Chapter Eighty-Two: The Wise Do Not Hold Grudges Against the Petty

At Chen Jianguo's age, the chances of returning to work at the company were already slim. After all, he was someone who had already left; as the saying goes, once a person is gone, the tea cools—things are not so easily restored. Besides, the position being offered this time was one of real authority. If he could secure it, not only would he regain his dignity, but the rewards would be substantial. Unfortunately, he lacked the necessary connections.

“Uncle, you don't need to be too discouraged,” Wu Chenghao said gently. “After Aunt Wang mentioned it, I looked into the matter a bit. It seems the final say in rehiring rests with your company’s marketing director, doesn't it?”

Pausing deliberately, he continued, “So… why don’t we just ask him for help?”

“Ah, Chenghao, you don’t know the half of it. The decision is indeed in his hands. I’ve tried to pull some strings; I can’t tell you how many drinks I’ve had with people these past few days for this very reason, but it hasn’t worked. Up to now, I haven’t gotten a definite answer from our director!” Chen Jianguo shook his head and smiled bitterly. The marketing director, Zhang Pingbang, was a relative of the group’s chairman—a man with his nose perpetually in the air, to whom ordinary employees meant nothing.

“Actually, catering to his interests might not be a bad idea,” Wu Chenghao said, smiling faintly. Seeing Chen Jianguo’s confused look, he explained, “From what I’ve heard, Director Zhang is passionate about the calligraphy and paintings of Zheng Banqiao. If that’s the case, why not give him a piece by Zheng Banqiao? Then, everything would fall into place!”

“Heh, Chenghao, you’re giving me too much credit. How could your Uncle Chen possibly afford an authentic piece by Zheng Banqiao?” Chen Jianguo could only smile at his own predicament. “And even if I could scrape together the money, authentic works are virtually impossible to find these days—there are too many fakes on the market. There’s just no way to buy one!”

In truth, Chen Jianguo had considered this idea before. Despite the outrageous price of Zheng Banqiao’s authentic works, if it could really help him secure this promotion, it would be worth gritting his teeth and buying one. But where could he even find it?

Wu Chenghao gave a mysterious laugh. “Uncle, I’ve already thought about this for you. In fact, I brought you a Zheng Banqiao piece just for this occasion!”

Chen Jianguo was stunned, his breathing quickening, an expression of utter disbelief on his face. “What… what did you say?!”

Without another word, Wu Chenghao got up, walked to the door, and retrieved the long rectangular gift box he’d brought earlier. Setting it on the coffee table, he opened it to reveal a rolled-up, antique hanging scroll.

“This… could it be…?” Chen Jianguo stood up so fast it was as though he’d been shocked, his face flushed with excitement and anticipation.

“You guessed right, Uncle. This is indeed a calligraphy piece by Zheng Banqiao!” Wu Chenghao said as he took out the scroll and handed it to Chen Jianguo, smiling all the while. “My family may not be wealthy, but we do have a collection of antiques and calligraphy. This piece is one of them.”

Chen Jianguo was visibly moved. He hurriedly accepted the scroll with both hands, carrying it to the desk behind the sofa. Carefully, he unfurled it, revealing a piece of calligraphy that exuded an ancient charm.

Unable to contain his delight, he examined it intently, then fetched a magnifying glass to study the work even more closely.

Chen Jianguo had previously worked for a company specializing in antiques and calligraphy, which operated several stores in Qingyang. He had been the manager of one such store, only leaving when it relocated far away and he voluntarily resigned. Now, with the company expanding and a new store set to open close to Liyuan Community, he hoped to reconnect and be rehired.

Thus, he had some skill in appreciating antiques and calligraphy.

It was a Hundred-Character Poem, long and narrow in form, mostly upright with a touch of movement—rustic, vigorous, with a strong flavor of clerical script, blended with seal and regular script. The composition was distinctive: large and small, long and short, square and round, thick and thin, dense and sparse, interwoven like “scattered stones paving a street”—unruly yet within bounds, lively and dynamic. At the end, Zheng Banqiao’s name was inscribed, along with several seals he commonly used, such as “Seventh-Rank Official” and “Seal of Xie.”

“This is the genuine Banqiao style—truly a work by Zheng Banqiao, ha ha!” After careful study, Chen Jianguo was beside himself with excitement. “Even though I haven’t seen many of his authentic works in person, I do know the basic features. This is the real thing, absolutely genuine!”

Watching her husband’s excited reaction, Lü Hongmei’s curiosity was piqued, so she came over to take a look herself. But she knew little about such things and could make nothing of it.

“Chenghao is truly thoughtful,” Lü Hongmei said with a laugh. Suddenly reminded of Su Zheng in the kitchen, she raised her voice deliberately. “Hmph! Compared to some useless people I could mention, he’s a hundred times better. There are fools who don’t even know how to make money—hopeless, will never amount to anything in their lives!”

“Why bring him up? He’s just spoiling the mood. Go tell him to hurry up with the cooking—how long does it take to prepare a few dishes?” Chen Jianguo said with a look of disgust. The joy on his face clouded over at the mention of Su Zheng.

Wu Chenghao was secretly pleased; seeing that his goal was within reach, he felt triumphant. “Uncle, do you think if you presented this piece to the marketing director, he’d help you?”

Hearing this, Chen Jianguo’s gloom lifted. But after a moment’s thought, he sighed, helpless. “Chenghao, this work is clearly a masterpiece from Zheng’s later years. Its market value must be over a million. Given our current situation, how could we possibly afford it? Ha… best not to talk about it.”

“Uncle, that’s not the right way to look at it,” Wu Chenghao said, a hint of displeasure on his face. “Never mind the money. Since I’ve brought the piece, it’s meant as a gift for you!”

He had already decided to give the painting to Chen Jianguo. He didn’t know its true value; all he knew was that his grandfather had picked it up at a street stall and, for some reason, had tossed it into the study, where it had lain untouched for years.

If this painting could win the approval of Chen Jianguo and his wife—and persuade them to marry Chen Muxue to him—it would be well worth it!

“What? You want to give… give it to me?!” Chen Jianguo’s body trembled; he stared at Wu Chenghao in astonishment. “How could I possibly accept such a thing? I couldn’t!”

“Yes, Chenghao, this is too valuable for us to accept!” Lü Hongmei hurried to voice her refusal—the gift was simply too precious.