ALL NOVEL Chapter 1
On Confucian Temple Street in the old city, a flat-headed young man pedaled a Porsche tricycle and slowly walked through the streets.
There is a sign hanging in front of the car, which reads in red letters on a white background: "Minister Wang of the Resource Recovery Department, is ordered to recycle all kinds of available resources, from needles and threads, pots and pans, to aircraft missiles, tanks and aircraft carriers, if you dare to sell, I will dare to collect!"
The company went bankrupt, the rent rose, and when he was at his poorest, he even worked as a bridge cave layman for two months.
But he didn't choose to lie down, but learned the magic skill of survival from a female layman in the bridge cave.
Relying on a second-hand millet machine that was almost sold for a bun and a three-inch tongue, he successfully turned ashore
! Not only did he own an eighteen-handed broken three-wheeled bicycle that he bought from the thrift market for 50 yuan, but he also accidentally obtained a "thrift recycling system"!
This system has three major functions, namely, repair, transformation, and recycling.
Everything in the world has value, it only depends on whether you can find someone who needs it.
Even a lump of cow dung can be sold for money if it is transformed into nutrient soil!
Of course, this is not the point, the point is the free identification function given by the system.
If you look at it for five seconds, you will see the details of the item.
There is a demarcated area for thrift stalls on Confucian Temple Street, with radios, old pocket watches, copper coins, small incense burners, porcelain vases, bronze tripods, and all kinds of things.
Of course, 99.99 percent of those old objects are fakes!
But there are always some second-hand goods who refuse to admit defeat and like to come here to pick up leaks, fantasizing about finding real antiques worth hundreds of thousands of dollars for a few dollars.
Wang Heng is one of them.
It is no exaggeration to say that the things on the stall of the stall have been identified by him eight hundred times.
Anyway, the wool of the system is not white.
So much so that those stall owners knew this young man who collected rags, and when they encountered some rags that could not be sold alive or dead, they simply sold them to him, which saved them from worry.
looked at the number of people in the live broadcast room: 39.
Wang Heng smiled nonchalantly: "Old Tie, let's continue to visit the Confucian Temple Street thrift market today, see if we can find valuable things, replace my Porsche tricycle with a small four-wheeler, and walk!"
"Mr. Wang, don't blow it, take your rags with peace of mind, look at Liu Anan, everyone is worth tens of millions, and you are still visiting the thrift market here.
"I've been watching you for half a month, and I haven't found any fart, I can only blow
it!" "Anan is the boss of the scrap station, our king always collects tattered downstream suppliers, without the hard work of thousands of Mr. Wang, how can he Liu Anan open a Ferrari?
Mr. Wang, come on!" Wang Heng gave himself the online name "Mr. Wang of the Waste Recycling Company", but he didn't expect it to become a sharp weapon for water friends to mock him, but he had a good attitude and didn't care at all.
Continuing to pedal the tricycle forward, he braked the car with one pedal, and asked the first stall owner next to him with a smile: "Uncle Liu, do you sell this pile of rags?
Uncle Liu frowned coldly, and scolded with a blue face: "Get out of you little deflated calf, I am an authentic Yuan Qinghua, Xuande furnace, and the bronze tripod used by the emperor of the Song Dynasty to worship the sky, and there is an expert appraisal certificate!"
"Then add some points to you, two pieces of two, the purchase price of scrap iron is only a little more than one, this price is not low, and the certificate, sell waste paper for a maximum of five cents and a catty, I will count you a piece of two ......"
Without waiting for Wang Heng to finish speaking, Uncle Liu waved his hand impatiently:" The
three-legged tripod is knee-high, weighing forty or fifty pounds, and as for the material, of course, it can't be bronze, the inside is pig iron, but the outside is plated with a layer of old bronze skin.
Uncle Liu is nearly seventy years old, and it is estimated that the big ding is too heavy to move back and forth, so he sold it to Wang Heng in tears.
Wang Heng took out the scale, moved it up and weighed it, and said with a smile: "A total of forty-three and a half catties, ninety-five yuan seven, give you a whole number, can you count one hundred?"
"Take it away, take it away! Every time I move out, my waist hurts!" Uncle Liu's face turned even darker.
Carrying the bronze tripod into the car, Wang Heng grinned and continued to pedal the tricycle forward, and a few words of ridicule floated again in the live broadcast room.
"Mr. Wang is confused, this Dading sells Anan for a maximum of forty-five yuan, the blood loss is fifty-five, and a roast chicken is
gone!" "Hahaha, you are all poor as a bridge cave layman, and you also give the uncle four more pieces of three, four steamed buns, pop! It's gone!"
Wang Heng glanced at it, but he didn't take it seriously, and suddenly saw a new uncle, with a bunch of old goods in front of him, so he smiled and leaned over and asked: "Uncle, you just came out of the stall?
The stall master was wearing a navy blue short-sleeved shirt, fifty or sixty years old, his gray hair was meticulously combed, and he also had a pen pinned to his breast pocket, quite the image of an old cadre in the seventies and eighties of the last century.
In fact, this old comrade's name is Zhang Jincai, and he is a well-known second-class dealer on the antique street.
Recently, the business of the antique street has been sluggish, and he deliberately dressed more modestly, pretending to be a retired cadre who does not know the goods, and planned to try his luck in the thrift market to see if he can meet the wrongdoer.
I never thought that I didn't run into the wronged boss, and I met a rag collector when I first came!
Zhang Jincai secretly said with a bad breath, and sneered and teased: "You young man is really interesting, you don't go to work at a young age, but you do this kind of rag business, you are not afraid of not being able to please your daughter-in-law?"
Wang Heng jumped off the tricycle, squatted in front of the stall to pick and choose, and said with a smile: "Old man, don't underestimate people, I collect all the rags, especially like this kind of old goods."
Looking at the radio, pipes, marching kettles of the last century, and even an old-fashioned telegraph with dark green paint, he asked curiously: "Are these old objects used by your family?"
Zhang Jincai glanced at it with disgust, and stopped: "Hey, don't touch it if you don't buy it, these are all heirlooms left by my old father, and they are expensive."
Wang Heng didn't stop what he was doing, and quickly identified most of the things on the stall in front of him, and suddenly an old and broken folding fan attracted his attention.
A black bird like a magpie is painted on the fan surface, with a plum blossom on each side, and a few branches as embellishments on the edge of the upper fan surface.
It's a pity that the fan surface near the right side was torn and it was a remnant fan.
Zhang Jincai sneered and said, "This fan was given to him by an old friend of my father, but unfortunately it was broken by my grandson, so if you want it, you can take it for 100 yuan." "
This fan is indeed his family's thing, but a broken fan sells for a hundred yuan, which is definitely a slaughtering price.
Wang Heng didn't seem to hear it, staring directly at a seal on the right side of the fan.
Three slots in a row!