Chapter 28: Eighty Thousand!

What is kiln-transmutation porcelain?

It is something beyond human artifice, a rarity not seen in a thousand kilns.

On the way to the hospital, Hao Jun had certainly considered it: even if it were a Mansheng teapot, selling for six million... that couldn't be right, could it?

Now he understood. He waved his hand, cutting off the second half of what Lin Sicheng had left unsaid: "Master-brother, this is kiln-transmutation porcelain."

When Hao Jun mentioned that Lin Sicheng had paid for the pot, Lin Changqing was stunned, left completely speechless. Guan Xingmin had also found it strange at the time: "Old Lin, that’s your own grandson; why are you so shocked?"

Now he knew why: because this pot was kiln-transmutation porcelain.

How rare is it?

Xijing is an ancient capital of over a dozen dynasties and a disaster zone for relic smuggling, where all sorts of strange and varied artifacts pass through every year. Yet, until today, Guan Xingmin had never truly seen what kiln-transmutation porcelain looked like.

He sighed, then furrowed his brows. "But Zisha pottery is unglazed. How can there be such a thing as kiln-transmutation?"

"Lin Sicheng said the composition of the Liyang clay is unique: it has a low bauxite content but is very high in quartz and feldspar, combined with significant levels of iron oxide and an absurdly high amount of blue copper. With a high kiln temperature of around 1200 degrees, it perfectly creates the coloring conditions for an iron-copper glaze system... Of course, that’s just the primary cause; other auxiliary conditions are required to trigger the transmutation... not to mention it’s quite complex, and even he couldn't explain it clearly."

It wasn't just that Lin Sicheng couldn't explain it; even the most advanced modern scientific technology had yet to fully grasp the specific causes of kiln-transmutation in porcelain.

"But he’s only a youngster, how does he know so much?"

"Who knows? I suspect Professor Lin and Director Lin haven't figured it out either; otherwise, they wouldn't have been so dumbfounded!"

That was true. Lin Changqing was slightly better off, but especially with Lin Sicheng’s father—that expression at the time was enough to make one die laughing.

Guan Xingmin smiled again. "You’re generous enough. You didn't ask for half, or even ten percent—which would have been five or six hundred thousand—you just let it go?"

"Am I that desperate for money?"

Hao Jun let out a scoff, then recounted the story of Old Liu, who knew the truth but still sent someone to pry open the package, before sighing: "Old Guan, put yourself in his shoes. If you were Lin Sicheng, after finding such a treasure right in front of me, would you tell me without hesitation: 'This is kiln-transmutation porcelain, it's worth at least five or six million'?"

Guan Xingmin paused, speechless.

He might say it, but never so frankly. At the very least, he would hesitate.

This had nothing to do with character or quality; it was human nature, an instinct. Compared to that Master Liu, who had worked alongside Hao Jun for years, it was like the difference between heaven and earth.

Tsk, no wonder Old Hao was so moved.

"This young man is worth befriending!"

The light turned red, and Hao Jun stepped on the brake. "No kidding?"

...

In the hospital, the three generations looked at one another.

Lin Mingzhi felt as if he were dreaming: his son had gone out at noon, attended a meeting on behalf of his grandfather, taken a stroll through the West Warehouse, and then somehow earned six million?

That was six million!

He could live for three lifetimes without eating or drinking and still not earn that much. What he couldn't grasp was: they shared the same ancestors, the same genes, and almost identical faces. He was the father, so why wasn't he as talented as his son?

He looked down at himself: he didn't feel any different.

Just as he was feeling incredulous, Lin Changqing pointed to the wardrobe. "Sicheng, fetch my coat!"

"Oh."

Lin Sicheng rose and retrieved the jacket for Lin Changqing. The old man took out his wallet, pulled out a bank card, and held it out. "Don't be in a rush to sell the pot; keep it for a couple of years. There’s some money on this card; use it for now."

Lin Sicheng didn't take it. "I still have money. Rongbaozhai still owes me three hundred thousand!"

"Oh, I forgot!" Lin Changqing nodded. "If it's not enough, just say the word!"

"I know, Grandpa!"

Lin Mingzhi sat on the side, his eyes wide. He had seen that card before; the money inside was far more than "some," yet the old man was just handing it over? And Lin Sicheng didn't even want it?

The key was: where did Lin Sicheng get three hundred thousand? Plus the eighty thousand from before—he had been working for twenty years and hadn't earned that much. Lin Mingzhi felt like a cat was scratching at his heart, but with Lin Changqing present, how could he dare to ask?

The old man thought for a moment. "You're heading to school tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, Grandpa!"

"Good. Tomorrow I'll call Shang Yan and Professor Liu; I won't have them worrying about your postgraduate studies anymore..."

The old man paused, then sighed. "I know, some things you don't like to hear, but Grandpa has to say them: the simple accumulation of wealth is actually quite a distorted thing. If it accumulates too quickly, it invites all sorts of trouble, even risks. By contrast, whether it’s the rules, the atmosphere, values, or even human nature, school is much simpler and purer than the outside world. More importantly, resources are more concentrated. The opportunities to strengthen your own capabilities and expand your influence are far greater than they are outside..."

Lin Sicheng paused and nodded.

His grandfather was afraid: he knew there would come a day when he was gone, and by then, Sicheng might lack the background and strength to match his wealth.

Like a young child carrying gold through the marketplace.

That was why his grandfather insisted on him pursuing a master's degree, to accumulate experience while continuously building up his armor.

But why wasn't he doing the same for his father?

Subconsciously, he turned his head.

Lin Changqing sighed. "Don't look at your father. If he were reliable, would I need to be so strict with you?"

Lin Mingzhi’s face darkened, his lips trembling: Why wasn't he reliable?

Lin Changqing tapped the table. "Don't be unconvinced, and don't talk about earning money—wait until you stop losing it before you say anything!"

Lin Mingzhi’s expression stiffened, his lips moving, but he didn't dare make a sound.

Lin Changqing sighed again. "If your own eye isn't sharp enough, it's not like there isn't anyone in the family with a sharp eye. In the future, stop fussing around on your own!"

Lin Mingzhi gave a sheepish laugh.

Say what you will, he used to only be able to rely on his father, but now there was another one.

Lin Sicheng had a sudden realization: when it came down to it, his father had been swindled again. The eight thousand he had "borrowed" from his mother was probably used to plug a hole somewhere? It had actually scared him for a moment; he hadn't dared to ask, wondering for days: had his father gotten into some kind of trouble?

He breathed a sigh of relief and secretly rubbed his fingers together.

Lin Mingzhi’s eyes lit up.

He wouldn't go as far as asking for money—it was only natural to spend his father’s, but spending his son’s was going a bit too far. But in the future, when he asked Lin Sicheng to look at something, would he be at his beck and call? At the very least, he wouldn't have to be lectured every single time like he was with his own father.

Just as he was pondering this, a creak came from the door. Jiang Yanwan entered the ward carrying a lunch box.

"There's none for you two, go downstairs and eat yourselves!"

She gestured at Lin Mingzhi and Lin Sicheng, then noticed the card on the coffee table and jumped. "Dad, what are you doing?"

He had even taken out his savings... why did it look like he was giving his final instructions?

"I’m just happy, so I took it out to show Sicheng!"

Nonsense.

She glared at Lin Mingzhi, put the card back into the wallet, and tucked it into the jacket pocket. Just as she went to tidy up the Zisha teapot, Lin Mingzhi rushed forward and picked it up with extreme care.

"Be careful, this thing is worth six million!"

"How much?"

"Six million!"

Jiang Yanwan subconsciously glanced at the jacket on the chair.

"It didn't cost Dad's money, it was the boy's own: eighty thousand!" Lin Mingzhi said, looking serious as he lowered his voice. "Lin Sicheng really only spent eighty thousand!"

Watching the expression on her father-in-law's face, Jiang Yanwan’s heart wouldn't stop racing.

Eighty thousand, turning into six million!

In 2007, what did six million even mean?

Jiang Yanwan’s hands couldn't stop trembling.