The cold wind in late autumn blew across the bluestone road of the Antique Street like a knife, rolling up a few withered yellow sycamore leaves and swirling them against my trouser legs. I tightened my old jacket that had been washed white, and held an object wrapped in layers of old newspapers tightly in my hand. My knuckles turned white from the exertion.
Jubao Pavilion.
Three large gilt characters shone dazzlingly in the afternoon sun. The red lacquer door was open, and you could vaguely see the dazzling array of porcelain and jade on the ancient shelves inside. This is the largest store in Jiangcheng Antique Street, and it is also my last hope.
"Mom, hold on a little longer..." I murmured softly, and my mother's pale face in the hospital ward appeared in front of me again. In the advanced stage of uremia, the doctor said that a kidney transplant must be performed as soon as possible. The operation fee plus follow-up treatment would cost at least 500,000 yuan.
Half a million.
For me, a poor boy who had just graduated from college and worked at a courier station, it was an astronomical figure. My father died young, and my mother raised me by running a breakfast stall. The family's only savings were almost used up when I went to college. In the past half month, I borrowed money from all the relatives and friends I could, but the money I collected was almost not enough even for hospitalization expenses.
Until three days ago, when I was cleaning up the attic of my old house, I discovered this wooden box that had been forgotten in the corner. Wrapped in red silk cloth inside, is a blue and white bowl.
