My name is Lu Zhenyue. I am twenty-five this year. I have been engaged in the restoration of cultural relics for three years. I opened a small studio next to Panjiayuan in our capital city. I am not very rich, but I have more than enough to make a living. I can occasionally pick up things, and my life is quite comfortable.
Others say that I am gentle and elegant. I wear thin-rimmed glasses and a plain shirt, and my hands always have paint marks that cannot be washed away. I look like a gentle person at first glance. Only I know that in my heart, my ability to complain is as good as that of a crosstalk talker under the bridge, especially when I see those bosses who are pretentious and don't know how to pretend to understand. The villain in my heart can scold people bloody, but I still have to be polite with a smile on my face. There is no way, who let us eat hand-made food, the customer is God, even if this God is a stick, we have to hold it.
For example, yesterday, a potbellied boss came over carrying a tattered porcelain bowl. He said it was an official kiln from the Qianlong period and asked me to repair it for a hundred thousand yuan. I weighed it twice in my hand and thought: Just this thing, you can buy two of them for fifty yuan at a street stall. The glaze color is uneven and the texture is rough. It can't even be considered a replica. At most, it is a modern handicraft. If it is returned to the official kiln of Qianlong, I am afraid that I will think that Emperor Qianlong is a fool.
