjiayuan.
Fortunately, I didn’t wander too far off course. Back then, you could ride the subway indefinitely for two yuan as long as you didn’t exit the station.
After leaving the subway, navigating the anti-slip grooves on the sidewalk with my heavy load was challenging.
Crossing Huashi Bridge, I finally saw the golden inscription at the North Gate.
“Panjiayuan Second Hand Market.”
“At last…”