C1 Glass Bead

Chapter I Glass Beads

"Bo, don't worry about us at home. Don't send all your money back. You need to take care of yourself. I'll look after your father," Yang Bo's mother implored over the phone.

"Mom, you should also persuade Dad to go for medical treatment," Yang Bo responded, trying to hold back tears.

After hanging up, Yang Bo couldn't hold back anymore. Tears flowed freely. His father had been diagnosed with liver cancer, and the family couldn't afford the steep medical bills.

After researching, Yang Bo discovered that the treatment would cost 500,000 RMB for the first year and 350,000 RMB for the second—a whopping 850,000 RMB. For him, this was an astronomical figure,

But he was determined to raise the money for his father's treatment.

"Yang Bo! Yang Bo! What are you doing? Slacking off again? Hurry up and serve the finest tea to the customer!"

His boss's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Yang Bo quickly wiped his tears and smiled as he headed out, announcing cheerfully, "On my way!"

Yang Bo poured a cup of Longjing tea for the guest, adhering to the unspoken protocols of the antique shop. His boss had a coded language for each level of tea to be served based on how esteemed the customer was. When he heard the phrase "The finest tea," Yang Bo knew that the premium Longjing was the choice for the moment. The system was a dance of discretion and respect, a contemporary touch to an age-old tradition.

In the shop where Yang Bo worked, the type of tea served to customers wasn't just a matter of preference; it was a coded language, a secret ritual. When the boss called out, "Serve tea," it meant the customer was of average status, and Bi Luo Chun would suffice. If he said, "Serve good tea," it signaled the customer's elevated importance; this called for Xinyang Maojian. But when the boss proclaimed, "Serve the finest tea," only then would Yang Bo bring out the premium Longjing tea. This tiered system subtly marked the social stratifications, a remnant of ancient customs kept alive in a modern world.

It was a rare occasion for the shop to serve Longjing tea, so after fulfilling his task, Yang Bo took a moment to size up the guest. The man appeared in his fifties and conversed earnestly with the boss. On the table sat an exquisite blue-and-white porcelain vase. Yang Bo couldn't help but wonder what made this customer worthy of such high regard—the premium tea or the vase.

The blue-and-white porcelain vase had a rich, deep color and a slightly muted glaze. It was certainly an admirable piece. However, in Yang Bo's eyes, the decision to serve premium Longjing tea seemed to elevate the guest's status a notch higher than the vase itself warranted. The whole scene struck him as a paradox of taste and value.

Quick to assess the situation, Yang Bo reflected on his journey. Having missed the chance to go to college after high school, he'd started his apprenticeship at the antique shop. Now, two years in, he'd gained a decent amount of knowledge about antiques—even if his boss wasn't particularly keen on mentoring him. Yang Bo had been a self-starter, learning the nuances of the trade through relentless study.

However, his acquired knowledge seemed futile at the moment. He couldn't possibly step in to buy and resell the vase; not only would that break the unwritten rules of the antique world, earning him a blacklist from all other shops, but he also lacked the initial capital to make such a move. Yang Bo felt cornered, his expertise useless in the face of financial constraints.

Earning a modest salary of 1,800 per month, Yang Bo was in no position to splurge. Living within the confines of the shop to save money, he sent 1,500 back home each month for his father's medical expenses. But even this felt like trying to empty an ocean with a bucket; it was nowhere near enough to meet the looming financial demands.

The 850,000 needed for his father's treatment weighed on Yang Bo like a massive stone on his chest.

Meanwhile, the client and the shop owner quickly struck a deal. Thanks to the owner's silver tongue, the Qing vase was sold, money changed hands, and contracts were signed—all in what seemed like a heartbeat.

Once the client left, the shop owner, Guo Bapi, circled the Qing vase with a satisfied grin. Unable to contain his glee, he turned to Yang Bo to boast, "This vase is from the Guangxu period of the Qing Dynasty. Although not as valuable as pieces from earlier eras, I hooked it for 50,000, and I can easily flip it for double! Haha!"

Grasping the Qing vase tightly, Guo Bapi headed towards the back room. He intended to secure this prized artifact in the safe!

Forcing a smile at his boss, Yang Bo couldn't help but think: Fifty thousand. That much money could get his father the hospital treatment he needed.

When lunchtime finally arrived, Yang Bo headed out to grab a meal. Guo Bapi, ever the penny pincher, would only give him twenty yuan to buy lunch for them. To save money, Yang Bo would use his share to buy a five-yuan fried rice dish, saving the remaining amount for dinner.

The midday sun was scorching, and few people were on the streets. As he walked, Yang Bo's thoughts were consumed by his father's illness. Should he quit and find a job at a construction site? It would be hard work, but at least it would pay more.

He glanced down at his lean frame and hesitated.

"Please, young man, I haven't eaten in three days!"

Yang Bo heard a voice from the sidewalk and turned to see an elderly man in tattered clothes leaning on a staircase, his forehead covered in sweat.

After a brief moment of internal struggle, Yang Bo continued walking. He could barely take care of himself; how could he possibly help someone else at this point?

But then a thought struck him. What if doing a good deed or praying sincerely could help his father get better?

The weight of the 850,000 RMB medical bill felt overwhelming, leaving him without tangible solutions. His only hope was a leap of faith.

When Yang Bo returned, he was carrying a meal box. He silently placed the box of fried rice in front of the old beggar and continued on his way.

The old beggar looked up at Yang Bo. "Thank you, young man, you have a kind heart."

Nodding slightly, Yang Bo turned to leave, contemplating whether he should even have dinner that night.

"Wait a moment, young man!"

Yang Bo spun around to see the old beggar extending a green glass bead towards him. "I want to give this to you."

Upon inspection, Yang Bo noticed the bead was irregular in shape but seemed radiant under the sunlight. Although he knew such a glass bead wouldn't be worth much, it was worth more than fried rice. He shook his head quickly, "I can't accept this."

"Please, just take it," the old beggar insisted, holding the fried rice in one hand and pressing the glass bead into Yang Bo's other hand. "I found this by accident, and nobody else wants it. Might as well give it to a kind-hearted young man like you."

With that, the old beggar turned and walked away.

Yang Bo stood there for a moment, puzzled.

The moment the glass bead touched his hand, a refreshing sensation flooded his eyes and flowed through his entire body as if each cell was submerged in ice water.

Losing track of time, Yang Bo suddenly snapped back to reality. Realizing he had been away for too long, he hurriedly snatched his takeout box and dashed back to the shop.

When Yang Bo returned to the store, his boss, Guo Bapi, berated him immediately. "What took you so long today? Don't you know that time is money? You're wasting my life, got it?"

Yang Bo nodded slightly, explaining. "The takeout place was slammed today; I had to wait in line."

"So, you've been helping the pretty girl again? Got your eyes on the daughter of the takeout owner?"

Yang Bo remained silent. He had helped out at the takeout place before, but only to save money for a meal. He didn't bother to correct his boss's misunderstanding.

With a disdainful snort, Guo Bapi grabbed his takeout and retreated into the back of the shop to eat.

Yang Bo took out his portion of fried rice and a pair of disposable chopsticks. Then a thought struck him—where did the mysterious bead go?

He was sure the old beggar had handed it to him, and he'd been holding it ever since.

He glanced up at the clock; it was already 1p.m. He was half an hour later than usual. Had he been standing there for thirty minutes?

And yet, why hadn't he broken into a sweat?

Unable to make sense of the strange events and unwilling to ponder them further, Yang Bo grabbed his chopsticks and delved into his fried rice, leaving the mystery for another time.