Back to 80: My literary life.

Chapter 221 The overwhelming wealth

Oh my god

There are eight to nine thousand famous calligraphy and paintings for sale!

Fang Minghua felt his heart beating suddenly.

However, the surface remained calm, and he asked with a smile: "Comrade salesperson, can I meet your curator? I am very interested in this batch of calligraphy and paintings."

"You? How much do you want?" The salesperson looked at him suspiciously.

"Not many, maybe a hundred or so?"

Hundreds of paintings are also big customers.

The salesperson's attitude immediately changed. She ran to the next room and came out two minutes later. She told Fang Minghua that her colleagues had gone to find the curator and asked them to wait.

Jia Pingwa, who had been silent just now, pulled him aside and whispered: "Minghua, I know you are rich, but you can't waste money like this."

"What's wrong?"

"I can see that you want to collect them, but these calligraphy and paintings are from painters such as Qi Baishi and Zhang Daqian during the Republic of China. Their paintings have little collection value! Otherwise, how could the museum sell them at such a low price?!" Jia Pingwa said.

That makes sense.

It's a pity that I know what will happen 30 years later.

Fang Minghua didn't defend him and just said: "Let's talk to the curator first and see what the situation is."

But after waiting for half an hour, the curator didn't come out. He only saw a young girl hurried over and whispered a few words in the salesperson's ear.

"Comrade, I'm sorry, I made a mistake. Our curator said that this batch of calligraphy and paintings was reserved by a foreign guest, leaving only these 14 paintings at the counter. Do you want them?"

What the hell!

Booked? !

Fang Minghua suddenly felt like a bucket of cold water was poured on his head.

Normally, it would be a pleasure to buy 14 authentic works by Qi Baishi and others, but these paintings are simply incomparable to the eight or nine thousand works just now.

However, Fang Minghua didn't say much. He just said it was a pity and swept away all the calligraphy and paintings on the counter, which were worth 660 yuan.

The final transaction was 640 yuan.

After rolling up these famous calligraphy paintings, Fang Minghua and Jia Pingwa left the museum.

"Minghua, you are really willful when you have money." Jia Pingwa sighed with emotion.

More than 600 yuan, which is more than half a year's salary for ordinary employees.

But Fang Minghua was not in the mood to joke with him now, and felt distressed thinking about those eight or nine thousand paintings.

Incredible wealth.

Just gone?

"Brother Jia, I'm going to see Song Tangtang's grandfather now. How about you." Fang Minghua said.

"I'm going to see a friend, so let's say goodbye and see you back in Xijing."

"Okay, see you in Xijing."

Seeing Jia Pingwa getting on a bus and driving away, Fang Minghua did not rush to the General Political Courtyard, but turned around and walked towards the museum.

He decided to meet the curator.

The salesperson who was sitting behind the counter saw Fang Minghua leaving and coming back. He thought he regretted it and said hurriedly: "Comrade, once the items are sold, we will not return them."

"No, I want to meet your curator." Fang Minghua stated his purpose.

"Why are you meeting our curator? Haven't those paintings been reserved?" The salesperson was a little confused.

"It's something else."

As Fang Minghua said, he took out the various documents he was carrying and handed them to the other party.

The salesperson took it and took a look.

Oops

Deputy editor of the magazine!

Writers Association member! A great writer.

If it were anyone else, the salesperson would think he was looking for trouble, but the writer was different.

So the salesperson went next door and asked her colleague to help her look at it for a while, and then took Fang Minghua to the third floor of the museum.

The first and second floors are exhibition halls, and the third floor is the office. The girl led Fang Minghua to open the office with the sign of the Director of the History Museum.

Inside, an old man in his sixties was sitting behind the desk, looking at a painting with a magnifying glass.

"Director Wang, there is a writer named Minghua here looking for you." The girl said respectfully.

"Minghua? Are you the writer who wrote "Crossing Guandong" and the deputy editor of "Yanhe" magazine?" The old man raised his head and said.

"I wrote it. Hello, Director Wang." Fang Minghua walked in and stretched out his right hand.

The old man shook hands with him and said with a smile: "Editor Fang, I recently listened to the novel you wrote on the radio. It was very good, because I am also from the Northeast."

"Oh? Director Wang, are we fellow villagers? My native place is Liao Province."

"Ha, what a coincidence, so am I. I'm from Shenyang, how about you?"

"I'm from Beisipiao, not far from Shenyang."

"No wonder, what you describe in your book is your hometown, it's so detailed."

"Actually, I have never been in the Northeast. I was born in Xijing. My father is from the Northeast. I asked him about many customs and customs in my hometown, and some of them were obtained from historical records."

"That's good. I'm a history student. The most taboo thing about writing this kind of family history novel is making up things without any information."

As the two talked, Director Wang invited Fang Minghua to sit on the sofa. The girl poured tea enthusiastically before leaving.

After the two chatted for a while, Director Wang asked:

"Editor Fang, what do you want from me today?"

"I just bought some famous calligraphy and paintings from your collection downstairs." Fang Minghua said, carefully opening the rolled calligraphy and paintings.

"Oh, Xiao Zhang downstairs just now said that someone asked about the calligraphy and paintings of these painters from the Republic of China period, and it was you."

"Yes, Director Wang, I am very interested in this batch of calligraphy and paintings. I heard that a foreigner has already made a reservation?"

"Yes, last month, an American, or Chinese-American, came here and said he wanted to buy these calligraphy and paintings. We reached an agreement verbally. He said he would return to China to withdraw the money first, and he is expected to come in the next few days."

"Have you paid the deposit?"

"This is not."

There is a play!

Fang Minghua felt happy.

However, he did not continue to express his position but asked in confusion: "Director Wang, are these all authentic works? Although the calligraphy and paintings of the painters of the Republic of China are not as collectible as those of ancient famous artists, they will not sell so many at once?"

After hearing what Fang Minghua said, Director Wang sighed and said.

"No Money."

It turns out that the country has just reformed and opened up not long ago, and the country is experiencing economic difficulties. The state financial allocation for institutions such as history museums is relatively small, and a large number of cultural relics need to be maintained, which is a huge sum of money.

The museum was in dire straits and had no choice but to resort to this strategy. With the approval of the superior department, it sold some calligraphy and paintings with relatively low collection value, such as works by Qi Baishi, Zhang Daqian, Pan Tianshou, Li Kuchan and others, to maintain the operation of the museum.

"I'm not afraid of making fun of you. There is no place to put these calligraphy and paintings. Do you know where to put these calligraphy and paintings? I put them in several coffins! There is really no way. The museum has too many collections and the space is small. Selling some of them will also alleviate the problem. pressure."

What the hell!

Put it in a coffin?

Is this too much?

However, he ignored these and leaned forward and asked: "Director Wang, can you tell me how many paintings there are? How much did you sell them for?"

"8952 pieces, about 32 yuan." Director Wang said.

"33, I want them all."

(End of this chapter)