Chapter One: A Thousand Tricks Set the Trap

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In 1999, I was nineteen, repeating my senior year in high school for the third time. That year’s tuition came from my father selling our family’s sow and borrowing some money from the neighbors to make up the difference.

Perhaps it was the fear that, if I failed yet again, the light in my father's eyes would fade, or perhaps I finally came to my senses—my grades began to improve, and I was convinced that this year would bring me something worthwhile.

Yet, just as hope ignited within me and I was filled with determination, an accident changed the course of my fate. A very beautiful girl in my class came to ask me a math question; I remember her name clearly—Li Linlin, widely recognized as the school beauty.

Everyone has a love for beauty. She came to me for help, and I answered patiently. It should have been a perfectly ordinary event, but during the process, one of her pursuers saw us. He was the notorious school bully, Wu Chen.

Wu Chen had pursued Li Linlin without success. Seeing this scene, he bore a grudge against me. After class, a group blocked me in the restroom. No matter how I explained, it was useless. After being slapped several times, he forced me to kneel and apologize, cursing my family.

Unable to bear it, I fought back. It was one against many, but I clung fiercely to Wu Chen, pounding my fists into his face.

Born in the countryside, I had strength to spare.

In the end, I was beaten to the ground, but Wu Chen suffered a broken nose and a ruptured eardrum—minor injuries by medical definition.

Wu Chen’s father was influential. Under his pressure, the school decided to expel me for fighting, even though I acted in self-defense.

My father dragged me along, first kneeling in the school for an entire afternoon.

Then kneeling the next day at the entrance to Wu Chen's upscale apartment complex—we couldn’t even get inside.

That was the first time I felt true despair.

Our kneeling did not earn forgiveness.

The fate of ants is not worthy of their sympathy.

My father’s grief tore at my heart like a blade.

That night, I snuck into the dormitory, pulled Wu Chen from sleep, and beat him until he knelt. I was like a madman then; his gang dared not approach.

Afterward, I told him he could call the police, but what I cared for most had already been destroyed by him. I wasn’t afraid of prison; so long as I lived, I swore I’d kill his entire family.

He did not call the police.

I never returned to school.

After staying home for a month, I prepared to leave for the south to work.

Before I left, my mother packed a backpack full of pickled vegetables and steamed buns.

My father saw me off at the village entrance and pressed a pack of cigarettes into my hand.

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He said, “Acheng, from now on, you’re a man.”

I gritted my teeth and waved goodbye.

Turning away, tears streamed down my face.

It was my first time taking a train. At lunch, I found four hundred yuan inside my bag, all small bills, the largest being five yuan—my mother had slipped it in secretly. Once again, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

Wiping them away, I took out a book: the Complete Guide to Earthly Eyes, written by the Song Dynasty monk Daojing. It discussed dragons, burial sites, sand, water, and directions in feng shui. Ever since I watched a feng shui master perform rituals as a child, I’d been fond of such things—though it was just a hobby, and I couldn’t truly understand it. Still, there was a line in the book I liked: “Ghosts and gods need not be worshipped, but must not be deceived.”

The carriage was lively. My seatmate was a plain middle-aged man, whose temperament reminded me of my father. He clutched his bundle tightly, anxiously glancing around. The more nervous he was, the more attention he attracted—everyone sensed the bundle held something unusual.

After an hour, an elderly man with an impressive bearing sidled up and whispered with him. At first, the middle-aged man was guarded, but the old man’s patient questioning eventually drew out the truth.

He said he worked as a laborer on a construction site. When they were digging earth, they uncovered a burial pit. The workers concealed this from their superiors and emptied the pit themselves. He arrived late and missed out on the gold and jewels, but found a small object in a corner.

Under the old man's persistent persuasion, the middle-aged man unwrapped his bundle to reveal a bronze censer.

The old man examined it, saying it looked exquisite. “How much do you want for it?”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “I don’t know. The foreman owes me five hundred yuan. If you give me five hundred, I’ll let you have the censer.”

Their conversation drew a crowd. Just as the deal was about to close, a young man with glasses pulled out a thousand yuan, handing it over. “I’ll give you a thousand. That censer is mine.”

The old man protested, “Young man, you should respect order. Cutting in like this isn’t how things are done.”

The middle-aged man, honest to the core, looked at the thousand yuan and swallowed hard, but still said, “Brother, I already agreed with the uncle…”

The young man scoffed, “You really are foolish. This piece is a Xuande censer. Look at the mark underneath: ‘Made during the Xuande years of the Ming Dynasty.’ On the market, it’s worth at least two hundred thousand! Selling it for five hundred?”

The old man grew angry, stood up, and scolded the young man. The two began to argue, and when the middle-aged man heard the censer was worth two hundred thousand, he immediately tucked it back into his arms, refusing to sell.

After a bout of bickering and wrangling, they decided to auction it off. The price quickly rose to three thousand. Both the old man and the young man coaxed and threatened the middle-aged man, saying the item was valuable, but since it was dug up from the ground, it belonged to the state. If it was confiscated, it would be worthless, and he might even be held accountable. Better to sell it now and secure the money.

Others nearby also joined the bidding. The prospect of buying a treasure for a few thousand that could be sold for two hundred thousand tempted many.

I was tempted, too.

But clutching the wad of small bills pressed against my skin, I knew I didn’t have enough. I felt regret, even a bit sorry for the old man—if the young expert hadn’t interfered, he could have bought a two hundred-thousand-yuan treasure for just five hundred!

At that moment, the man sitting across from me, reading a newspaper, spoke up. He was about forty or fifty, with a sly look to his eyes.

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He put down his newspaper and let out a cold laugh. “Kid, you’re tempted, aren’t you? Don’t pay them any mind—it’s a scam. The tricksters from the Qianmen set up a con, then the thieves follow up, muddying even the clearest waters. Just watch—soon, you’ll see a bunch of people wailing.”

“Hm?” I asked, puzzled.

“Just wait and see,” the man smiled, saying no more.

In the end, the Xuande censer was auctioned off to someone in the carriage for seven thousand two hundred yuan in cash. The old man and the expert youth were both furious, cursing under their breath. The middle-aged man complained that he’d sold a two hundred-thousand-yuan item for so little—“Two hundred thousand could buy my life.”

The buyer tossed the cash down, snatched the bag, and said, “The kid was right—money in your pocket is yours. Even if you had two hundred thousand, fate might not let you keep it. If you get caught, you’ll end up in jail with nothing.”

The old man and the youth, fuming, left the carriage. The middle-aged man, having got his money, disembarked at the next station.

The buyer became the sole winner. Everyone crowded around, marveling and saying how generous he was. “It’s so easy for rich people to make money—one turn and he’s made ten times what he paid.” Faces were full of envy and jealousy.

Soon, a man and woman came over from another carriage. They looked to be about thirty, likely a couple. The man had a long scar on his face—let’s call him Scarface. The woman was strikingly beautiful.

They’d come to see the commotion they’d heard about. As they passed us, the man across from me lowered his newspaper and made a gesture toward the couple.

It was a strange gesture: left thumb upright, pressed to the right palm—like a fist, but not quite.

Scarface paused, then returned a gesture, but so quickly I couldn’t make it out.

The man said, “Three treasures left by the founder; disciples of all branches inherit the true legacy. Heaven and earth united, the rivers and lakes know our name.”

Scarface replied, “Three hands passed down by the founder; clarity comes at sunrise in the east.”

The man raised his hand again, “At home, the sun and moon are public; outside, we stand shoulder to shoulder. Two honored brothers, masters among masters.”

Scarface nodded, “Old Hai, we all play the same tune. If not kin by blood, kin by skill; if not kin by skill, then kin by the founder. No need for formality.”

And then they brushed past each other.

An hour later, someone in the carriage shouted, “My money’s gone!”

Soon, a chorus of curses and cries erupted. Almost everyone who had participated in the auction had lost their cash.

I immediately checked my pocket—thankfully, my money was still there.

I closed my book and looked at the man opposite. “How did you know?”

He pointed to his eyes. “These eyes of mine are sharper than Sun Wukong’s fiery gaze.”