Chapter Eleven: The Chain Trap

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When I asked Qi Liyie about Luo Qingyun, he sighed. “Master Qiu, you’d better not ask about this. It’s not worth meddling in other people’s business. Besides, he could never deceive someone like you.”

I smiled, “I’m just curious, that’s all. I happened to come across it.”

Qi Liyie sighed again. “If I tell you, you mustn’t repeat it to anyone else. I really don’t want to be the bad guy here.”

I nodded. “Well, sooner or later the truth comes out anyway.”

Qi Liyie nodded in agreement, and then revealed the whole story to me.

Luo Qingyun was the head of the Ceramics and Miscellanea Department at the auction house. He graduated from the Beijing Academy of Cultural Heritage and was a student of a certain so-called “blind-eye” expert in China.

A few years ago, Luo Qingyun acquired a “Qing Dynasty Imperial Gilt Bronze Sixth-Ranked Buddhist Pavilion” statue from somewhere (the exact source unknown, whether he collected it for auction or it was his own property is unclear). He put it up for auction with a starting price of several million.

A few months later, as the auction was approaching, Luo Qingyun received a call from a businessman he knew. This businessman, Mr. A, was an avid collector. Upon learning that the auction was imminent, he called Luo, asking if there were any good pieces this time. Without hesitation, Luo recommended the “Qing Dynasty Imperial Gilt Bronze Sixth-Ranked Buddhist Pavilion” statue.

Mr. A was thrilled and rushed to the company’s warehouse. Luo retrieved the statue for him—it stood about forty to fifty centimeters tall, gleaming gold and quite imposing. Luo sang its praises to the skies: the quality of the gilding, the impressive size, the beautiful face—all to the point that Mr. A was entirely entranced.

In the end, the “Qing Dynasty Imperial Sixth-Ranked Buddhist Pavilion” statue was withdrawn from auction and sold privately to Mr. A, with Luo making millions in profit on this transaction.

But he had underestimated the situation. Several months later, Mr. A called Luo with the authentication results: the “Qing Dynasty Imperial Gilt Bronze Sixth-Ranked Buddhist Pavilion” statue was a fake, and not even a good one—just a low-grade replica. Mr. A wanted to return it. Luo adamantly refused, arguing vehemently and refusing to give a refund. Mr. A tried repeatedly to negotiate, but Luo remained unmoved, eventually blocking his calls and blacklisting him on WeChat.

When Qi Liyie got to this point, I looked at him in confusion. “After all this, what does it have to do with that Southern Song celadon vase?”

Qi Liyie chuckled. “Master Qiu, let me finish the story and you’ll understand.” He continued.

More than a year later, the auction house was soliciting items for sale. A collector named Zhang brought in a ceramic piece. Luo Qingyun took it from the box and made a show of examining it. The vase was just over ten centimeters tall, with a bean-green glaze. Its neck branched into three prongs, each topped by a small hole.

“Ah, this is a Southern Song dynasty celadon triple-spouted vase!” (Readers may judge its authenticity for themselves.) Luo signed a contract with Mr. Zhang, agreeing to put it up for the spring auction.

A few days before the auction, Luo received another call—from a self-identified collector who said he’d seen the company’s auction catalog and was very interested in the “Southern Song celadon triple-spouted vase.” He hoped to purchase it privately. Luo was delighted, and they agreed to meet at a Beijing hotel in three days.

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After hanging up, Luo Qingyun quickly called the vase’s owner, Mr. Zhang. But Zhang refused to sell it privately. Luo was forced to stall, postponing the meeting while trying to persuade him. After several days, he finally convinced Zhang, writing a guarantee note and arranging to meet the buyer that evening at the hotel.

That night, Luo brought the Southern Song celadon triple-spouted vase to the hotel. As soon as he entered the private room, he was stunned. The room was full of burly men, and seated in the center was none other than his old acquaintance, Mr. A—the same man who’d bought the fake Buddha statue.

When Luo entered, Mr. A sneered and told him to put down the vase. “I won’t make things hard for you. Return what you owe me for the fake Buddha statue, and I’ll give this back to you.”

Luo realized the situation was dire: no one can fight off so many by himself. He nodded, set the vase in front of Mr. A, and left the hotel to call the police. The police opened an official case.

A few days later, the police contacted Luo, telling him the case was a civil dispute over debt, not robbery, and was therefore outside their jurisdiction. He’d have to resolve it himself.

After hearing this, Luo was at his wit’s end. He told Mr. Zhang, the vase’s owner, that the item had been stolen. Naturally, Zhang refused to accept this, calling and messaging Luo repeatedly. In the end, Luo blocked him as well.

Before the autumn auction that year, Luo never expected Zhang would show up at the company three days before the auction and find Chairman Wang. Sensing trouble—if Zhang caused a scene at the auction, all their efforts over the past six months would be for nothing—Wang promised Zhang the matter would be resolved after the auction.

Zhang only sneered, knowing full well Wang’s promise was just a stalling tactic. Who knew if he’d be blacklisted after the auction as well? He refused Wang’s offer.

Wang saw his intentions had been seen through and quickly tried to placate him, insisting their company was trustworthy and would never go back on its word. He promised Luo Qingyun would be severely disciplined afterward.

Zhang, unconvinced, sat down and refused to leave, declaring he wouldn’t budge until the issue was resolved.

With the auction about to begin and chaos mounting, Wang grew furious. If Zhang stayed to make a scene, it would ruin everything. He lost his temper and began hurling insults. Zhang, not to be outdone, grabbed Wang by the collar. Wang slapped him, sending Zhang to the floor, then kicked him several times. Zhang, battered and weak, lay on the ground as Wang spat at him and called security to throw him out.

Not only did Zhang fail to recover his vase, he was also beaten by Chairman Wang. Back home, he printed more than a thousand flyers titled “Fraudsters at the Auction House” and distributed them at every major antiques market in Beijing. Today, he had come to the auction preview, seeking justice and the return of his property or payment.

Qi Liyie finished the story with a sigh. “It’s people like this who bring chaos to our industry.”

I nodded, thinking for a moment. “Hey, but what’s the deal with Luo Qingyun’s two names?”

Qi Liyie smiled. “Oh, his real name was Luo Maosheng. Later, his teacher, the great ‘brick’ expert Wang, told him his name was unlucky, that he’d never rise to success with it, so he became Luo Qingyun. Most of the time, he signs contracts as Luo Qingyun, but sometimes as Luo Maosheng. I’m sure you can figure out why.” He sighed again. “Ah, look at me, playing the villain again.”

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“So, did Chairman Wang ever discipline Luo Qingyun for all this?”

Qi Liyie sighed yet again. “Oh, he wrote a self-criticism and a report—just for show, really.”

We were still deep in conversation when a man and woman approached from afar. I looked up. The man was about fifty, with a kindly yet slightly world-weary face, close-cropped hair streaked with black and white, dressed casually and wearing black leather sandals. The woman, in her forties, wore her long hair down, with a few strands of gray, but her mature beauty was undiminished. She wore a dress that showed off her slender figure, white leather sandals on her feet, and on her wrist was a “Qianlong period imperial workshop Hetian jade double dragon bracelet”—a rare and precious piece of its kind.

I hurried forward to greet them. “Ah, Uncle Tian, Aunt Wang, what brings you here in person?”

This couple were the leading figures in China’s jade antiques circle, the heads of Fenghexuan: Tian Minwei and Wang Shurun. They were renowned for their integrity and sharp discernment.

“Ah, Qiu Tong, you’re here too? How’s it going—have you found anything interesting?” Uncle Tian asked.

“I haven’t really started browsing yet—I’ve just been chatting with Qi Liyie about some amusing stories from their company.”

Uncle Tian laughed. “Haha, we saw the flyers too. Luo Qingyun’s master is quite the ‘brick’ expert in our field.”

I nodded. “Indeed! Wang is known as the ‘scholar among jade connoisseurs.’”

Uncle Tian grinned. “I don’t see it. To me, he’s more like a boxer among jade collectors. With that build, he’s better suited to martial arts than antiques.”

We burst out laughing. Aunt Wang playfully patted Uncle Tian. “Don’t say such things.”

Uncle Tian looked at her. “Why not? I’ve sparred with him myself. Scared me half to death—his skills are something else! For just 998, you, too, can carry a national treasure home from the Palace Museum.”

With that, Uncle Tian launched into tales of his past encounters with the illustrious Expert Wang.

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