Chapter 29: Treasure Hunting

The county town that morning was noticeably livelier than when Jiang Yiliu last visited.

Many factory workers hurried off to their shifts, striding briskly for fear of being late. Those with bicycles rode leisurely, occasionally ringing their bells, the clang echoing from alley to alley, unwanted yet hardly disruptive.

Gu Xiashi parked the bicycle beside the state-run restaurant, unlocked the chain from the handlebars, and secured the rear wheel to a nearby post. He tucked the key carefully into his jacket pocket over his chest.

Jiang Yiliu, sitting on the rear seat, didn’t wait for Gu Xiashi to lift him off. He jumped down on his own, startling his uncle.

“You really think you’re a grown boy, huh? If you scrape yourself, your grandma will kill me. Let’s see how you’re gonna come out with me next time.” Gu Xiashi ruffled his nephew’s hair, put on a stern face, trying to sound fierce.

He cracked himself up before Jiang Yiliu could get scared.

“Come on, Uncle’s taking you to eat something nice today.” He tugged Yiliu’s hand and led him into the restaurant.

The state-run eatery wasn’t large. Inside a sparse room sat five tables. Behind the counter sat a plump middle‑aged woman, shelling sunflower seeds, unbothered until the two entered.

“Lady, do you have plain noodles?” A man in his forties approached first. He wore clean clothes and spoke hesitantly.

“Who are you calling ‘lady’? Can you even speak?” The woman slapped her sunflower seed husk down hard on the counter. Shells flew everywhere. Pointing a thick finger in his face, she stood up.

The man shrank back, then tried again timidly, “Then… do you have plain noodles, ma’am?”

“Can’t you read? That big sign’s right there. Do you expect me to read every character for country bumpkins?” She sat back down with a squeak of wood, her ample rear echoing from the chair.

The man was stunned. After a long pause, he said quietly, “I don’t know how to read.”

“Ha ha ha, an illiterate eating at our state‑run restaurant? If you can’t read, get lost. I’ve no time to spell everything out for you.” She burst into laughter, speeding up seed‑shelling, shells piling at her feet.

“Uncle, plain noodles cost two‑ticket stamps plus eight cents.” Jiang Yiliu saw the man’s embarrassment and whispered the price to him.

In this era, people working in state institutions often felt superior. Things were in limited supply. If a customer refused, someone else would gladly take it. No customer‑first ethos existed, buyers grovelled to stores, not vice versa.

“Thanks, little brother,” the man said, surprised to hear a four‑ or five‑year‑old speak. He glanced nervously at the woman behind the counter, shook his head, and left without buying the noodles he had asked about.

“What a piece of work… pfft.” The woman spat sunflower seed husks forcefully after him.

“Man… he’s better than you, Uncle!” Gu Xiashi chuckled. He was used to this scene from visiting town regularly, but he was amazed Jiang Yiliu recognized so many words. At Yiliu’s age, he’d still be wiping his nose in the mud back home.

Inside, he was proud. He looked at his nephew, who so resembled him, and momentarily wished he could take him from his sister’s house to raise as his own. He had no wife anyway, so Yiliu could be his son. But he knew that was impossible, if that idea ever got out, Grandpa Jiang and Grandma Miao would probably eat him.

“Want something to eat?” Gu Xiashi pointed at the menu sign.

The restaurant's dishes were limited and fresh ingredients changed daily, depending on what the collective farm delivered.

Jiang Yiliu wasn’t sure what his uncle had been planning, Gu Xiashi seemed flush, but he didn’t want him to waste money, so he considered ordering the cheapest option.

“They even have beef noodles today. That farm’s old ox must have died.” Gu Xiashi looked surprised at the menu. In that era, oxen were essential for plowing and never slaughtered unless they died of old age.

“The people are the real heroes. Comrade, two bowls of beef noodles and one big mixed stew,” Gu Xiashi ordered, glancing at his nephew. “You don’t get beef noodles easily. We’re having that today.”

Jiang Yiliu had plenty of top-quality beef in his space’s supermarket, but he couldn’t take it out. And realistically, he’d hoard it to the last cent. In his previous life in the U.S., beef was cheap and common, now it was rare, and the thought alone made him hungry. Seeing beef noodles on the menu, he swallowed hard. They cost three liang of ration tickets plus ten cents, only slightly more than plain noodles, so he didn’t argue.

“The total is seven liang of ration tickets plus twenty‑five cents.” The middle-aged woman reluctantly put down her seeds, scribbled on a slip of paper, tore it off, and handed it to Gu Xiashi.

“Times have changed. Men and women are equal. Get your own food at the kitchen window.” She inspected the tickets, dropped them into the metal box, waved them off, and dismissively told them to go.

That era’s ritual-like use of Chairman Mao quotes amused Jiang Yiliu. No matter the situation, someone always felt obligated to start with one.

“Let’s go get the noodles.” Gu Xiashi took Yiliu’s hand and gave the slip to another window. After about ten minutes, two steaming bowls of beef noodles and one jugged stew arrived.

The restaurant had emptied by then, so they chose a table. Each table held shared chopsticks, spoons, chili sauce, minced cilantro, and garlic, available for self‑service.

Jiang Yiliu stared at the bowl as big as his face. It was filled to the brim with beef noodles, two thick slices of beef each about the size of his palm, and as thick as his thumb. For that price, it was incredibly generous. Meat was scarce, but ration tickets were common.

He wondered why the state restaurant seemed so affordable yet had so few customers. Noticing the woman behind the counter, he guessed many had been scared away by her attitude.

“Eat quickly, or the noodles get soggy.” Gu Xiashi sprinkled cilantro and chili sauce in his noodles and stirred. “Cilantro makes it fragrant. Want some?” He teased as he reached for Yiliu’s bowl.

Jiang Yiliu hurriedly shielded his noodles. Cilantro, what people nowadays call coriander, is loved by some, hated by others. He was one of those who detested it.

“I like it plain.” He considered adding chili sauce but recalled that Teacher Bai’s medicinal tonic required avoiding strong flavors.

“You just don’t appreciate good things,” Gu Xiashi chuckled as he slurped his noodles. “The stew’s not bad either, I think they used yesterday’s leftovers, tossed with veggies and meat. Half the price of fatty dishes but still tasty.”

The beef had simmered until tender, it nearly melted in his mouth. The spices had permeated every bite. Jiang Yiliu, deprived of meat for so long, nearly refused to believe it was real.

After eating the meat, he finally tackled the noodles. The broth was made from simmered beef bones, rich and fragrant. The hand-rolled noodles were chewy and elastic, something you couldn’t find once machine‑made noodles took over in later decades.

Even though the flavor was exceptional, his small stomach couldn’t take much more. After just half a bowl, he was full.

Gu Xiashi didn’t mind. He finished Yiliu’s noodles and three‑quarters of the stew. After belching and wiping his mouth, he left, full.

“Uncle’s taking you somewhere cool,” Gu Xiashi said, leading Yiliu through several alleys. He spoke mysteriously.

They walked for over twenty minutes. After morning runs and horse stance training, Yiliu’s legs felt like noodles. But the hint of mystery in his uncle’s tone spurred him on. Holding tight to his uncle’s hand and his round belly, he breathed deep and kept pace.

At last, they arrived.

They entered a courtyard enclosed by high walls. A crooked sign read “Recycling Station.” A woman in an army-green cotton jacket sat on a small stool outside. She looked up, smiled warmly, and stood to greet them.

“You’re back again! Still finding picture books for the kid, huh?” She saw Jiang Yiliu and knelt, pinching his cheek. “This must be that boy you always mention. You just look like him! If I had a handsome son like you, I’d never let him suffer.”

“Kids demand little, they eat and ask for little, I couldn’t say no,” Gu Xiashi replied with a fond face. “He kept pestering me about picture books. Couldn’t he just read the few I got last time? Nope, he wanted to choose himself. How could I deny him?”

“Big sister, do you have any picture books here? I want to see them.” Jiang Yiliu, catching on to his uncle’s plan, spoke up shyly. Recycling stations often held overlooked treasures behind the piles of “junk.”

[TL: Uncle of the year! Teach your nephew to con people hahaha.]

“That child! Calling me big sister already, hee hee!” The woman covered her mouth, laughter shaking her shoulders. Her eyes softened toward him.

Every woman cares about her age, this holds true in all eras.

Gu Xiashi gave his nephew a thumbs‑up and said politely, “Alright, sis, same as before. Just let the kid choose a few picture books.”

He slipped a one-yuan note under his thick coat and handed it to her.

She glanced around quickly, then took the bill and whispered, “Come in. The trash collectors come in the afternoon. Take your time browsing, but don’t touch the no-touch items. A few families got in trouble from those unclean things.”

“I know, I know. Did I ever take anything I shouldn’t before?” Gu Xiashi nodded quickly.

The woman thought it over. Who’d want hot potatoes? She opened the door, led them inside, closed it, and resumed her seat, scanning the space.

Formerly, Gu Xiashi had acquired many valuable antiques, likely gathered here. But in the Cultural Revolution, old books and paintings were purged across the country. He knew well that possessing antiques was dangerous.

This station was big. Besides the yard, there were three tile-roofed buildings. Paper goods and books, easily ruined by rain, were stored inside; junk metal and furniture lay in the yard.

“Trash today, treasure tomorrow.” Gu Xiashi pointed at the yard’s piles. “One day, these things will gain value.”

“Our nation won’t always be chaotic. Our ancestors’ items won’t always be discarded.” He sighed. He didn’t underestimate Yiliu, he knew his nephew was smart enough to understand.

“Go ahead and browse, you might find some interesting picture books.”

He guided Yiliu into one of the buildings. It was a mountain of paper, newspapers, magazines, stacked nearly to the roof. Yiliu worried the whole mountain might collapse if he pulled something out.

“If you need me, just call.” Gu Xiashi said before walking away.

All around, worthless old magazine stacks filled the space. Yiliu combed through them for a long time. He had back pain from bending; no lucky finds yet. Treasure hunting was harder than he thought.

As he stood to relax, he spotted something, corners of vivid color in a gap. He moved aside the top sheets and saw a well-preserved small book.

He wasn’t searching blindly, he knew from future knowledge that such collectible picture books could fetch a fortune. For example, the one he found was The Gadfly, a world literature classic published in 1955 by the New Art Publishing House. In the future, a pristine copy sold for 20,000 yuan. That’s astoundingly profitable for a cheap booklet.

Past streets had many such stalls, you could spend a whole day browsing them for a penny. Families spared a cent or two so their kids stayed quietly entertained.

But after the Cultural Revolution began, these stalls vanished; books were burned or damaged. Few remained intact.

Yiliu remembered the value clearly. In his past life, he once owned Crossing the Yangtze Reconnaissance, published in 1957 and gifted by his uncle. It later sold for 100,000 yuan, but his cousin stole it, and he never knew what happened to it.

With the Gadfly in hand, he plunged into the pile looking for more valuable books.

He gathered ragged illustrated booklets too, he stored usable ones in his space’s bookshelf, leaving a few shabby ones in visible sight to avoid suspicion.

He sighed, thinking he’d hoped to find some calligraphy or paintings as well, yet treasure by its rarity wouldn’t be easily found.

Still energized, he moved to another pile. This would be his seed money, if he missed this chance, who knew when he’d return to town.

Suddenly, whack, he slipped on something slick and fell hard. His clothes were thick enough to protect his knees, but his palm scraped painfully.

He licked the wound. They say spit is a good disinfectant, and with no antiseptic available, and bandages too visible, it was the only solution.

As he licked, his eyes landed on the culprit: a narrow wooden box, lid askew, revealing a white edge of painted silk scroll.

His pain forgotten, he grabbed the box and stopper and inspected them carefully.

The box was polished black hardwood, smooth to the touch, cool in his hand. Even the box alone felt valuable. He eagerly prepared to unroll the scroll.

Suddenly, footsteps approached. Startled, he placed the box back into his space and clutched a few books to look innocent.

“You turned this place upside down, huh?” Gu Xiashi came in, pointing at the mess and dust-covered nephew with amusement.

“Found anything worth a treasure?” he asked, smiling as he saw his harvest looked promising.

Yiliu, relieved it was his uncle, handed over the books he’d collected. He didn’t mention the space nor the box, some secrets were better kept.

“Still just a kid,” Gu Xiashi said as he flipped through the booklets and returned them to Yiliu. “If you like them, I’ll bring you here again.”

Reluctant to leave the rest of the stack behind, Yiliu followed anyway.

“Uncle, did you find anything treasure-worthy?” he asked curiously.

It turned out he guessed right, Gu Xiashi had only taken small items, wary of walking out with large or obvious goods.

Undoing his coat, Gu Xiashi produced two small objects, both larger than Yiliu’s palm, and handed them over, cautioning: “These are treasures. Be careful not to drop them.”

Yiliu examined them: one a porcelain snuff bottle painted with a graceful ancient beauty, smooth, milky-white but unmarked as Qing dynasty. The other a jade seal, a quality so fine even he could sense it. Milky white, lustrous, though with a chipped corner that hurt its value.

“You’re too young to fully appreciate it. These are valuable. When you’re older, I’ll teach you how to appraise them.” Gu Xiashi smiled as he tucked both into his coat’s inner pocket.

“Look, that’s a genuine carved Hainan huanghuali rosewood chair. Back then, only nobles used it.” He led Yiliu to a wooden chair beside a worn cabinet. “This will be worth a fortune. But I can’t take it, a big, obvious piece like that might get noticed.”

He sighed. Most wooden furniture in recycling yards gets chopped into firewood, wasting true craftsmanship.

Yiliu feigned casual interest. “Uncle, how can you tell what wood it is?”

“Easy.” Gu Xiashi explained: “Look at the wood grain, beautiful pattern, soft luster, tight and orderly. Even knots don’t disrupt the pattern. Only this wood is like that.”

He lifted Yiliu closer and let him smell the armrest. “Did you smell anything?”

“Nothing,” Yiliu said, puzzled.

Gu Xiashi scraped the surface gently with a stone. “Try now.”

Instantly, a rich aroma blossomed. “It’s huanghuali! The scent fades over time, but when you freshen the surface, it returns,” Gu Xiashi explained, sounding proud of his little nephew.

He continued to teach about other woods until his throat grew dry, then reluctantly concluded.

“All right. I’ll bring you again next time. But it’s nearing noon, so we better head back.”

They walked back toward the restaurant. The bicycle was still safe, security in that era was excellent. If anything suspicious happened, passersby would help instantly. There was no hiding and fearing attackers like in later decades.

Gu Xiashi told Yiliu to wait near the bike while he went back into the state restaurant. When he returned, he held two packages wrapped in yellow paper. He handed the larger one to him.

“Take some of these meat buns now. The rest to take home, have your mom steam them tonight, share with everyone.” He peeled a steaming bun and gulped it down.

Yiliu grabbed one from the pack of at least a dozen. He sniffed, a little upset by the sour steel odor, then bit into the fragrant bun. With a full mouth, he mumbled: “Uncle, even if you have money, spend it wisely. Marry someone soon, separate from Big Uncle’s family, so you don’t have to stay here with his wife’s constant complaining.”

Although Gu Xiashi looked young, he was already in his early thirties and unmarried, a rarity. He wasn’t physically strong but was sharp‑witted and traveled for work. People didn’t know how much he’d earned.

Yiliu couldn’t understand why no good woman wanted him.

Gu Xiashi swallowed his last bite, wrapped the remaining buns, and tucked them inside his coat. He didn’t dare bring too many home, if that woman saw them, she’d complain again. His mother had been fierce in youth to raise several children; in old age, she tolerated hardship silently. He refused to let that woman take advantage.

“Is your mom whispering doubts into your ear again?” He thumped Yiliu lightly on the head, frowning. His sister and mother had always meddled; marriage wasn’t everything. A bad wife could wreck a household.

“All women aren’t like Aunty Niufang.” Yiliu murmured.

“Enough, eat your bun.” Gu Xiashi mumbled impatiently, tapping Yiliu’s cheek. “You’re a boy. Don’t fuss like your mother and sisters about these silly things.”

Yiliu choked on the bun. Could he refute? In his previous life, he’d spent decades as a woman, a habit hard to break.

So he ate silently, hoping one day Grandma Zhao Hong could convince his uncle differently.

He ate about one and a half buns and was full. Gu Xiashi packed the rest to give to him later.

On the way home, they stopped at the supply‑and‑marketing coop. Gu Xiashi bought children’s favorite snacks for Yiliu to bring home and share with his sisters.

Yiliu sat on the bicycle seat, clutching his bag of snacks and his uncle’s jacket. Although the rear seat had thick velvet padding, the rough mountain road had put him through the wringer.

Gu Xiashi hurried to hide his treasures. Yiliu wondered where he stashed everything, no one knew. In his past life, when he planned to take Meiling abroad, he lacked funds, and the treasures stayed hidden until later.

After that incident, Aunt Niufang searched the old family home and found nothing. She had him arrested for theft, even though he took nothing, and served three days to learn his lesson. Since then, she’d run away at the mere sight of him.

Yiliu understood secrets and reciprocity; though curious, he didn’t ask.

They rode for nearly half an hour. Yiliu’s rear had gone numb, until they reached the village.

Entering through the fields, where many earlier walkers had flattened the path, he finally relaxed.

At that hour, most workers had returned for lunch. The fields were empty. Yiliu glanced up and recognized a familiar silhouette. He tugged his uncle’s jacket.

“Uncle, let me off at the village gate. My butt hurts so bad. I can walk the rest.”

Gu Xiashi didn’t hesitate, jumping down. “I’ll walk with you.”

“No need. I can manage.” Yiliu took his bun bag, waved, and ran toward the village.

Qingshan Village was too remote, so few outsiders came by. With many homes near the gate, a single shout would reach someone. No trouble could arise.

Gu Xiashi watched him run off before riding away in the other direction.

Yiliu paused only after confirming his uncle had gone, took a deep breath, and headed into the brush beside the path.

In a small grove by the fields stood a man and woman. The man handed something to the girl. She looked down and smiled. He placed a hand on her head, their heads close, speaking softly.

Yiliu tightened his grip on the buns, barely noticing that the paper wrapper tore.

TN:
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