Dragging my suitcases through the north gate of the market, the first thing I saw was the large canopy section. Wow, it just happened to be Saturday, and calling it a sea of people would not be an exaggeration.

There were endless stalls selling bodhi seeds, amber, turquoise, porcelain, miscellaneous trinkets, jade, jewelry, bronze weapons, stone carvings, rubbings, embroidery, calligraphy, and paintings. There was literally everything. It was overwhelming, and my eyes darted around, struggling to take it all in.

Of course, most of it was fake. Genuine pieces on the canopy stalls were rare.

I chuckled to myself, thinking, "Everything here is fake, but my items are the real deal, collected by myself—authentic antiques. I should be able to sell them quickly."

I spotted an empty stall in the canopy area and decided to unpack my goods and set up shop.

"Hey, what are you doing?" A bald vendor nearby stopped me.

"Setting up a stall," I replied.

"Setting up a stall? Is this your spot? Get out of here, kid. Scram!"

Gritting my teeth, I said, "I’m setting up here. Is this your stall? I’ll pay you—how much do you want?"

The bald man’s eyes gleamed as he smiled slyly.

"One hundred yuan. Give me one hundred, and you can set up here."

"What?! One hundred yuan!"

"Why is it so expensive?"

He gave me a sideways glance and said, "That’s the price. If you’re not paying, then hurry up and move along. Don’t block my business."

At that point, I only had less than a hundred yuan left in my pocket. Clenching my teeth, I haggled with him and managed to get him to agree to ninety yuan.

Now I was left with only three yuan to my name.

The bald man took the money and grinned the whole time.

But then, just as I started unpacking, barely getting half my items out, the market loudspeaker suddenly blared to life:

"Ladies and gentlemen, attention please. The Panjiayuan Flea Market is now closed for the day. We kindly ask all visitors to gather your belongings and leave the market in an orderly manner. We wish you a pleasant shopping experience and prosperous business."

As the announcement played, vendors all around me began packing up their stalls.

I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t even started!

Fuming, I stormed over to the bald man and said, "Give me back my money! The market is closing, and I didn’t even get to set up properly!"

"Pah!" The bald man spat on the ground and glared at me, "What do you mean you didn’t set up? You already spread out your mat! That counts as setting up! There’s no way you’re getting your money back!"

My eyes turned red with anger. I grabbed his arm and refused to let go, shouting at him to return my money.

"Get lost, you little brat!" He cursed at me and then kicked me hard in the stomach.

I was only 17 at the time—there was no way I could fight back against that man. The kick left me in so much pain that I couldn’t even straighten my back.

As the crowd dwindled, the vendors packed up their stalls and loaded their goods onto tricycles to leave. The bald man who had kicked me also left.

It was the heart of winter. Although Beijing wasn’t as cold as Mohe, the nights were still bitterly chilly.

The market security guards, accompanied by large dogs, noticed how slow I was at packing up. They scolded me repeatedly, warning me that I’d be fined if I didn’t leave on time.

The days were short, and the nights were long. By the time I dragged my suitcases out of the market, it was already dark. I was freezing, starving, and had only three yuan left in my pocket.

I sat on a bench by the roadside for half an hour before hearing that there was an internet café near Huawiqiao Xili, about two kilometers away.

Dragging my suitcases along, I made my way there. However, when I arrived and inquired, I learned that even the cheapest overnight computer station cost ten yuan—money I didn’t have.

The idea of staying at the internet café fell apart.

Outside, the cold was unbearable. Out of desperation, I dragged my suitcases into an ATM self-service bank.

Occasionally, people came in to withdraw money, glancing at me with strange, wary eyes.

The floor was freezing. I couldn’t fall asleep, so I pulled up the hood of my coat and curled up in the corner by the wall.

After two or three hours passed, I was half-asleep when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I looked up to see a woman in her fifties holding a small white dog on a leash—probably a resident of the nearby Jinsong neighborhood.

"Young man, why are you sleeping here in such cold weather?"

"I just bought two sesame flatbreads; they’re still warm. If you don’t mind, take them and eat. I’ll leave them here for you," she said, shaking her head as she placed a plastic bag on the red metal box that held the fire extinguisher.

The woman left without waiting for a response.

My stomach growled loudly, and in the end, I couldn’t resist. I reached for the plastic bag.

The flatbreads were sesame-coated, crispy, and fragrant.

As I ate, tears began streaming down my face.

"Am I just going to give up like this?"

"If I go back now, won’t everyone look down on my family even more?"

"No, I won’t let that happen," I told myself over and over, trying to muster my courage. "Xiang Yunfeng, you will become wealthy someday."

At 8 a.m. the next morning, I returned to Panjiayuan.

Since I didn’t have the money to pay for a stall, I had no choice but to wander around with my suitcases. Whenever I saw someone inspecting porcelain, I would approach them and say, "Big brother, would you like to take a look at my porcelain? They’re all genuine antiques, and I’ll give you a fair price."

But then, the market loudspeaker blared again:

"Attention shoppers, beware of fraudulent vendors following you. Please keep an eye on your belongings to avoid being scammed."

The moment the announcement played, the people I approached started looking at me differently—as if I was a scammer—and quickly walked away.

I asked several people in a row, but they all assumed I was some kind of scammer or a fraudulent vendor.

Finally, I decided to try my luck by entering an antique shop. I asked the shop owner if he bought porcelain.

The shop owner replied indifferently, "What items do you have? Let me take a look."

Feeling a spark of hope, I quickly laid my suitcase flat and opened it.

"Hmm, these items aren’t too great," the shop owner commented as he glanced over my collection. "They’re old, but not valuable. How much are you asking for this pair of late-Qing Dynasty cobalt blue vases?" He pointed at the pair of "chicken feather" vases in my suitcase.

Swallowing nervously, I answered cautiously, "They’re from the late Qing Dynasty… Could you give me 800 yuan for the pair?"

"What? 800?" The shop owner’s eyes widened. "I’ll give you 150 at most. Take it or leave it."

"150 for the pair?" My heart sank.

I had collected these items from remote mountain villages, endured freezing temperatures, and taken a hard-seat train for more than 2,000 kilometers. The cost of acquiring them alone had been 100 yuan!

And now, I’d only earn 50 yuan after all that effort?

I felt my face flush with anger. Without saying much, I began packing my items back into the suitcase. Seeing that I was about to leave, the shop owner quickly added, "Hey, don’t be so hasty! Fine, I’ll add another 20 yuan. How about 170?"

I held back my frustration, thinking that my asking price was entirely reasonable. But the way I was being treated—offered such a low price—felt humiliating.

"Keep that extra 20 yuan for yourself!"

When someone is already angry, they won’t listen to reason. And for a hot-headed young man like me, my temper flared even more. Ignoring him, I grabbed my suitcase and stormed out of the shop.

I still hadn’t given up. I decided to try setting up a stall outside the market. But as soon as I stepped out, I saw that city enforcement officers were confiscating goods. Several people selling fake goods guerrilla-style had already had their items seized.

Terrified, I immediately abandoned the idea of setting up shop outside.

But as the saying goes, "When one door closes, another one opens."

Just when I was feeling utterly hopeless, an old man approached me and said, "Young man, Panjiayuan is packed on weekends, and the stall fees here are steep. Why don’t you try Baoguo Temple? I’ve heard the stalls there don’t charge any fees."

Hearing this good news, I was overjoyed. I grabbed my suitcase and hurried to the Baoguo Temple near Guang’anmen.

The free stalls at Baoguo Temple became my last hope.

[--------------------------------------------]

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