Fortune 003: New Customers

Nan Shi slumped into his chair, thought about it for a long while, and finally decided to open up a game for a bit of happiness. As for tonight’s business, he resolved to close shop at five and go home!

He had no intention of doing business with ghosts!

Escaping may be shameful, but it’s useful!

As the sun climbed higher, the pedestrian street grew more crowded. Tourists, some strolling after a meal and others hunting for something new, were attracted by the delicate, varied trinkets in his display, and Nan Shi soon found himself too busy for games.

Most people only browsed, but that’s the service industry: until they pay, the customer is God.

Of course, customers came in different categories. When two girls, each carrying a branded purse, walked in, Nan Shi glided over. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

His smile was mild and appropriate, his posture upright and courteous, his speech calm and measured. Draped in a silk robe, he truly had the air of a refined gentleman. The two girls let their eyes wander over the cabinets, then pointed at some new items Nan Shi had just stocked yesterday. “Can we try that lotus prayer bead bracelet?”

“Of course.” Nan Shi leaned slightly, opened the glass counter, and took out the entire velvet tray, setting it before them.

He gestured for them to help themselves.

They had taken a fancy to a string of bodhi root beads Nan Shi had designed, made of fifteen beads carved like lotus blossoms. The skin of the bodhi roots hadn’t been completely peeled away; instead, some was left, creating blossoms that were red outside and white within. At the end dangled a pale green tassel, capped with a pure white bodhi carved into a lotus seedpod—an allegory of red flower, white root, green lotus leaf.

The motif came from a Daoist saying, “Red flower, white root, green lotus leaf—the three teachings are one,” referring to the three founders of Daoism. As for why a Daoist sentiment would be crafted from a Buddhist material like bodhi root, Nan Shi would rather not overthink it—if it looked good, that was enough.

—Bodhi root was cheap, sturdy, and attractive.

The girls tried the bracelet. Nan Shi praised them smoothly, “I always knew it would look good once made… and it truly does.”

The compliments, coupled with the bracelet’s appeal, won them over. They asked the price, and at only three hundred yuan, they paid gladly, leaving arm in arm with smiles.

Nan Shi inclined his head, watching them out the door. With the sweet sound of “Alipay has received six hundred yuan” in his ear, he inwardly gave himself a thumbs up.

In business, dignity doesn’t earn you much. With that sale, he’d recouped the entire cost of the batch—everything else from here on was pure profit.

He certainly wasn’t some rich heir; this two-story, one-hundred-square-meter shop was funded with money raised by mortgaging his own home. Sixty thousand yuan per year for rent—if he didn’t keep his prices sharp and his hand steady, bankruptcy was imminent.

Blame his youthful optimism, swayed by all those online tales promising a leisurely shopkeeper’s life, selling trinkets and antiques, raking in gold while enjoying an easy “retirement.”

He’d thought he had it all figured out. People said antiques were a business of extremes—days without a sale, and then a single purchase could feed you for three years. By coincidence, an antique shop owner on this street was ready to cash out. Nan Shi took the plunge and bought up the business, inventory and all.

He never expected that instead of easy living, he’d end up holding the short end of the stick. Without hard work, he’d join the next generation of the thoroughly indebted—with nothing but ruined credit to show for it.

As for those antiques he’d spent so much to acquire?

Most were fakes, and the genuine pieces were nearly worthless—like the Five Emperors coins one could buy for a yuan apiece.

There’s an unwritten rule in antiques: the seller never says what’s real or fake—the buyer must judge for themselves. Pay real money for a fake, and that’s the price of your education.

Nan Shi hadn’t been in the business long, but he knew the rule and accepted it.

In fact, when he bought the shop, the previous owner made no promises about authenticity.

He had sold a couple of genuine items, both to distinguished-looking middle-aged men. Nan Shi didn’t have the nerve to outright claim they were genuine, nor could he declare them fake and undermine business. He’d simply smiled without comment.

The goods sold, and if those buyers ever realized they’d been had, or simply accepted it as bad luck, they never made a scene. Maybe they wrote about it online, because from then on, not a single customer bought a real antique from Nan Shi’s shop.

He couldn’t just sit and wait for ruin. After some research, he saw that the best business was old-brand snack shops—using ancestral recipes he couldn’t hope to imitate. Next came milk tea shops, but the franchise fees were out of reach.

That left him with trinkets and small jewelry—easy to source wholesale with low overhead. Luckily, the shop’s decor looked high-end, which helped sales. He could scrape by this way.

Thinking of this, Nan Shi smiled and, noticing the crowd thinning, ordered takeout. He used the break to take out the last bodhi bracelet, swapping out the old jade at his chest—one of three he’d had custom-made.

The jade pendant he wore was smooth and luminous, an obviously fine piece. A bit heavy, though, so he often had to adjust his robe—not ideal.

He put the jade away in the counter. He would never sell it; his senior brother had given it to him, and if he ever did, he’d be in for it—maybe even before nightfall! But as a display piece, it drew eyes and made an impressive centerpiece.

Soon his meal arrived. He was eating when a middle-aged man entered, clad in casual clothes, perhaps forty or fifty, though Nan Shi couldn’t quite tell—his face was young, somewhere between thirty and forty perhaps.

His cheeks were full, his face unlined, and the area beneath his eyes was full and robust; his complexion was ruddy, making him seem brimming with vitality.

Nan Shi recognized at a glance the look of a man blessed with both son and daughter, and figured he might be due some good fortune soon.

But his senior brother had warned him: do not, for now, tell fortunes for the living. He could look, but keep his mouth shut, or face karmic consequences alone.

The man strode in and called, “Boss!”

He pointed at the jade on display near the door. “Can you take out that pendant and let me see it?”

Nan Shi put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and offered his professional smile. “Sorry, that one’s not for sale.”

“Oh…” The man’s face showed a flicker of surprise—he hadn’t expected such a young shop owner. “I really like it. You sure you won’t sell? Money’s not a problem.”

Nan Shi walked over, smiling. “It was a gift from an elder—I really can’t sell it, sorry for the trouble.”

…Was this pendant really so desirable? Not even out half an hour, and someone had already tried to buy it? Better put it away before it draws more attention.

“I see.” The man didn’t give up, asking, “But if you ever did sell it, what price would you ask?”

He figured if a shopkeeper refused to sell something, it was just a question of price.

“I truly wouldn’t sell it, no matter how much,” Nan Shi replied, shaking his head. “If I did, my elder would probably show up in my dreams at midnight and beat me half to death.”

He actually would get beaten half to death in his dreams! Maybe not even in a dream! That was no joke!

The man, hearing his answer, accepted it. “Understood. Do you have anything similar? Could you show me?”

Nan Shi did have similar pendants—real ones, too, authenticated. He turned to unlock a case, asking, “Is it a gift? How old’s the recipient?”

“It’s for my daughter—she’s not even born yet! Next month!” Talking about his unborn child, the man’s face lit up. “She’ll be a sturdy girl! The doctor says he’s never seen a healthier baby!”

Nan Shi found the jade, paused at these words, then pulled out a pair of jade dragon-phoenix pendants and placed them on the counter. When he opened the indigo jewelry box, the man’s eyes shone as he immediately picked up the dragon-phoenix pair. “These are beautiful!”

He glanced at the single Hetian jade safety-lock. “This is nice too… Hard to choose.”

Nan Shi said instinctively, “A single pendant isn’t enough.”

The man’s lower eyelids were full and strong—a sign, according to the physiognomy books, of someone with both son and daughter. But Nan Shi didn’t know his birth chart; looks were only clues, so he wouldn’t say too much.

The man was surprised, “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Nan Shi nearly slapped his own mouth, but managed to improvise a plausible answer. “…You see, with dragon and phoenix in harmony, where the phoenix goes, the dragon is never far away. Perhaps next year you’ll have a son as well—then you’ll have the perfect pairing! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

The man’s eyes twitched with delight, the fullness beneath them even more pronounced. He repeated “wonderful” several times, then burst out laughing. “You really say it well—but honestly, what I’d really like is another daughter. Girls are the best! So sweet and caring! If it’s a rascal of a boy, I’ll be working till I’m old before I can retire.”

“It’s different. Sons don’t need as much attention when they’re older. If I had a daughter, I’d still worry on my deathbed about her getting bullied without a father around.”

The man nodded firmly. “Exactly! My girl’s not even born, and I’m already wondering how I’ll bear it if she ever marries—raise her for decades and in a blink she belongs to someone else… To tell you the truth, I’ve lost sleep over it for days! Maybe I do need a son after all—so when I’m gone he can look after his big sister!”

By this point, Nan Shi knew the sale was guaranteed. The man was open and sincere, and Nan Shi gave a fair price—the jade was of icy variety jadeite, quoted at 48,000. The man thought the number unlucky and rounded it up to 50,000, swiping his card and leaving happily with his purchase.

After seeing the customer out, Nan Shi rolled his shoulders in relief. That sale would let him relax a little for the rest of the month.

His eyes fell on the old jade pendant in the case, and he quickly took it out and slipped it into his pocket, not wanting to tempt fate.

That jade was uncanny: with it on display, customers flocked for a sale; as soon as he put it away, the afternoon was quiet, just the odd young couple or student browsing cheap trinkets, but mostly window-shopping. Nan Shi began to wonder if there was some feng shui at play—maybe he should try displaying another pendant?

Thinking so, he placed the Hetian safety-lock in the case, then took a feather duster to the antique shelves, tidying up for better presentation. By the time he finished, it was already five o’clock. Startled, he hurried to close up shop.

Five o’clock: day and night mingling, the hour where shadows dance and boundary lines blur—a bad time if you linger.

Nan Shi looped the old lock around the door, turned to leave, and nearly collided face-to-face with a bent old man in a Tang-style suit.

The setting sun bathed the old man in a golden-red glow, making his features hard to discern.

The old man glanced up at the sign above the door, then at Nan Shi. “You must be Mr. Nan? …Lucky I left home early since you’re closing up shop ahead of schedule today.”

A sharp wind swept down the street, chilling Nan Shi through the collar, making him shiver despite the sunlight still warming his back.

The old man smiled, his gaze locked squarely on Nan Shi. “Or is it… that Mr. Nan doesn’t wish to do business with me?”