Old Wang‘s Golden Nugget

Old Wang, full name Wang Jianguo, a name bearing the mark of an era, was now just a man sweeping fallen leaves and dust in an inconspicuous hutong in the East District. He was sixty-three, slightly stooped, like the weather-beaten old locust tree in the hutong, silently watching the sun rise and set. The bustling traffic seemed like the clamor of another world. His world consisted of this hundred-meter-long flagstone path and the meager monthly pension, barely enough to get by, plus feeding a few stray cats at the hutong entrance.

That afternoon, the sun hung lazily in the hazy sky, like a dim, sleepy yellow bulb. Old Wang was wielding his big broom, worn from countless years of use, wrestling with a stubborn plastic bag. Suddenly, the edge of the broom struck something hard with a dull "clank." Not a pebble, nor a brick. Curious, Old Wang crouched down and brushed away the accumulated dust with his fingers.

It was a lump, about the size of a fist, irregular in shape, with a pitted surface. Yet, under the weak sunlight, it reflected a heavy, warm luster. Old Wang's heart felt like it had been struck hard, echoing the "clank." He had lived over sixty years and had seen real gold, albeit only behind the glass counters of jewelry stores. This thing... it looked so real! The color, the texture, it felt heavy in his calloused palm.

He quickly glanced left and right. The hutong was empty, save for the rustling sound of wind blowing through the old locust tree's leaves. Like a thief, Old Wang swiftly tucked the lump into his chest pocket. Beneath his greasy blue work jacket, the object poked uncomfortably, making his heart pound, yet also warming it with excitement. He hastily finished sweeping the rest of the path and returned home on unsteady feet—to his small, ten-square-meter bungalow deep in the hutong.

Closing the door and sliding the bolt, Old Wang finally dared to take the lump out and place it on the greasy octagonal table. He leaned in close, repeatedly wiping it with his sleeve. The golden gleam seemed to grow stronger. It's gold! It must be gold! Old Wang's breathing quickened, the world began to spin before his eyes—not from low blood sugar, but from a tremendous possibility: he, Wang Jianguo, was going to be rich!

Many thoughts flooded his mind. First, replace this dilapidated little house that leaked wind in winter and rain in summer with a two-bedroom apartment in a proper building, with heating. Then, he'd have a good meal—not the five-yuan bowl of hand-pulled noodles from the street stall, but a real feast, with fish and meat, and a bottle of fine wine. Perhaps he could even travel south, to see West Lake, which he'd always wanted to visit in his youth but never had the money for...

He spent the whole afternoon lost in thought, even skipping dinner. Early the next morning, clutching his heavy hope, he sought out Little Li, who lived in the next hutong. Little Li was in his early thirties, worked for a courier company, had a quick mind, and knew more about the world than Old Wang.

"Li-zi," Old Wang said conspiratorially, pulling Little Li into a corner and taking out the lump, "take a look at this for your old buddy."

Little Li was stunned at first, then let out a chuckle. "Say, Uncle Wang, is this... a brass lump you picked up? Where'd you scavenge this?"

"What brass lump! Look closely!" Old Wang grew anxious, thrusting the object into Little Li's hand. "Feel the weight!"

Little Li hefted it, the playful look on his face subsiding somewhat. It was indeed heavy. He squinted, held it up to the light for a long time, then scratched it with his fingernail, leaving a faint mark. "Interesting... But, Uncle Wang, nowadays, there's plenty of brass made to look just like the real thing. Don't get your hopes up for nothing."

"Then... then let's find a place to get it tested?" Old Wang's voice trembled with anticipation.

"Alright. I know an old, reputable gold shop near Qianmen." Little Li's interest was piqued too. What if it was real? This wouldn't be a small sum.

The two took a bus to Qianmen. The old gold shop was indeed grand, with gleaming polished mahogany counters and staff in smart uniforms wearing professional smiles. Old Wang, in his faded old clothes, looked somewhat out of place, his palms sweaty.

Little Li spoke for him, carefully placing the lump on a velvet cushion. "Master," he said, "could you please take a look? What's the... purity of this thing?"

An old master craftsman with gold-rimmed glasses and meticulously combed hair came over. He picked up the lump, weighed it in his hand, his expression unchanging. Then, he took out a magnifying glass, observed it closely, picked it up with small tweezers, scratched it on a special touchstone, and applied a few drops of chemical reagent.

Old Wang's heart leaped into his throat; he could almost hear the blood rushing in his ears. Little Li held his breath, eyes fixed on the old master's face.

The old master put down the magnifying glass, adjusted his glasses, and looked at them. His tone was calm and flat, as if commenting on the weather: "Gentlemen, this is not gold."

Old Wang's head buzzed, and he nearly stumbled. Little Li quickly steadied him. "Master, are... are you sure?"

"Certain." The old master pointed to the mark on the touchstone. "This is brass. Quite high purity, actually. The workmanship is... interesting. Looks like some kind of semi-finished handicraft, or perhaps... industrial scrap? In any case, it's not a precious metal."

Old Wang's face fell instantly; all his fantasy bubbles burst in that moment. The lump that had just felt heavy and warm with hope now only felt like a painful weight against his heart. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out.

Little Li sighed and patted Old Wang's shoulder. "Uncle Wang, it's alright. Just think of it as... finding something amusing." He picked up the brass lump to hand it back to Old Wang.

Old Wang waved his hand dismissively, speaking listlessly, "Throw it away, or... you can keep it if you want."

The old master looked at the brass lump again, picked up his magnifying glass for another look, and suddenly uttered an "Eh?". "Wait a moment, there seems to be something engraved on this..." Using the tweezers, he turned the lump over and, in an inconspicuous indentation, found a line of tiny, almost worn-out letters and numbers.

"HX-7 Prototype Component... Serial No. 003..." the old master read aloud, frowning. "This looks like... a part number for some kind of aircraft component? Looks like titanium alloy plated with a layer of copper, maybe for testing purposes?"

Old Wang and Little Li were both stunned. Aircraft component? Titanium alloy? These were terms they had never encountered before.

The old master put the object down and shook his head. "We can't accept this, and it has no value to us. However, something like this shouldn't just be left lying on the street. Perhaps it was lost by some research institute or factory. Maybe... it's important to them?"

Old Wang and Little Li looked at each other, bewildered. A piece of scrap brass mistaken for gold now turned out to be a possibly important aircraft part? What kind of situation was this?

Stepping out of the gold shop, the sunlight seemed harsher. Old Wang clutched the "golden nugget"—which no longer gleamed—feeling it was incredibly heavy, yet also imbued with an absurd lightness. It wasn't wealth, but it might be trouble, or a fragment of a story he couldn't possibly comprehend.

Seeing the crestfallen Old Wang, Little Li scratched his head. "Uncle Wang, maybe... we should turn it in to the police station?"

Old Wang was silent for a long moment, then suddenly chuckled, a sound tinged with self-mockery but also a hint of relief. "Forget it. Let's just put it back where I found it." He paused, tucked the lump back into his pocket, and patted it. "Let's just... keep it as a memento. Sometimes, a memento like this weighs heavier than gold."

His back stooped, he slowly walked back towards the hutong. The brass lump—neither his hope for riches nor a clue to some mysterious component—ultimately returned to its original role: a heavy, useless thing forgotten in a corner. Like many forgotten people and things in the hutong, it flickered briefly with a faint light, then returned to silence.

Only, from that day on, whenever Old Wang swept the ground, he would subconsciously glance a little more often at reflections on the pavement. Not hoping to find gold, but as if seeking some kind of confirmation—that not all that glitters is gold, and that the heavy weights pressing on the heart aren't necessarily the full burden of life. The wind in the hutong still blew, swirling fallen leaves, and also swirling within Wang Jianguo's heart that indescribable feeling, like a cup of unsweetened overnight tea—bitter, yet real.