Treasure Hunting in the Grand Canal

When Lao Jin sank the last piece of "Wanli blue and white porcelain" into the canal, the moon was half-swallowed by clouds. The mud-covered porcelain sank with a gurgling sound, like a burp from the riverbed. He squatted on the bank, counting the days—seventy-three days, enough for the water stains to seep into the glaze, enough for the mud and sand to age the raw, unpolished quality, enough to turn a three-hundred-yuan imitation into a "freshly unearthed Ming Dynasty official kiln piece." He had rules in this business: he didn't cheat the poor, he didn't cheat his fellow connoisseurs, he only cheated those with plenty of money, shallow eyes, and self-proclaimed expertise—the "favored ones." Every year during the dry season, the canal would release some genuine artifacts; he simply mixed a little into the real thing.