Folklore and Strange Tales: At the Start, You Retrieve the Sea-Suppressing Black Iron

The next morning at ten o'clock, the passageway in the eastern section of Panjiayuan was packed with people. Cheng Xiaojin squatted on a small stool, holding a copper lock from the Republic of China era, and told the old lady carrying a vegetable basket about its origin.

"Look at this lock, it's engraved with the 'Five Sons Passing the Imperial Examination' design. In the past, wealthy families used it for their babies' one-month celebrations, hanging it in their homes to ward off evil spirits, and it would last for decades without breaking."

The woman reached out and touched the patina on the lock's surface. Just as she was about to ask the price, three figures blocked her way in front of the stall.

The fat man in the middle weighed at least 180 or 190 pounds, with a round head and a round belly. The buttons on his dark blue Tang suit were taut, as if they could burst off at any moment.

He had a string of sandalwood beads wrapped around his left wrist and a folding fan painted with orchids in his right hand. His steps were so heavy that they left imprints on the stone pavement. Among the young men following him, one of them, Cheng Xiaojin, with a buzz cut, looked familiar. He was the one who had slipped his business card to his stall the day before yesterday.

The woman was taken aback by the commotion, put down the copper lock, turned around, and squeezed into the crowd.

Cheng Xiaojin was unhappy to see the business opportunity slip away, but he didn't show it on his face and slowly put the copper lock back on the stall.

The fat man stopped in front of him, snapped his folding fan shut, and smiled.

"You're Xiao Cheng, right?"

"Who are you?"

"My surname is Sun, and my friends call me Fatty Sun. I'm a little older than you, so you can just call me Brother Sun."

"Did Brother Sun want to see me about something?"

Fatty Sun's gaze swept across the items on the stall, from the rough porcelain bowls from the folk kiln to the loose strings of copper coins, then to the old brick carvings with missing corners, and finally landed on Cheng Xiaojin's face.

"You don't have many items at your stall, but none of them are fake. You're one of a kind in Panjiayuan."

"You flatter me. It's just a small business, enough to make a living."

"This isn't an overstatement; it's a genuine compliment."

Fatty Sun shook the folding fan in his hand, the fan surface sweeping across the copper coins on the stall, making a clattering sound.

"In the entire Panjiayuan market, you can't count more than three vendors who can confidently say that everything on their stall is genuine; you're one of them."

"Brother Sun, you didn't come all this way just to praise me, did you?"

Fatty Sun laughed, his cheeks bulging outwards and his eyes narrowing into slits.

"I heard that you bought an iron tool from an old farmer in Hebei a couple of days ago?"

"Ironware?"

Cheng Xiaojin pretended to be stupid and reached out to rummage through the copper locks and coins on the stall.

"Look at my stall, it's all bronze and porcelain, where would I get any ironware?"

"The day before yesterday afternoon, an old man in a military green jacket stood in front of your stall carrying a burlap sack. You two chatted for almost half an hour, and in the end you paid for the goods."

As he spoke, Fatty Sun took out his phone from his Tang suit pocket, swiped it twice, and shoved the screen in front of Cheng Xiaojin's face.

The photo was taken from the side, showing Cheng Xiaojin sitting on a stool, holding the iron lump in his hand and looking at the sun, its outline clearly visible.

Cheng Xiaojin stared at the photo for two seconds, then looked up at Fatty Sun.

"Is Brother Sun having someone keep an eye on me?"

"What do you mean by 'keeping an eye on'? I'm just showing concern for the younger generation."

Fatty Sun took his phone back and put it in his pocket.

"Panjiayuan is such a big place, if someone has acquired something interesting and I happen to know about it, it's not unreasonable for me to come and ask about the price, is it?"

"Have you finished reading? Is there anything else?"

"have."

Fatty Sun tapped the folding fan in his palm, making a crisp sound.

"I want to see the actual product."

"What physical object?"

"That piece of iron in the photo."

"Hey, you mean that? It's just a piece of scrap metal. I bought it for eight hundred dollars, washed it when I got home, and it was all rusty. I thought it was useless, so I threw it in the trash the day before yesterday."

"Throw it away?"

"Throw it away."

Fatty Sun stared at him for a long time, his smile lingering, but his eyes darkened.

"Xiao Cheng, people who hang out in Panjiayuan don't have the rule of throwing genuine items into the trash can. You know that better than I do."

Cheng Xiaojin didn't reply, her fingertips picking at the lint balls that had formed on the cloth.

Fatty Sun sighed, unfolded his folding fan with a snap, and slowly fanned himself, the wind making the jade pendant hanging around his neck sway back and forth.

"Young man, I won't beat around the bush with you anymore. That piece of iron isn't an ordinary thing, and you don't really think it's scrap metal, otherwise you wouldn't have spent eight hundred yuan to buy it."

How do you know it's not ordinary?

"You don't need to worry about that."

Fatty Sun stopped laughing, and the flesh on his face sagged a little.

"I'll offer five thousand. You bring out the goods, and we'll exchange money for goods. Everyone's happy."

"I really threw it away, and no amount of money could make it come back to me."

"Ten thousand."

Fatty Sun took half a step forward and lowered his voice.

"Ten thousand yuan is enough for you to set up a stall in Panjiayuan for half a year, which is more than you can earn selling these scrap metals."

"Brother Sun, even if you give me 100,000, I can't conjure up a lump of iron for you. The item is definitely not in my possession."

Fatty Sun was silent for a few seconds, then closed the folding fan and handed it to the crew-cut man next to him.

"Xiao Cheng, I have something to tell you."

He lowered his voice even further, so that only Cheng Xiaojin could hear him.

"Last year, there was a young man who ran a stall in the West District. Just like you, he bought a good item but refused to sell it. He also told me he was going to throw it away."

He tapped the dark pattern on the hem of his Tang suit with his fingertips.

"Later, his stall was canceled by the market management office because they said his business license was problematic."

"Later, he went to another place in Chaoyang District to set up a stall, but after less than three days, he was reported for selling counterfeit goods, and all his goods were confiscated."

"Later on, he couldn't make a living there, so he went back to his hometown in Tongzhou to grow crops in greenhouses."

Cheng Xiaojin's palms were sweaty, and his fingertips dug into the cloth, managing to pry a small hole in it.

"Brother Sun, are you threatening me?"

"What do you mean by threat? I'm laying it all out on you."

Fatty Sun patted Cheng Xiaojin's shoulder, not with much force, but it made Cheng Xiaojin's shoulder sink down a little.

"Call me when you've made up your mind. I had someone give you the number the day before yesterday, so I don't need to hand it to you again, right?"

After saying that, he turned and left, with his two henchmen following behind him. They squeezed through the crowd and quickly disappeared from sight.

Cheng Xiaojin stood in front of the stall, watching his back, her lips pursed for a long time, but she couldn't say a word.

Zhao Defa from next door came over, sticking his head out quite far.

"Damn, that's Fatty Sun? What good stuff does he want from you?"

"Nothing much, just a few casual words."

"You think chatting about random things will make you turn pale? You're kidding me."

Zhao Defa pursed his lips and reached out to try and grab Cheng Xiaojin's backpack.

"Have you been hiding something good? Let me see it, I'm not going to steal it from you."

Cheng Xiaojin slapped his hand away and said irritably.

"What are you looking at? There's nothing to see."

"Hey, you change your mind faster than turning the pages of a book, ugh, boring."

Zhao Defa, feeling rebuffed, grumbled and went back to his stall.

Cheng Xiaojin sat alone on a small stool for the entire afternoon, without making a single sale.

To be honest, he was a little scared.

Five thousand or even ten thousand yuan is no small amount for him. It's enough for him to pay half a year's rent, enough for him to pay off all the braised food debts that Tong Kexin owes, and he can still have some money left to buy a new batch of goods.

He had seriously considered it; why not just sell the stuff to Fatty Sun and get six months of peace in return? It would be a worthwhile deal no matter how you looked at it.

But when he thought of what Master Ma had said, his father Cheng Shouyi, and the thick iron chain of the Lock Dragon Well at Beixinqiao in that black and white photo, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He remained in this dilemma until 8 p.m., then, carrying two completely cold roujiamo (Chinese hamburgers), he strolled back to his rented room in Fengtai.

As he opened the door, he was still thinking that he would call Master Ma while eating a roujiamo (Chinese hamburger) and ask what to do about this.

I threw my bag down as I entered, turned on the light, and walked over to the bed, squatted down, and peeked under the bed.

The cardboard box that held the instant noodles is still there.

But the location is wrong.

When he stuffed it in yesterday, the opening of the box faced the wall; now it faces outwards.

The pair of smelly sneakers that were deliberately placed in front of the box to block the view have now been moved to the other side.

Cheng Xiaojin felt a tingling sensation in his back. He squatted on the ground, not daring to move, and slowly pulled the cardboard box out.

He flipped open the old newspaper covering the box, and there lay the metal lump inside, the newspaper wrinkles exactly the same as when he wrapped it before, and the lock hadn't been touched.

Nothing was stolen, but someone came by.

Cheng Xiaojin sat on the ground, clutching the metal lump, his sweaty palms soaking a patch of the newspaper.

He remembered that when he went out, he had deliberately put semi-transparent tape on the back of the door, so that the tape would definitely be torn off whenever someone opened the door.

He slowly stood up, holding the lump of iron, and went behind the door to take a look.

The tape stuck to the door seam had long since broken, the cut was neat and clean, and someone had casually stuck it on the wall next to it.

There's a small marker drawing on the wall—a crooked padlock with an X drawn on it.

This is a warning from the underground circles of Panjiayuan, a warning against cutting off people's source of income.