Chapter Seven: Men Zijian

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Jian Guo Ma led Yuan Ma along without uttering a single word. Yuan dared not ask anything further and silently followed, occasionally quickening his pace to avoid falling behind.

The area Jian Guo had rented in Gao City was called the Tube Building. Though the name sounded pleasant, it was essentially a large communal courtyard housing many small business owners, mostly engaged in modest trades.

Adjacent to the Tube Building was Gao City’s largest trading district—the Huamao Center. Many set up stalls there to conduct business, and even some foreigners placed their enterprises within this bustling hub.

It was said that the Huamao Center once stood on the site of a Mazu temple. When times changed, the temple was demolished to make way for a building. At that time, it was not yet called Huamao Center. Later, some superstitious merchants, hoping to capitalize on the site's original auspicious energy, gradually expanded the building, eventually developing it into the present-day Huamao Center.

There was a saying in Gao City: you might not know who the magistrate of Gao County is, but you surely know the Huamao Center. Merchants traveling north and south almost always passed through here to sell some goods before purchasing what they needed elsewhere.

While waiting for news of Jian Qun Ma, Jian Guo Ma did not want to idle. Having finally entered the city, he took Yuan Ma to stroll through the Huamao Center around midday, hoping to spot something useful to bring back to the countryside.

The Huamao Center was vast, with over five thousand street stalls alone. Besides these, there were long-established, reputable shops that had operated for many years. The place also harbored some clandestine gray-market transactions.

Jian Guo Ma stood with hands behind his back, his eyes sharp as a hawk, scanning the surroundings for practical and affordable items to take advantage of this opportunity.

“Pure Blue Jade from the Northern Desert, honest for all ages, one hundred percent genuine—once you leave this village, it’s gone! Passersby, come and take a look...”

“Big as a bucket watermelons, crisp red flesh, not sweet, no charge, not sweet, no charge...”

“Ten yuan for your parents, no loss, no scam, travelers from all directions, come and see...”

The moment they entered the Huamao Center, cries from various vendors filled the air. Countless goods were displayed, enticing the growing crowd of visitors who wandered about, stopping here and there amidst the bustling scene. Naturally, some came hoping to snag a bargain.

“You’re lying! My item is genuine, but just because you touched it, it turned out like this...” Suddenly, a commotion arose nearby as Jian Guo Ma and Yuan Ma wandered about. Curiosity compelled them to rush over and witness the scene.

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After observing for a while, they understood what was happening. The stall owner was a young woman, and the buyer was a somewhat shabby old man. The old man had taken a fancy to a copper censer at the young woman’s stall. However, after he casually touched it, the censer’s color changed, turning black as if it were iron.

The young woman protested vehemently, insisting the censer was authenticated, not only genuine copper but an antique from the previous dynasty, worth a considerable sum. She had no idea what trick the old man had used to alter its color and make it appear counterfeit.

Both parties argued fiercely, each refusing to back down. Spectators chimed in, accusing the woman of disrespecting elders. The commotion attracted the Huamao Center’s police.

These officers were not part of the Gao City police bureau; rather, they were laborers recruited to assist in managing the city.

Their arrival did little to resolve the matter. Such trivial disputes, even if one wished to imprison those involved, lacked legal grounds. The officers could only mediate patiently.

“This elderly gentleman, it’s really unfair to deceive a young lady like this,” a middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit suddenly spoke up.

Yuan Ma’s eyes brightened sharply—he recognized this man as the foreign-educated figure often mentioned by Da Shan Huo. Though not entirely certain, Yuan was almost sure.

“What’s your identity?” the lead officer asked, wary of anyone stirring trouble amid an already troublesome situation.

The middle-aged man smiled softly. “Officer, I am Men Zijian, a teacher at Quhe Academy. I can assist you in resolving this matter.”

Men Zijian’s gentle demeanor was like a breath of spring air; even strangers found themselves inclined to trust him.

The lead officer hesitated briefly, then nodded. Clearly, he wished to avoid wasting time on such petty disputes.

Men Zijian turned to the shabby old man. “Sir, would you kindly roll up your sleeve for everyone to see?”

The old man had been defiant, even after the police arrived, holding onto hopes of getting away. But at Men Zijian’s words, his expression darkened and his gaze flickered nervously.

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When the old man remained silent, even the dullest could tell he was hiding something. The lead officer gave a sharp command, startling the old man into sprinting away.

No one reacted quickly enough — the old man vanished around the corner, prompting admiration for his vigor despite his age.

“Mr. Men, what exactly was going on here?” the lead officer asked, somewhat deferentially, as chasing the old man further was pointless.

“Officer, no need for formalities. This is not complicated. The young lady’s copper censer is indeed genuine, but the elderly gentleman used some trickery to convince people it was fake, then planned to pocket it without paying.”

“Everyone knows copper does not rust, but when exposed to hydrogen peroxide, it turns black due to oxidation, forming copper oxide, hence the black color.”

Men Zijian’s detailed explanation left the crowd mostly confused yet intrigued. To Yuan Ma, at least, Men Zijian appeared remarkably impressive.

Embarrassed at his enthusiasm, Men Zijian realized his chemical terms—hydrogen peroxide, oxidation—were likely unfamiliar to most present.

“Is there any way, sir, to restore my copper censer’s color?” the young woman asked softly, afraid to offend.

“Ah, that’s easy. Who has vinegar?” Men Zijian scanned the crowd, and someone promptly handed him a bottle.

He gratefully accepted it, poured the vinegar into a wooden basin on the ground, and immersed the blackened copper censer into the vinegar, much to the onlookers’ curiosity and confusion.