Short, Light, Free

Chapter 91: The Value of Art (Part 2) III

Chapter 91: The Value of Art (Part 2) III

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, Boss Chalk, but I’m still going to,” he said softly.

“Speak.”

“The ceramic pieces you sold us... we auctioned them off a total of 63 times and failed almost 61 times.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, baffled.

“Simply speaking, we couldn’t sell them.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Because Boss rarely manages to sell your art, he doesn’t earn from it. I think that he got someone to take on your identity so that he could raise the works’ value,” he explained.

“Why does he still keep buying my stuff then?”

He could only shake his head.

“Don’t you find that strange?” I asked.

“I only found out about this last night and that’s why I’m telling you now.”

I waved my arm dismissively, my mind preoccupied. “Got it, you can leave now.”

“If you still plan to sell your pieces, mail them to this address and we’ll send the money over. We won’t be coming back again,” he stammered a bit fearfully before placing a name card on the table.

“Leave,” I said again.

He bolted out of my shop and handed his friends their cards.

I watched them rush down the street before I closed my shop.

I bought some fishing tools and waited for the next day.

Looking down at my clothes, I wondered if I was dressed too shabbily.

Frustrated, I visited a clothing shop and found a more suitable and casual outfit.

The next morning, I left for the reservoir early and got myself situated.

Gradually, I noticed more and more people arriving, much more than I expected.

I figured that at this rate, I wouldn’t get alone time with the boss even if I did find him.

I was just about to pack my stuff up and leave when I discovered something strange.

These people weren’t really fishing, they were just all acting perfunctorily.

Some simply threw their lines in without any bait and sat around idly. It seemed that they weren’t really here to fish.

I leaned over to a guy close to me and asked, “Will you catch any fishes like this, brother?”

He gave me a weird look before answering, “You’re really here to catch fishes?”

Surprised, I asked, “You’re not?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m just here for fun. Fish or no fish, I don’t really care.”

“A lot of them are like you, yeah? They don’t care about the fishes?”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Chalk.”

“Where do you do your business? Coming all the way here...”

“No, I’m here to fish.”

“You aren’t simple, are you? Do you know how long it’s been since someone came here to fish for real? I’ve been coming here for two years now, once every month. No one really fishes here and I’m sure you know it.”

I kept quiet.

He continued faintly, “Tell me, who introduced you to this place? What do you normally do?”

“I’m a ceramic artist.”

“Do you earn much? Coming here at such a young age... I’m guessing that you earn more than me. I buy and sell unlicensed vehicles. Bring me along when you do your business in the future and I’ll teach you what you need to know, aye?”

I nodded.

“Is this really your first time? The first time I came here, I had someone to guide me along. Come, scoot over. You can call me Director Chen,” he introduced.

I adjusted my chair and sat opposite of him.

Just then, a car drove over.

Turning around, I saw a Benz with the car plate number 7777A.

“He’s here,” I mumbled.

“Looks like you do know a little something. I’ll introduce you so don’t speak. Just watch and learn,” he said.

“I should keep quiet?” I asked.

“Boss Ma only mingles with familiar people. Things run deep here after all.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“Should I introduce you to him, Brother Chalk?”

I shook my head. “No need.”

“Alright.”

Director Chen called out to the man in the car, “This way first, Director Hai.”

The fatty in the car responded, “Looks like the sun is too hot and our director is getting impatient!”

He got off the car and walked over. “Who’s this young lad beside you?”

“A brother. He’s a ceramic artist and has a great business. I brought him here,” Director Chen said with a smile.

Fatty extended his hand. “Your name?”

I looked at him, not daring to say a word.

Director Chen interrupted, “He’s afraid of strangers. It’s hard doing business after all, so it’s only natural that he’s apprehensive.”

Fatty smiled, unoffended. “Understandable. I started off like that as well.”

Director Chen returned the smile. “Two orders, 700,000. Keep the collateral fee of the failed auctions and give me the rest.”

Fatty fished a stack of bank cards from his pocket and handed one over with Director Chen’s name on it. “Continue supporting my business.”

“Of course,” Director Chen reassured before taking his card.

Fatty looked over to me and offered me a name card. “This little brother here. Should I tell you the ways here?”

Director Chen grinned. “That’d be great! I was afraid of not sharing enough, causing him to misunderstand.”

“You’re a loyal client, how can I turn away your brother?” He turned to me and asked, “What do you think?”

“Thanks for your help,” I replied gratefully.

I slipped my left hand into my pocket and pressed the record button on my phone.

“I run an auction business in Beijing City, which has interaction with a television program called Treasure Time. You probably already know about this, but just send your black money over, wait for the price you want and make a bid. Appeal for a withdrawal and I’ll keep the 15% penalty fee while the rest of your money goes back to you – clean,” Fatty explained.

I nodded in realization and shut off the recording.

“Right, what’s your name, little brother? You can tell me now,” he encouraged smilingly.

“Name’s Chalk,” Director Chen answered on my behalf.

“Director Chalk, ceramic artist. Okay, I’ll write it down so give me a moment.” Fatty took out a notebook and pen to jot it down. His pen was already poised on the paper when I saw him pause, his brows wrinkling.

He looked at me. “You’re Chalk.”

I thought about what the three customers said. Boss admired my work.

“Why? You two know each other?” Director Chen asked.

Fatty grabbed my collar, but I immediately broke free and ran.

“Grab him. He’s problematic,” Fatty shouted.

In an instant, the people all around us that were ‘fishing’ stood up and chased after me. They weren’t as fast as me but I was still scared.

I looked back for a split second and saw the Benz speeding over.

Left without a choice, I jumped into the reservoir.

...

I could swim pretty decently but I still took in quite a lot of water.

I swam on and on for about half an hour before reaching a shore.

I sprawled down on the ground, almost paralyzed from exhaustion.

People started crowding over to me.

After a coughing fit, I stood up. They asked if I was alright but I walked far away from the crowd.

I rushed to the nearest police station, handed my phone’s memory card and managed to muster the last of my energy to say, “The recording inside.”

I promptly collapsed on the floor.

...

Epilogue.

Things came to an end and the program was being put under investigation.

Fatty was thrown into jail and in order to plead for a lighter sentence, he handed his notebook over to the police, allowing them to discover a Beijing money laundering site.

A month later, I closed my shop permanently because there practically wasn’t any business.

The ceramic pieces looked great, but I wasn’t really considered an artist.

“What are you waiting for?” Glasses shouted.

I snapped out of my reverie, looked down at my very own butcher knife and smiled.

“Coming!”