Just south of Volgograd, the town of Chacha on the shore of Chacha Lake once again welcomes its weekly farm market on Tuesdays.
In an abandoned farm next to the lakeshore, cars or vans with their license plates covered were arranged neatly according to the established rules, and the opened trunks were filled with all kinds of strange and weird objects.
From World War II medals with soil remaining, to Makarov pistols that smell of gun oil. From various porcelain vases with no origin, to accordions and record players that are long out of date. There are even some that are from someone I don’t know.
Passports from various countries, suitcases, and laptops were stolen from the pockets. Basically, as long as you are willing to spend money, you can always find some weird things here.
In the core area of the market, an old Slavic man who was over fifty years old and very drunk was holding half a bottle of gin in one hand and half a pickle in the other hand, walking and stopping between various stalls.
, occasionally calling the stall owner and whispering a few questions into his ear. Behind him, there was also a young Asian man pulling a shopping cart.
There was nothing else in this tattered shopping cart, which was filled with various newspapers and magazines from the Soviet World War II era. Even at the very edge, there was an unopened bottle of gin and most of the cans of pickles.
"Professor, we have been shopping all morning, are you sure we can really find clues in this ghost place?" Wei Ran pulled away a woman who took the initiative to sell reading materials, and asked boredly to the old man who had just finished chatting with the stall owner.
"Victor, be patient."
Professor Alexey took a sip of wine leisurely and said, "If you feel bored, you can walk around by yourself or go fishing at the lake, but don't worry, we will definitely find what you want."
"That's what you said two hours ago."
Wei Ran helplessly unscrewed the can and let the other party squeeze out a pickled cucumber again, "I didn't find what you were looking for. I've already eaten half the bottle of pickled cucumbers. Also, don't forget that my wife asked me to keep an eye on you and drink less."
Order a drink."
"When I finish drinking this bottle of wine, I will go back if I still haven't found it. Also, how about I give you an extra graduation gift?" Alexei shook the bottle, "As a thank you, forget about drinking.
Well, if I have time in the afternoon, I will take you to play on Chacha Lake."
"Actually, buying information is fake, but looking for opportunities to drink is real, right?" Wei Ran exposed the other party's trick without any expectation, "Also, let me guess, this time the gift is another wad of brand-new Soviet rubles?"
"Fuck you Stalin!" Professor Alexey jumped to his feet and cursed, "I have already given away all my Soviet rubles!"
"Is there just the last pile left?" Wei Ran asked in anticipation.
"Fart! Fart your Stalinist fart!" Professor Alexei blushed and pointed around, "This time I will choose a decent gift for you in this market, a gift worth at least five thousand rubles!"
"As long as I don't have to pay for it myself," Wei Ran blocked all the old man's escape routes with one sentence.
"I'm so blind, how could I let you, a bastard, stay here in a moment of confusion?" Alexei raised his head and took a sip of gin. He was too lazy to say another word to Wei Ran, and walked to the next one unsteadily.
Stall.
Wei Ran, who was following him, continued to push the shopping cart as if nothing had happened, and concentrated on being a porter.
The quarrel between him and Professor Alex started almost four years ago when he first came here to go to school. He thought that graduating from college would finally allow his ears and lips to rest, but he didn't expect that this old guy would come back again.
Use your good job as a professor's assistant to save yourself.
But the reason for such "good" treatment is all due to Professor Alexei having a Chinese wife, and even more due to the fact that this teacher's wife and Wei Ran's mother were classmates from kindergarten to high school.
Otherwise, with my disastrous college entrance examination results, I would definitely not be qualified to enter the Volgograd State University as an international student to study history. Even if it were not for the past four or five years, Professor Alexey and his wife taught me each word step by step.
When it comes to word practice, don’t talk about your graduation certificate. I’m afraid you won’t even understand what you’re talking about.
Of course, for Professor Alexei, an old guy who drinks all kinds of things every day, he just wants a trustworthy cheap labor force to help him do some private work.
Following Professor Alexei for a walk, when most of the half-bottle of gin and pickled cucumbers went into Professor Alexei's stomach, the teacher and student finally found what they wanted in a remote stall.
Looking for someone.
After rounds of bargaining, Alexei reluctantly paid the high price of fifty thousand rubles, and Weiran was able to successfully lift the wooden suitcase into the shopping cart.
According to the stall owner, this box contains all negatives taken during World War II, but there is still a question mark as to whether they can find the clues they want to find from these films.
"How about giving me this broken box?" Alexei asked, holding on to the 50,000 rubles and pointing to a completely rusted iron box in the corner of the stall with his chin.
"Unless you add eight thousand rubles," the stall owner said, holding the other side of the ruble.
"Are you so poor that you are crazy?" Professor Alexei raised his voice at least an octave, "A broken box is sold for eight thousand rubles? You might as well go rob the Petersburg bank!"
"It's the same as the negatives you bought. They were all obtained from the same closed photo studio." The stall owner simply let go of the ruble and kicked the box on the edge of the stall with his toes. "And since I got it, I
I haven’t even had time to open it yet, there might be gold inside.”
"Gold? Why didn't you say there was Stalin inside, smoking a pipe?"
Professor Alexei shook the banknotes in his hand and said, "I'll give you another three thousand rubles at most. This broken box will only deceive foreign tourists. Who among the locals will buy this kind of rubbish?"
"make a deal!"
The stall owner agreed to the deal very straightforwardly. The box was not bought at all, but a "gift" that he shamelessly asked for from the buyer just like Professor Alexei at this time.
As for whether the box really contained treasures, the stall owner had no doubt. He had already used the engine borescope to look at the rusty damage. There were only clothes that had become moldy, otherwise he would have opened them long ago.
.
"Since I bought the box, how about giving me this vernier caliper?" Professor Alexei, who was eager to make an extravagant move, bent down and picked up another open Bakelite box.
"Otherwise, I'll give you my wife as well."
The stall owner took back the vernier caliper angrily and said, "This is high-end product produced by Bosch in Germany during World War II. It is more expensive than the broken film you bought."
"If you don't want to give it away, I won't give it away." Alexei reached out and picked up a bayonet issued by Germany during World War II. "Is it okay to give this to me?"
"Old man, are you going to buy it or not?" The stall owner lifted up the hem of his clothes, revealing a polished P38 pistol.
"No, I didn't say I wouldn't buy it."
Professor Alexey put the bayonet back in its original position very neatly, took out a few large bills from his wallet, and handed them to the other party along with the rubles he had been holding in his hand.
After greeting Wei Ran, who was hiding far away and pretending not to recognize him, he loaded the almost rotten iron box into the shopping cart, and the teacher and student immediately walked to the parking lot of the Pier Market.
"Professor, why did you buy this broken box?" Wei Ran asked as he also pulled out a piece of rust shell the size of a bottle cap from the iron box.
"Look carefully at what's written on the side of the box," Professor Alexey reminded proudly.
Wei Ran bent down and looked at it, "Truth...Pravda?!"
"It's Pravda. The owner of this box might be a reporter from that newspaper. There might be a camera or something that the reporter used in it."
After Professor Alexei tried to pick up the second bottle of gin in the shopping cart to no avail, he said shamelessly, "But no matter what treasures are in this box, they are all yours, and they are your university."
A graduation gift!"
"Are you kidding me?" Wei Ran looked like he had seen a ghost, "Who would want this crap?"
"Victor, dear Victor"
Professor Alexei said seriously, "Compared to the value of the unknown treasure in the box itself, the surprise when you open the box is the most precious, isn't it?"
"No, you just don't want to spend money." Wei Ran ruthlessly exposed this stingy professor's trick that was almost worn out.
"Stop talking nonsense, do you want it?" Alexei suddenly asked in authentic Chinese, and the look in his tone was very much like his aunt's attitude when she was angry.
"Yes, why don't you want it for free?"
Wei Ran frowned and said reluctantly, if he had known better, it would be better to get another stack of Soviet rubles from the other party. At least those waste papers that are not light-proof even if they are covered with windows, they can be marked at 50 yuan each after they are brought home.
Zhang's high price means that even a fool would be willing to buy it.
But this almost rusty iron box, let alone whether its owner is a reporter, even if it is a reporter, there is a question mark whether there is an old camera in it.
After leaving the market, Professor Alexei never mentioned the boating trip to Chacha Lake, and urged Wei Ran to drive the dirty Vaz van towards the city of Volgograd.
Weiran, who had known this outcome for a long time, didn't care and drove straight to the city on the west bank of the Volga River, more than 60 kilometers away.
When Weiran stopped the car at the foot of a high-end apartment building, Professor Alexei pointed to the rear compartment before getting out of the car, "Remember to check all those films when you get back."
Before Wei Ran could open his mouth, Professor Alexei, who had just left the carriage, patted his forehead and said, "Also, if you find any clues related to tanks or World War II in the photos, please remember to send me a message."
"And one more thing"
Professor Alexei, who had just taken two steps, ran back again, and then saw Wei Ran waiting for him with a smile on his face, carrying a bottle of gin.
"It's okay now" Professor Alexei took the gin with satisfaction and walked into the apartment door.
"10, 9, 8..." Wei Ran, who was sitting in the cab, was not in a hurry to leave. Instead, he slowly started counting down.
Sure enough, before his countdown reached zero, Professor Alexei, carrying a bottle of wine, ran out of the apartment building anxiously.
"Why haven't you left yet?" Professor Alexei asked as he opened the carriage door.
"You must have forgotten something again," Wei Ran responded with an expression that he had already guessed.
"Then why don't you know how to send it to me?" Professor Alexei picked up a bouquet of roses he bought at the dock market, and without waiting for Wei Ran's response, he turned around and walked into the apartment.
"It's almost done this time." Only then did Wei Ran restart the car and drive straight to a workshop used for processing canned fish in the Soviet era, located between the Motherland Statue and the Volga River.
This old workshop, which is 50 meters long and nearly 15 meters wide, was bought by Professor Alexey and his wife at the end of last year with a high-priced loan. More than half of the area was converted by the teacher's wife into a special B&B and travel agency.
, while the other half was converted into a studio where Professor Alexey took on private work.
As for Wei Ran, he usually either works for Professor Alexei in the studio or goes to the travel agency next door to serve as a tour guide for a few days. While taking domestic tourists to eat, drink and have fun, he also talks about the Soviet history learned in college.
.
Although such a life is too fulfilling, the benefits are not low. At least this year's tuition fees have been paid back. And the most important thing is that living here is much more comfortable than the bedbug-infested dormitory of the National University.
Wei Ran parked the dirty Watts bread at the door of the studio with familiarity. Wei Ran took out the key and opened the rolling shutter door, and then moved the wooden box of negatives he bought a few hours ago to the workbench.
This chapter is not over yet, please click on the next page to continue reading! At least a quarter of the innermost space of this huge work room is filled with rows of bookshelves, all of which are saved by Alex
The professor teaches various historical files, old film negatives and even video tapes accumulated over the years.
As for the clients of this studio, there are various public or private museums, as well as digging parties wandering in the wilderness digging for war treasures. Of course, there are also some people sent by underground auctions.
Just like the T-34 tank that temporarily occupied the entrance of this studio, it was dug out of his backyard by a local collector not long ago.
Of course, no one cares whether it was really dug out of his own backyard, and the reason why it was sent to this studio was only because the collector wanted Professor Alex to find this T-34
The battle history of the tank can be used to tell a good story or sell it at a good price.
Like all the T-34 tanks produced from the tractor factory in this city during the Battle of Stalingrad, it did not have time to be painted, and it did not have any serial numbers. But it had on the left side of the turret
Five surviving handprints in red paint.
This is also Professor Alexey's only clue. Unfortunately, the teacher and student have not found any information about this tank in the past half month, except that it was made by the Stalingrad Tractor Factory.
Any clues. Even if Professor Alexei hadn't always found a way to resell the purchased materials, the 500,000 rubles activity fund provided by the collector would have been spent.
"Hopefully these negatives can provide some valuable clues."
Wei Ran rubbed his hands, opened the wooden box, and took out the photo albums inside and placed them on the table.
Each of these negative photo albums is A4-sized and five to six centimeters thick. Even on the first page of each photo album, the shooting time and film specifications of the negatives are marked in neat pen letters, and even on each negative
Next to it, the location of the shooting and the name of the person or thing were written in the same handwriting.
"Such detailed work doesn't look like the work of an idiot."
Wei Ran joked to himself, and then found the photo album taken in 1941. Starting from the first page, he pulled out the cut negatives and stuck them on the copy board.
After turning on the power and pressing the switch, Wei Ran picked up a magnifying glass as big as a bowl and carefully observed the contents of each film.
The moments recorded by these negatives taken more than half a century ago seem to have a lingering smell of gunpowder smoke, from the ruins of dilapidated buildings to the streets strewn with corpses, to the smoky suburban battlefields and muddy trenches.
Even the wounded and busy nurses lying in the field hospital, the content recorded in each negative is particularly thrilling.
After looking through the negatives one by one, as expected, I couldn't find any footage of the T-34 tank. Still unsatisfied, I put these precious negatives back into place, and turned to the second page to continue the operation.
Soon, the entire album of negatives turned to the last page. Wei Ran rubbed his eyes that were blurred, took a short rest, and took out the album of negatives from 1942.
In this boring repetition, the film after film ran before Wei Ran's eyes like a revolving lantern. Occasionally, there was a shot of a T-34 tank in the photo, so he quickly took it off, fixed it on the film holder, and scanned it with a scanner.
It is much more convenient to enter the computer for coloring than to directly develop it into a photo.
I was busy until dark. Even the statue of Motherland outside the window was lit up for more than an hour. Even the content in the negatives turned into various photos of life and scenery after retirement. But they were eligible to be scanned into the computer.
There were less than fifty negatives in it, and he was even sure that these scanned photos had a high probability to have nothing to do with the tank behind him.
"Clang"
Wei Ran threw the heavy magnifying glass on the table, and while rubbing his sore neck, he muttered to himself, "Another waste of fifty thousand rubles. I hope the professor can sell these negatives at a good price."
"Don't worry, I can sell these negatives tomorrow." Professor Alexei walked into the studio almost without stopping, and brought a sumptuous dinner to Wei Ran.
"I was shocked. When did you come?"
Wei Ran quickly let go of the Tokarev pistol in the drawer. This gun was put in by Professor Alexei himself, so that if a thief came in one day, he would not be unable to fight back.
"Just arrived, come over and eat."
Professor Alexey lied as soon as he opened his mouth. He would not admit that he came more than two hours ago. He just saw that Wei Ran was busy and quietly hid in the travel agency next door to drink coffee with his wife.
"Where's my aunt?" Wei Ran didn't even bother to wash his hands. After opening the lunch box, he started to wolf down the steaming braised pork in his mouth.
"Go back an hour ago..." Professor Alexei realized he had let slip halfway through his words. Without saying a word, he unplugged the power source, picked up his laptop and ran out of the studio.
This old bastard!
Wei Ran, who almost choked to death, hammered his chest hard and watched helplessly as Professor Alexei disappeared at the end of the street in his BMW car.
