"Hey, Fengzi, look, there are terracotta warriors and horses on that stall, they are real or fake."
I'm serious, go buy it.
The bean sprouts really went there.
"Boss, why are your terracotta warriors and horses so small? How can you sell them?"
The stall owner looked up at the bean sprouts, yawned and said, "It's not expensive, eight hundred million."
Dou Sprout was very happy and asked him what the lowest price was.
The stall owner smiled and said: "If you really want it, give me 40 yuan. Buy five and get one free."
I walked up to him and took out fifty yuan, "Just wrap it up and buy one so you don't have to look for it anymore."
The stall owner was stunned, took the money with a smile and kicked it into his pocket.
"Tell me what you want to know."
I nodded: "Let me ask you about a man named Chi Santong."
"Are you looking for Sister Chi?" the stall owner asked in surprise.
"Sister Chi? Female?" I always thought she was an old man.
"Go forward a hundred meters and turn left from the public toilet. There is a copperware shop on the right. The stall in front of the copperware shop is Sister Chi's."
"I mean brother..." The stall owner looked around and whispered: "I see you are carrying a bag, do you want to put some goods away? I can also collect it, take it out and take a look."
"No, I was just asking."
Lao Pi asked me to find Chi Santong, which means that this person is reliable. I don't dare to let others see my things casually.
Using a flashlight, I followed the path he pointed. As soon as I turned the corner, I suddenly saw a lot of people gathered in front of me.
It was only after I took a closer look that I realized that the man setting up the stall was the man I had seen two days ago. He was the man who was bullied in the bathhouse. I don’t know his real name. I heard others call him the poet of Xi’an.
"5 yuan, you can write or not."
"I said, the minimum is 10 yuan. If you don't buy it, you can leave."
"I'll give you another dollar, six dollars. If you don't want to do it, I'm leaving. Don't call me when I leave."
There was a table propped up in front of this man, with white paper and brushes on the table, and an old battery connected to a light bulb for lighting.
I saw that his expression was a little hesitant.
"Okay, 6 yuan, 6 yuan, whatever you want to write."
"Damn it, you're really planning to write it. I'm kidding you. I can buy two kilograms of pork for 6 yuan. Isn't it delicious? Haha."
The crowd watching the excitement burst into laughter.
The man's hand holding the brush gently put it down again.
At this time, a young girl gave me ten yuan and asked her to write a few words for me. The girl was wearing a bunny hat and cotton headphones, and her face was red from the cold.
He took the money and asked what to write as usual.
The girl said it doesn't matter, just write a few words or a poem. I'm just curious and want to take a look.
The man nodded, smoothed his sleeves, wetted the brush and paused for a moment.
I'm watching in the crowd.
Strangely, he suddenly looked at me and smiled.
The pen moved quickly and penetrated the back of the paper. He immediately splashed the ink and wrote a poem.
"The drunken life returns to a dream."
"A lifetime of hard work goes unpaid."
"Reducing talents regardless of style."
"Xi'an nobleman Xiang Yunfeng."
The last word "peak" in this poem, the last vertical stroke, is drawn very long, like a straight sword thrust into the paper, and the momentum is astonishing.
"Xiang Yunfeng? My name?"
"He knows me?"
Before I could react, he rolled up the written calligraphy and handed it to me. He smiled and said, "Let's call it "Xi'an Poet Qin Huaihu Presents Xiang Yunfeng."
"You...you are?"
"you know me?"
The man shook his head and smiled: "I don't know you, but someone knows you. I am entrusted by others."
