I feel right at home in the world of the courtyard house.

The second house was in an even more secluded alley. The man who opened the door was an elderly man in his sixties surnamed Wu. It was said that his ancestors were textile manufacturers in Jiangnan and that they had a considerable fortune. The old man was indifferent, but when he heard that people had come to look at his things, he still let them into the house.

The Wu family's situation was clearly worse than the Chen family's; the house was simply furnished, and the air was filled with a musty smell. The old man pulled a long wooden box from under the bed, and inside were several scrolls of paintings.

"They were all passed down from our ancestors," the old man said in a hoarse voice, unfolding two of the paintings.

Li Jing'an's eyes lit up. One was a landscape painting from the Ming Dynasty, and the other was a flower-and-bird painting from the Qing Dynasty. Although he wasn't an expert in this field, he could tell that the painters were quite skilled. He thought to himself: he could keep the landscape painting for himself, and the flower-and-bird painting would be perfect as a gift for Director Gao—elegant yet understated.

"Mr. Wu, what's the price of these two paintings?" Li Jing'an asked.

The old man quoted a price, which was significantly higher than Mr. Chen's porcelain. Zhao Wenguang quickly smoothed things over: "Mr. Wu, this Comrade Li is genuinely interested; could the price be..."

"This is the price, not a penny less," the old man interrupted him, his tone resolute. "This was all left to us by our ancestors. If it weren't for our dire financial situation..."

Li Jing'an frowned, somewhat displeased. It wasn't that he was unwilling to spend the money, but rather that he disliked the feeling of being pressured to accept higher prices. Zhao Wenguang continued to try to persuade him, but the old man's attitude grew increasingly firm.

"Never mind." Li Jing'an's smile faded, and he gave Zhao Wenguang a wink. "Since Old Wu is reluctant, we won't force him."

As the two left the Wu family's house, Zhao Wenguang looked regretful and muttered, "That old man, he really doesn't know what's good for him! Where can you find such a good customer..."

Li Jing'an waved his hand, feeling somewhat disappointed. He had kept the porcelain for himself, but the gift for Director Gao was still nowhere to be found. He stood at the alley entrance, lit a cigarette, and seemed lost in thought.

"Comrade Li," Zhao Wenguang's eyes suddenly lit up, "if you only want to buy paintings, why don't you go to Rongbaozhai? They have both ancient and modern paintings there. Although the prices may be higher, they guarantee authenticity."

Li Jing'an thought for a moment and nodded: "Let's go take a look."

Rongbaozhai is located on Liulichang West Street, not far from the antique shop where Zhao Wenguang works. The shop is grand, with various writing implements and exquisitely framed calligraphy and paintings displayed in the windows. Upon entering, a faint scent of ink and the unique aroma of Xuan paper wafts out.

There weren't many customers in the store. A middle-aged clerk wearing glasses approached and asked, "Sir, what would you like to see?"

"Just browsing," Li Jing'an said, walking towards the wall covered with calligraphy and paintings.

He was shocked when he saw it. The prices ranged from tens to hundreds of yuan, with the most expensive ancient painting priced at a staggering five thousand yuan! He gasped inwardly; that amount was equivalent to ten years' wages for an average worker. He couldn't afford it, and he dared not buy it—giving such an expensive item as a gift would likely cause trouble.

His gaze continued to wander, and suddenly, several familiar names caught his eye: Qi Baishi, Huang Zhou, Li Keran... Li Jing'an's heart skipped a beat. These names were household names in his later years; their paintings would fetch tens or even hundreds of millions at auctions. And now, they hung quietly here, priced at only a few dozen to a hundred yuan.

Li Jing'an leaned closer to examine the paintings. Qi Baishi's shrimp paintings were priced at 80 yuan, Huang Zhou's donkey paintings at 65 yuan, and Li Keran's landscape paintings at 120 yuan... His hands trembled slightly, not from excitement, but from a sense of disorientation as if time and space were out of place.

"Are you interested in these paintings, sir?" The shop assistant noticed his gaze.

Li Jing'an took a deep breath to calm himself: "Are there many buyers for the works of these painters right now?"

The shop assistant smiled and said, "Qi Baishi's paintings have always been very popular, but fewer people are buying them these past two years. Everyone is paying more attention to their practical needs in life."

Li Jing'an nodded, already having made up his mind. He pointed to Huang Zhou's "Herding Donkeys," Qi Baishi's "Shrimp Fun," Li Keran's "Green Mountains and Clear Waters," and two other small works by lesser-known artists: "I want all five of them."

The shop assistant was visibly taken aback for a moment, then gave a professional smile: "Okay, I'll take it down for you. It'll be three hundred and thirty yuan in total."

Zhao Wenguang stared wide-eyed, clearly not expecting Li Jing'an to be so generous. When it came time to pay, Li Jing'an counted out a stack of ten-yuan bills. After the clerk carefully counted them, he carefully rolled up the painting and wrapped it in kraft paper.

As they left Rongbaozhai, Li Jing'an took out ten yuan from his pocket and handed it to Zhao Wenguang: "Thank you for your hard work today."

Zhao Wenguang waved his hands repeatedly: "Comrade Li, I can't accept these. I bought these two paintings at Rongbaozhai, not from the one I recommended... I really have no face to accept them."

"Take it." Li Jing'an stuffed the money into his hand. "If it weren't for you today, I wouldn't have been able to find the Chen family, let alone come to Rongbaozhai. If I need anything in the future, I'll come to you again."

Zhao Wenguang, clutching the money, quickly assured him, "Comrade Li, you are truly a generous person. If you ever need my help in the future, please don't hesitate to ask."

The two parted ways at the west entrance of Liulichang Street. Li Jing'an carried his things and rode his bicycle slowly back to the courtyard house. The setting sun cast a long shadow of him, and on the street, people hurried home from get off work, the sound of bicycle bells ringing everywhere.

Back in the courtyard house, Li Jing'an carefully put away the things he had bought that day. The Yongzheng famille rose bowl and the Qianlong enamel vase were placed deep in the cabinet, while the five paintings were neatly arranged in the drawer. He took out Huang Zhou's "Herding Donkeys" and unfolded it. The painting depicted several donkeys in different poses, with vigorous and unrestrained brushstrokes, full of life.

"This one will do," Li Jing'an muttered to himself. Giving it to Director Gao would be both elegant and understated, and more importantly, it was a work by a contemporary painter, so it wouldn't arouse unnecessary suspicion.

Night fell, and the courtyard quieted down. Li Jing'an lay in bed, but couldn't sleep. Today at Rongbaozhai, he had paid special attention to Li Keran's works, but hadn't seen the later-famous "Thousands of Mountains in Red." Perhaps it hadn't been painted yet; he resolved to visit more often in the future.

It's not for monetization; what use would these paintings be if they appreciated in value later when he got old?

It's purely for showing off when I'm old.