C3 The Stamps Were in His Hands

Having a goal is crucial, but what's even more important is achieving it. This was the challenge facing Chu Jun: how to acquire the coveted "Red-Patterned and Sealed Small Character"?

"Dad, I need some cash!" Chu Jun stood up, reaching for the money in Chu Yunhe's pocket, perhaps emboldened by his earlier lengthy discourse on the Asian financial crisis and the struggles of export businesses.

Chu Yunhe, still reeling from surprise, reflexively pulled out his wallet. Despite his debts, he had some cash on hand.

"Hey! You haven't told me what you're up to yet!" Chu Yunhe regained his composure, but as he spoke, his son swiftly withdrew a stack of bills from the wallet—easily over a thousand yuan.

"Hehe, Dad, no need to worry. Just head home and wait for me. I've got a big surprise for you!" With that, Chu Jun dashed out the door without a backward glance.

Chu Jun had a plan. He pedaled his bike straight to Drum Tower Street, also known as Antique and Secondhand Goods Street, a place not only filled with antique shops but also brimming with secondhand TVs and furniture.

The mountain bike's brakes were impressively responsive. With a sharp squeal, Chu Jun stopped in front of a modest antique shop called Juya Zhai, wiped the sweat from his brow, and steadied his breath.

Juya Zhai didn't stand out among the street's offerings, but it had left a lasting impression on Chu Jun. The shock of the 2001 news story was unforgettable, and even after he started working, he had made a point to visit, though things had changed since then.

Chu Jun strolled into the shop with his hands casually tucked in his pockets. The cluttered space was filled with an assortment of items, predominantly bronze and jade, alongside a surplus of pots, jars, plates, and bowls.

The glass display cases were crammed with trinkets like pendants and a variety of ancient coins. The shop was small, barely over ten square meters, and lacked even the space to comfortably stand.

At the sound of footsteps, a man behind the counter stirred, rising from his recliner where he had been lying. In his fifties and looking like he had just woken up, he eyed the young Chu Jun, who didn't seem the type to be spending money. After a brief glance, he said nothing and settled back into his chair.

"Hey!" Chu Jun nearly let loose a swear word. The old man had just sneered at him, his eyes brimming with scorn, clearly looking down on Chu Jun for not appearing wealthy enough to warrant his attention.

Old man, since you're acting so disagreeable, I see no point in wasting words with you. This item isn't meant for you, or it might just be the end of you.

"Boss, how much for these old books over here?" Chu Jun crouched down next to a wooden box on the ground, filled with a stack of ancient books, their yellowed pages printed in vertical traditional characters.

Chu Jun was certain that the red stamp with the double horizontal lines was hidden among these books, and the very thought ignited an inexplicable fervor within him.

The only title Chu Jun could fully recognize was "The Complete Works of Xunzi." The rest were either indecipherable or had covers that were completely deteriorated.

"Depends on the condition. The good ones are twenty, the average ones ten!" came the old man's voice from behind the counter, resonant and deep.

"Just this box! Give me a discount, and I'll take them all!" Chu Jun's proposition finally coaxed the old man out of his chair. He ambled over from behind the counter and gave Chu Jun a thorough once-over.

"Young man, you sure you want to buy? Got the cash?"

"What kind of question is that? Why else would I be here if not to buy? Just tally it up. I'm taking the lot. Make it quick; it's my grandpa's birthday tomorrow, and I plan to gift these as his present!"

Chu Jun spoke with a hint of impatience, yet his heart was pounding, his palms slick with sweat. He couldn't risk any sleight of hand here—not with the old man's watchful eyes likely on him from behind the counter. Otherwise, these treasures would have been pilfered clean by now.

Even if Chu Jun knew exactly which book held the coveted "one-eight" stamp, he dared not extract it separately. If it were to fall out during checkout, he'd be caught red-handed without a fox to blame for the mess.

So, the best strategy was to buy the whole lot—simple, direct, and with over a thousand yuan in his pocket, Chu Jun could afford to be a little reckless.

"Alright, young man, you've got a good heart. Let me take a look!" The old man fiddled with the wooden box. It had been sitting there for over two years, filled with books that people browsed but never bought. Truth be told, they weren't worth much—just impressive to look at.

"I've made a couple of rounds and only your stall has these old books. But listen, boss, don't try to pull one over on me. If I get an earful when I get back home, I'll be knocking on your door. We're from the same neck of the woods; you can't escape the temple!" Chu Jun intentionally diverted the old man's attention, and as expected, the old man rifled through the box and then paused.

"No worries. We're all from the same village. I won't even count them. I'll give you the whole box for eight hundred yuan. How does that sound? I'm not conning you, am I? There's at least fifty or sixty ancient books in here. Some may not look great, but they're the real deal. Who knows, they might be worth a fortune someday. When that day comes, young man, don't forget about my little shop!"

The old man's face beamed with genuine warmth, especially when he saw Chu Jun pull out the cash without hesitation. He was overjoyed to finally unload what he considered a pile of scrap paper and clear some space.

"No problem at all!" With the shopkeeper's assistance, Chu Jun secured the box to the back of his mountain bike and rode off, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"Stamps!"

"Stamps!"

Once Chu Jun was down the alley, he stopped the bike, set the box on the ground, and began frantically searching through it.

"I've got it!" Chu Jun's pulse quickened as he held the "Brief History of the Qing" in his hands. The greenish-gray cover was marred with large oil stains, and the bottom right corner appeared to have been gnawed by a mouse, leaving a semicircular bite mark.

But Chu Jun couldn't be bothered with such details. His memory was clear: this was the book, the one with the horizontal double line "Red Revenue Stamp Overprinted with Small Characters" tucked inside.

The book suddenly felt heavy in his grasp, his palms slick with sweat as his breathing turned erratic. The fate of his family, their salvation, hinged on the contents of this book.

With a deep exhale, Chu Jun steadied himself and began to turn the pages—one, two, three—meticulously, fearing he might overlook some crucial detail.

Then, in a heartbeat, a red stamp with bold black lettering came into view. "CHINA" was emblazoned across the top, with "大清邮政" (Great Qing Post) written horizontally beneath it, and "當壹圆" (One Dollar) in vertical script. The colors were still vibrant, the horizontal pair remarkably well-preserved—easily in eighty to ninety percent mint condition.

Twenty million! Fortune had arrived!