My Life As A Tomb Robber Chapter 2: Fifteen Years Later

"Ah!"

Zhang Meng was roused from sleep by the screaming. The weight of irrational horror pressed on his chest like a huge stone. He could hardly breathe. It was that nightmare again, bizarre and horrible. This was the fifth time he had suffered from the same nightmare so far this month!

Holding a quilt, Zhang Meng sat there still, staring blankly for half an hour. Later, he calmed down.

With a wry smile, he got up, drew back the curtain, and gazed pensively at the great snowflakes falling from the sky.

The scene in his nightmare was the favorite story that his father used to tell him for four or five years when Zhang Meng was a little boy. Actually, the story lasted until the four brothers found Zhuge Demonic Shrine. As for the rest of the story, no matter how Zhang Meng asked for it, his father refused to tell him. Thus, he had to resort to dreams to find the answer. He fancied various versions of the story in his dreams which were just like horror movies.

When Zhang Meng was eight years old, his father, Zhang Shaoye, was no longer in his right mind. His father, sometimes, isolated himself in the study, muttering to himself, crying and laughing, and even breaking things frequently. It was hard to imagine that a gentle man like him would change dramatically into another person. Radical and unreasonable, he even punched his wife and children for no reason. 

Without telling anybody, Zhang Shaoye ran away from home, leaving behind his families to his three elder brothers. At that time, Zhang Meng was 12 years old. The only thing that Zhang Shaoye left for his son was the nightmare haunting him for ten years or so. Sometimes, Zhang Meng wondered whether he had been to the tomb in his dream. If not, how could all this feel so true and so real?

"Look, younger lord, did you have bad dreams? Or… erotic dream?" Zhao San joked, sticking the opium pipe between his lips. He glanced at Zhang Meng's crotch and gave it a good sniff, with a hint of irony on his face.

"You junkie! Leave me alone! You can't even have an erotic dream, can you? Hah-hah!" Zhang Meng felt sick to his stomach and immediately talked back to the middle-aged man in front of him, who was one of the pioneers establishing Zhang's family business. Zhao San, nicknamed the Whit Horse Zhao San, who always fooled around and stooped himself to annoying vulgarity got along well with Zhang Meng.

"Little brat, in those old days, riding a white-mane horse, I fought against more than thirty gangsters all by myself with just two Mauser pistols. At that critical moment, I hid myself under the horse belly and fought my way out. Driven by a crazed blood-l.u.s.t, I killed all of them within seven rounds. After that, I was said to be Zhao Yun (T/N: a great fighter who was spoken highly of his very superior bravery and combating skills in the Three Kingdom Period of China) reincarnated. Then, I got my nickname the Whit Horse Zhao San. If I were younger, I would have killed you for what you said!"

Zhao San was fuming, his eyes glaring.

"Enough!" Zhang Meng ended the talk immediately before the old guy began his automatic patter about his past experience, which had already been carved in his memory.

"Fine. Forget it. Let your uncle dress you up. Tonight is Spring Festival's Eve. Come back and enjoy a reunion dinner together. I need to warn you. Many big names in the Zhang Family will come to the dinner tonight. If you do anything that shames your family, your third uncle will keep you grounded for days. Well, go help them make dumplings in Shui Yue Xuan. They are short of hands." Zhao San said, waving his hands and walking out with a smile on his face.

"Lucky money! Lucky money (T/N: money given to children as a lunar New Year gift in Chinese tradition)!"

"No way."

"What a cunning old fox!" Zhang Meng muttered. He turned around and looked at himself in the mirror, a handsome young man with fair skin. But… he looked just a bit spiritless somehow.

Zhang Meng, wearing mink fur coat, walked out leisurely and arrived at Shui Yue Xuan. The staff all clamored to greet him. Shui Yue Xuan was the leading shop in Ming Tang, the most popular antique market in Hong Kong. In Ming Tang, over half of the antiques were traded in Shui Yue Xuan.

Back when Zhang Meng took over the shop, many subordinates didn't believe a child like him would run the shop well and waited to see his failure. However, to their great surprise, the profits doubled in the first month. After a year, everyone was convinced by his expertise in antique evaluations, and all got along with him since they found him easygoing and kind. 

Many firecrackers hanging on the gate were ready to be lit for the celebration at seven o'clock sharp. All the people in Shui Yue Xuan were busy preparing for the Spring Festival, which made the atmosphere more auspicious. Having a reunion dinner together at the eve of the Spring Festival was a tradition for the staff in Shui Yue Xuan, most of whom were single or living nearby.

The accountant Cripple Chen and the executive nicknamed Sick Ghost were making dumplings with other staff members. When Zhang Meng entered the room, they all greeted him with a smile except Zhao San who kept a poker face and totally unresponsive to everything. Maybe he was still mad at Zhang Meng because of the joke. Zhang Meng smiled. He knew that his uncle, Zhao San, was an absolute chatterbox and soon the itching of talking would be more than he could stand.

Cripple Chen had excellent skills of tomb robbery, though his leg was broken; while, the Sick Ghost was a powerful man, though he often coughed violently. They all liked Zhang Meng very much. When Zhang Meng was mulling and hesitating at some critical moment, those three people would always help him take care of the matter in secret; therefore, Zhang Meng had great relationships with all of them.

"Uncle Sick Ghost, why did you buy so many cabbages?" Zhang Meng asked.

"Cutie Meng, about this question, you'd better ask me. The cabbage dumpling is your father's favorite. Though your father has been away from home for many years, each year we still prepare many cabbage dumplings for him at the eve of Spring Festival, hoping he returns and has reunion dinner with us."

Sure enough, Zhao San cut in before Zhang Meng finished.

"What? Not back home for dinner again? Well, I haven't seen him for so many years. I can't even remember exactly what he looks like…" Zhang Meng felt a bit sad.

"Zip your mouth!" The Sick Ghost cast a stern glance at Zhao San, who ducked his head to hide his embarra.s.sment and went on making dumplings.

At that moment, with the noise from outside, a middle-aged man was seized by several staff members and brought to the room. He was shivering and huddling up, as if a sense of impending doom overwhelmed him.

"What's all this about?" Zhao San placed his dumpling wrapper aside and said, his eyebrows knitted, "Today is a big day! Don't let the idiot screw up everything!"

"This a.s.shole sold a counterfeit in our market this morning and was found out. That buyer insisted on money compensation. How to deal with him?", one staff said, pointing at that middle-aged man.

His face turned dark with rage, which looked scary. Zhao San was, by nature, and a witty man with a sense of humor; however, he was perfectly strict and impartial and never sided with anyone who broke the business rule.

You know, the Ming Tang of Zhang family controlled over 70% the total antique transactions in Hong Kong. They had stressed the rules over and over again that no counterfeit was allowed to be traded in the market, and every antique should be reasonably priced. Anyone who dared to violate the rule would take the consequence!

Different from some picky antique collectors, some collectors were just curious about the antique collection. Many collectors chose to buy antiques in Ming Tang, largely due to the high credibility of Zhang' family, which in many years attracted a large number of overseas collectors.

But today, to their surprise, that guy even dared to break the rule knowingly! If someone made use of this scandal and spread it, the reputation of Zhang family would be ruined!

Zhao San kept a straight face and remained in silence for a long while. His eyes were fixed on that middle-aged man, who was scared in cold sweat and couldn't help trembling. He must have heard about Zhao San. Once an infamous pirate had sold a fake porcelain vase made in the late Qing Dynasty at the price of a million yuan, Zhao San had even chased him to Malaysia and returned with the pirate's hands cut off. At that moment, after seeing the fierce look of Zhao San, the middle-aged man's face turned ashen because he knew he was doomed.  

Zhang Meng dared not to say a word; he was so in awe of him. Zhao San seldom took things seriously, but when he was serious, even Zhang Meng felt scared to talk to him. Cripple Chan and Sick Ghost gave a sigh softly, and went on making dumplings, with the thought that Zhao San would let that guy pay for his debt with blood.

"You know the rule?" Zhao San said softly when the atmosphere was getting more and more tense.

"My lord, the first offender should cut off…"

"Shut up!"

A staff answered quickly but was dazed by a hard slap in his face. He fell on the ground suddenly with panic, spit out two teeth, and buried his swollen face into his hands.

"Did I ask you? He should answer me himself!" Zhao San sneered.

The middle-aged man kneeled on the floor and said gingerly, "The first offender will… have his hand cut off; the second… legs off… the third… head off."

"How many times have you done this?" Zhao San asked with his face expressionless.

Through his teeth came the answer, "The first time. It's really my first time". Droplets of sweat were welling up on his forehead.

"Do you prefer doing it yourself or let me help you?" Zhao San said firmly, with an indifferent expression on his face, not leaving any room for the man to bargain. Zhao San drew out the short-hilted broadsword hanging on the wall. With a clear clang, the broadsword fell down at the feet of the middle-aged man.

That middle-aged man almost pa.s.sed out with fright. Although he had expected it, he was ghastly pale when the moment came. He immediately groveled on the ground, kowtowed and cried, "Please spare my life, Mr. Zhao! If I had any other choice, I would not dare to break the rule! Six months ago, my family stole into Hong Kong. We live in the slums, because we can't afford the high rent. My daughter is having a fever and lying in the hospital. Spring festival is coming, so I want to get some money to buy some food and pay the hospital expenses.  That's why I decided to try my luck on the antique market. If I lose my hand, how can I raise my wife and children? I swear, I will give back the money and do whatever I can to repay you. Please forgive me!"

That middle-aged man cried loudly. Zhang Meng sighed, feeling sorry for him, Just as the old Chinese saying said, 'The portals of the rich reek of flesh and wine while frozen bodies lie by the roadside'. Zhang Meng thought that the middle-aged man was really from a poverty-stricken family. He wore worn-out clothes with many patches made of six or seven different cloth. The pitiful look of this middle-aged man aroused sympathy in Zhang Meng's heart.

"Uncle, let him go this time." He patted Zhao San on his shoulder. Zhang Meng was brought up in Ming Tang, where he met people from all walks of life. No one knew better than him that losing a hand meant disaster to the poor family of that middle-aged man. Besides, there was still room for discussion on that matter. The tragedy was entirely avoidable!

"Meng, don't make it hard for me. I can agree with you for thousands of times except this one. No rules, no justice. Rule breakers must be punished. What makes Zhang family prosperous in Hong Kong? Doing business according to the rule!"

"Uncle, it's the Spring Festival. Blood will bring bad luck. I will appease the buyer. I promise it won't discredit Ming Tang…"

Zhang Meng grabbed the handle of the knife and forcibly inserted the knife back into the scabbard. Because Ming Tang had an unwritten rule that words of the Zhao San were just like a knife drawn out of its scabbard. Therefore, the only way to let him take his words back was to put the knife back to its scabbard. After that, Zhang Meng looked at Zhao San gratefully, because if he insisted on punish the man, no one can force Zhao San to put the knife back into the scabbard.

"For the sake of Meng, this time, I forgive you. But, rules of Ming Tang cannot be broken. After the Spring Festival, you come to Ming Tang to receive your punishment! If you dare to escape, I will catch you wherever you are! You have to know that you cannot escape from the palm of Zhang family! At that time, a hand will be not enough to atone your crime."

With these cold words, Zhao San pretended to cut his neck with his hand. In his eyes, the reputation of Ming Tang was above all else. Therefore, Zhao San, the chief executive of Ming Tang, cannot stop his anger to punish that middle-aged man who dared to break the most important rule.

With his face turning pale, the middle-aged man kowtowed and mumbled that it was no different for him to cut his hand immediately and after the Spring Festival.  

Zhang Meng was very angry. He shouted at Zhao San, hands on his hips.

"Old fart! You never change your mind, right?! Speaking of the rules, I I'm manager of Shui Yue Xuan! I know the rules better than you! In Shui Yue Xuan, even if you were a dragon, you have to lie down in front of me!"

Zhang Meng looked at the staff and asked, "what did he sell?"

"He sold a small tripod for 10,000 yuan, which according to him is from Shang or Zhou Dynasty (T/N: about 3600 years ago) . But later it proved to be a counterfeit forged by a small workshop."

"I will buy the tripod. Get in touch with the buyer and pay him 10,000 yuan from my account. By the way, if the buyer wants more, you can say that the swindler is my distant relative."

"Yes, Mr. Zhang!"

Feelings a sense of relief, those two staff escaped from Shui Yue Xuan quickly. They saw Zhao San burning with anger and he was likely to take it out on them, if they stay any longer.

Looking rather pleased, Zhang Meng glanced at Zhao San. He had nothing to say because Zhang Meng seemed willing to buy the fake tripod. Zhang Meng continued to make dumplings, humming the song "I love buying fake products".

"Emmm, the bronze tripod is not easy to copy. Fewer people can  make the sham as authentic as the genuine. I suppose you really have some skills on that. After the Spring Festival, go to Shui Yue Xuan, you can get a cushy job of antique restoration. It is easy to earn 3,000 to 4,000 yuan a month, if you work hard and do well."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Zhang! Thank you!" The middle-aged man was speechless with excitement. That young lord dragged him from the h.e.l.l to the heaven with only a few words. He stared at the young man with tears. He wanted to carve the man's face in his mind and repay him in the future even at the cost of his life!

"Don't mention it! I'll pay you a month's salary in advance, so you can buy some meat and a hot pot. Have a good time with your families! Come along with me. I'll take you to the accounting room for the money."

Zhang Meng smiled, took the middle-aged man to the accounting room and gave an order to an accountant. After that he turned around and went back to the lobby.

"Wastrel!"

With his face turning pale in anger, Zhao San took a deep draw on his pipe, which was so strong that he could hardly breathe. There really existed such a rule that Ming Tang took no responsibilities for the trade, if the buyer voluntarily bought the goods that were labeled as fake. It was this rule that gave Zhang Meng the courage to act against Zhao San's will.

"Come on, you two have too much to deal with! Zhao San, don't blame Zhang Meng. The profit has increased by several percent after Zhang Meng took-over the business. He knows better than you about the rule-thing." Crippled Chen said with a smile on his face and continued to focus on making dumplings.

"Zhang Meng is a good man. Unfortunately, we don't know if he can survive at the age of 23. Have you seen the pale blue ghost vein in his middle finger? It appears more evident than last year…", said the sick ghost softly.

Zhao San didn't answer either. He just smoked sadly, and all the people fell into silence.