Chapter Sixty-One: Treasures from the Kangxi Era...

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On June 11, 1998, the World Cup officially opened in France. The day before, Zhuo Nan had logged onto WilliamHill, a betting company in the UK, via the internet and placed his bets. Given the exchange rate at the time, after accounting for fees, four million yuan translated into only three hundred and forty thousand pounds, but that was still an astronomical figure. Zhuo Nan placed wagers on several matches: the group stage game between Spain and Nigeria—remember, Spain in '98 wasn’t the world-conquering force they’d become twelve years later—the quarterfinals clash of Germany versus Croatia, a match that broke the hearts of German fans everywhere, and the number of goals in the final. With all this set, as long as history didn’t take an unexpected turn, Zhuo Nan could sit back and wait for the winnings to roll in.

While Zhuo Nan was making big moves in the UK, he was also dabbling in some small bets back home. All the profits from these two months, Zhuo Nan handed over to Long Kun, instructing him to place more bets. Usually, whatever Zhuo Nan bought, Long Kun bought as well. After all, the last time they played cards in the cell, Zhuo Nan had swept the table.

“Nan, QQ is almost finished with development. When’s your funding coming through? I’m just waiting on your money!” Du Fanhou started lamenting as soon as he saw Zhuo Nan.

Long Kun sat beside Zhuo Nan, watching Du Fanhou’s performance. To be honest, he really played the role convincingly—anyone who didn’t know him might think he truly had nothing left to cook with. “Du, what’s the rush? Just wait a few more days. Once my funds come in, I’ll send some your way,” Zhuo Nan said, swirling the wine in his glass before tossing it back.

But Du Fanhou wasn’t as composed as Zhuo Nan, anxiously pressing, “Nan, the thing you asked me to look into? There’s news. There really is a small company in the south developing a product like ours. If they launch it first, we’ll be in trouble…”

According to the timeline, the southern competitor wouldn’t have a prototype ready until the end of the year, but Zhuo Nan, having been reborn, couldn’t be sure history would stay on track. Just like last night’s game—in his memory, the England-Argentina showdown should’ve ended 2-2 and gone to penalties, but Beckham had a stroke of luck and didn’t foul Simeone, so England won 3-2 against Argentina.

What Zhuo Nan worried most about now was whether the money he had left might vanish because of all this. Though he had this thought, he couldn’t say it aloud; instead, he kept up a calm façade: “Du, as long as we keep track of their progress in the south, we’ll be fine. In a few days, I’ll transfer the money to you.” These days, his business had grown too big. Long Kun had opened a new bar, much larger than this one, pouring in over two million.

Du Fanhou knew Zhuo Nan had sunk all his money into football bets, but what could he do? Zhuo Nan was the boss, and he was just working for him, unable to speak his mind, so he simply followed Zhuo Nan’s lead.

“Long Kun, where’s Yang Yilin? I haven’t seen her,” Zhuo Nan asked, tilting his head.

Long Kun perked up—so this was the real reason Nan had come tonight, to see the lady. He exchanged a look with Du Fanhou; the two of them flashed a knowing smile. “Nan, Vice President Yang is at the branch. Want me to call her back?”

Zhuo Nan waved his hand, “No need. I’m leaving now, you two can keep fooling around. Du, watch out for Sun Yan, she might come in and give you a beating…” As Zhuo Nan finished, Long Kun snickered on the side, and Du Fanhou felt his dignity slip away. He pushed his glasses and said to Long Kun, “Kun, get me a couple of girls. Damn, I’m not afraid of her.”

Long Kun gave Du Fanhou a thumbs up, “Du, that’s the spirit. I’ll arrange it right now.” He called over a waiter, instructing him to bring a few girls for Du Fanhou to choose from.

Zhuo Nan watched their antics, shook his head, and said, “I’m off. Carry on, but Du, watch your kidneys…” With those words, he was already at the door, and Long Kun didn’t even have time to see him out.

Bored, Zhuo Nan wandered the streets. Tomorrow was the high school entrance exam, and though Wang Liru had forbidden him from going out tonight, he’d managed to slip away with an excuse. It was just an exam, not a life-or-death struggle—why so tense?

The bar entrance was lined with cars. Zhuo Nan wondered if he should buy a house and a car so his parents could enjoy life a bit. But how would he explain where the money came from? Maybe it was better to wait. When the steel mill closed at the end of the year and his father started his own business, he could ask Long Kun to look after him.

Zhuo Nan had meant to catch a cab home right after leaving the bar, but the night was beautiful, the streets full of girls in cool, revealing clothes, and he couldn’t help but linger to enjoy the view. As he strolled, he found himself in a brightly lit alley filled with night market stalls—food, games, everything. Seeing it was still early, Zhuo Nan decided to browse. He stopped at a stall selling antiques, crouched down, and started picking through the items. He didn’t really know antiques, but the imitations looked pretty convincing. He picked up a celadon vase and asked, “Boss, how much for this?”

The stall owner, a young man in his twenties with a cigarette in his mouth, quickly tossed it aside when a customer appeared. He took the vase from Zhuo Nan, inspected it from all angles, and said, “Brother, you’ve got an eye for quality. This is an authentic treasure from the Kangxi era palace. It’s fate that brought you here, so I’ll let it go for three hundred. How about it?”

Sizing up Zhuo Nan as a mere teenager, the stall owner started spinning his tale. Zhuo Nan, amused by the man’s earnest expression, thought, “I used to work the stalls myself—don’t try to fool me…” But he said nothing, simply admired the vase as if he really liked it, keeping silent.

The stall owner grew anxious. “Brother, look—I see you like it. I’ll give you twenty off, two eighty. A lucky number! How’s that?”

Still, Zhuo Nan said nothing, just kept examining the vase. The stall owner was now really desperate: “Brother, are you buying or not? If not, move along, you’re holding up business…”

Zhuo Nan was just wandering, so he was about to leave. But then, suddenly, his brain spoke up: “Zhuo Nan, don’t go. This vase really is from the Kangxi era…”

“Seriously? Are you kidding me?” Zhuo Nan was shocked, his brow furrowing.

Seeing Zhuo Nan’s frown, the stall owner quickly said, “If you’re not buying, move along! You’re holding up business…”

Zhuo Nan glared, “Why so hasty? Can’t I just look?”

The stall owner was intimidated by Zhuo Nan’s tough demeanor and softened his tone, “Alright, alright, take your time, look all you want…” He went back to smoking, ignoring Zhuo Nan.

“How do you know it’s from Kangxi’s time?” Zhuo Nan asked internally. “And do you even know who Kangxi was?”

His brain answered smugly, “I’ve read your history books, haven’t I? Based on my analysis, the material shows at least three centuries of age. So, it’s likely from Kangxi’s era. Whether it was used by the royal family or not, I can’t say.”

Zhuo Nan grinned to himself, “Finally, there’s something you don’t know.”

He turned to the stall owner, “Hey, buddy, knock a bit more off and I’ll take it.”

The stall owner, surprised that Zhuo Nan was serious, frowned, “Brother, I can’t go any lower. How about two sixty?”

Zhuo Nan shook his head, “Fifty yuan, and I’ll take it right now.”

The stall owner was stunned, nearly whining, “Brother, that’s a bit harsh…”

“No more bargaining. Fifty. Besides, it’s not really from Kangxi’s era. How would you even get your hands on something from then?” Zhuo Nan set the vase down.

The stall owner thought for a moment. He’d bought the vase for thirty at the City God Temple (not the one in Shanghai). Making twenty on it was fine, but as a businessman, he had to try for more. “Brother, can’t you go higher? Fifty is too little. Look at all these things I have to haul out—give me something for travel expenses…”

Zhuo Nan waved him off, “Fifty. If you don’t want to sell, I’ll leave…”

The stall owner made up his mind—fifty it would be. He hadn’t made a single sale all night. “Brother, it’s fate. I’ll give you a deal—fifty yuan.”

Zhuo Nan was delighted, feeling he’d struck gold. He quickly handed over fifty yuan. “Here, keep it safe. The vase belongs to me now.”

The stall owner tucked the money away, saying, “Need anything else? I’ve got items from the Warring States period…”

Zhuo Nan rolled his eyes, “Quit bluffing. I’m off…” With that, he left, happily cradling his vase.

He flagged down a taxi, and once inside, started chatting with his brain. “So, how much do you think this thing is worth?”

His brain was silent for a moment, probably calculating. “Hard to say, but at least a million or so.”

“What? Only that much? I’ve seen those auction shows on TV where items go for tens of millions…”

Zhuo Nan didn’t know much about antiques—those TV auctions were for national treasures.

“Yeah, I’m not too sure either. You’d probably need an expert to authenticate it,” the brain replied.

A million yuan wasn’t much to Zhuo Nan now, so he didn’t care. “Forget about experts. I don’t need that kind of money—just keep it at home.”

The brain said nothing more. Indeed, a million meant little to Zhuo Nan these days, and even less to his supercilious superbrain.

***This chapter may seem a bit random, pulling out a vase for no reason. Don’t worry—once Zhuo Nan enters high school, you’ll understand.***