Chen Feng grew up in an orphanage and spent three years running a street stall. Three women dumped him, all because he had no money.
In the summer of 1997, his girlfriend threw a glass necklace in his face. “Other than having the word ‘sharp’ in your name, what about you is sharp?” He had no answer. Then he fell off a cliff and was reborn on that very same day. He was still broke, but now he had a grimy old inkstone. The moment his fingers touched it, the scent of ink from a Qing-dynasty study, the warmth of old objects, and secrets buried by time flooded his mind. From junkyards to old country houses, from street stalls to auction halls, from being trampled into the dirt to reaching the pinnacle of the antiques world, this time he would let his brilliance shine. The women who once threw him away would see the same name again and again in newspapers, on television, and at auctions: Chen Feng.
1997 Very pretty