Just south of Volgograd, Chacha Town on the shore of Chacha Lake once again ushered in a farm market every Tuesday.

In an abandoned farm next to the lakeshore, cars or vans covering their license plates are arranged neatly according to the conventional rules, and the opened trunk is filled with all kinds of strange objects.

From the World War II medals with the remaining soil, to the Makarov pistols with the smell of gun oil, from various porcelain vases that cannot be called out, to the long-descending accordion and record machines, and even passports, suitcases, and laptops from various countries that were stolen from whose pockets. Basically, as long as you are willing to spend money, you can always find some strange things here.

In the core area of ​​the market, an old Slavic man over 50 years old who was drunk was carrying half a bottle of gin in one hand and half a sour cucumber in the other hand. He walked between various stalls and stopped occasionally. He would occasionally call the stall owner and whisper a few words to his ear. Behind him, a young Asian man holding a shopping cart was followed.

There was nothing else in the ragged shopping cart, all of which were all Soviet World War II newspapers and magazines. Even at the edge, there was a bottle of unopened gin and most of the cans of sour cucumbers.

"Professor, we've been shopping for a whole morning. Are you sure you can really find clues in this ghost place?" Wei Ranba pulled a woman who came up to sell readings and asked boredly the old man who had just finished chatting with the stall owner.

"Victor, be patient."

Professor Alexe took a sip of wine leisurely, "If you feel bored, you can go around yourself or go fishing by the lake, but don't worry, we will definitely find what we want."

"You said so two hours ago"

Wei Ran helplessly unscrew the canned bottle and let the other party pinch out a sour cucumber again. "You haven't found what you want to find, but you have eaten half a bottle of sour cucumber. Also, don't forget that my master's wife asked me to stare at you and drink less wine."

"When I finish drinking this bottle of wine, if I haven't found it, I'll go back. What about giving you an extra graduation gift?" Alexe shook the bottle of wine, "As thank you, forget about drinking, I'll take you to Chacha Lake in the afternoon if you have time."

"Actually, buying information is fake, and finding an opportunity to drink is real?" Wei Ran exposed the other party's trick without expectation, "Also let me guess, this time the gift is another new stack of Soviet rubles?"

"Don't let your Stalin fart!" Professor Alexei jumped and cursed, "My Soviet ruble has been sent long ago!"

"But there is only the last stack left?" Wei Ran asked back with anticipation.

"Fart! Fart your Stalin fart!" Professor Alexe pointed around with a red face, "This time I will pick you a decent gift in this market, worth at least five thousand rubles!"

"As long as I don't have to pay myself, I can do it." Wei Ran's words blocked all the old man's retreat.

"I'm simply blind. How could I keep you, a bastard, just a moment of confusion?" Alexe raised his head and took a sip of gin. He was too lazy to say something to Wei Ran, and walked towards the next stall staggeringly.

Wei Ran, who was following behind him, continued to push the shopping cart and follow him with concentration and become a porter.

The bickering between him and Professor Alexe started almost four years ago when he first came here to go to school. He thought that he would finally let Ergenzi and Mouth rest after graduation, but he didn't expect that this old guy would use the good job of a professor's assistant to keep himself.

But the reason why such "good" treatment is all due to Professor Alexei having a Chinese wife, and even more so to the teacher's wife and Wei Ran's mother, who are classmates from kindergarten to high school.

Otherwise, my terrible college entrance examination results would definitely not be qualified to enter Volgograd State University to study history as an international student. Even if Professor Alexe and his teacher's wife had not taught each word step by step in the past four or five years, they would not have understood the words of the Russians, let alone the graduation certificate.

Of course, for Professor Alexe, an old thing he drinks every day, he just wants a trustworthy cheap labor to help him do some private work.

Follow Professor Alexa along the way. When the half bottle of gin and pickled cucumbers were all in Professor Alexa's stomach, the teachers and students finally found the person they were looking for in a remote stall.

After rounds of bargaining, Alexe reluctantly took out a high price of 50,000 rubles, and Wei Ran was able to successfully carry the wooden suitcase into the shopping cart.

According to the stall owner, the box contains all negatives taken during World War II, but it still has to be questioned whether they can find the clues they want to find from these films.

"How about giving this broken box to me?" Alexe asked, holding the 50,000 rubles, pointing at a completely rusted iron box in the corner of the stall with his chin.

"Unless you add eight thousand rubles," the stall owner said, holding the other side of the ruble.

"Are you crazy poor?" Professor Alexe's voice raised at least 8 degrees. "A broken box sells eight thousand rubles? You might as well go and rob the Petersburg bank!"

"It's like the negatives you bought, all of them were made from the same closed photo studio." The stall owner simply let go of the ruble and kicked the box on the edge of the stall with his toes. "And since I got it, I haven't had time to open it, and there might be gold inside."

"Gold? Why don't you say there is a Stalin sucking a pipe inside?"

Professor Alexe shook the banknotes in his hand, "At least three thousand rubles will be added to you, and this broken box will deceive foreign tourists. Who would buy this kind of garbage in the locals?"

This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content behind! "Trade!"

The stall owner agreed to the deal very simply. The box was not bought at all, but a "gift" he asked for from the buyer like Professor Alexe at this time.

As for whether the box really has a treasure, the stall owner had no doubt that he had seen it with an engine endoscope along the rusted damage. There were only some clothes that had already become moldy, otherwise he would have opened it.

"Since I bought the box, how about giving this vernier caliper to me?" Professor Alexe bent down and picked up an open bakery box.

"Or I'll give you my wife too."

The stall owner was so angry that he took back the vernier caliper. "This is a high-end product produced by Bosch, Germany during World War II. It is more expensive than the broken film you bought."

"If you don't give it, don't give it." Alexe reached out and picked up a bayonet issued by World War II Germany, "It's okay to give this to me, right?"

"Old thing, do you buy it?" The stall owner lifted the hem of his clothes and exposed a shiny P38 pistol.

"No, I didn't say I won't buy it."

Professor Alexei put the bayonet back in place, took out a few big tickets from his wallet, and handed them to the other party along with the ruble that had been holding in his hand.

Hearing Wei Ran, who had been hiding far away and pretended not to know him, put the almost rotten iron box on the shopping cart, the teacher and student immediately walked to the parking lot of the dock market.

"Professor, why are you buying this broken box?" Wei Ran asked while picking off a piece of rust shell the size of a bottle cap from the iron box.

"Look at what is written on the side of the box carefully," Professor Alexe reminded proudly.

Wei Ran bent down and looked, "Truth...Prime of Truth?!"

"It's Pratyekabuddha. The owner of this box may be a reporter from that newspaper. Maybe there is a camera or something that reporter used in it."

Professor Alexe said shamelessly after trying to pick up the second bottle of gin in the shopping cart, "But no matter what treasures there are in this box, they are all yours, just treat them as your college graduation gift!"

"Where are you teasing me?" Wei Ran looked like hell, "Who would want this broken thing?"

"Victor, dear Victor"

Professor Alexa said seriously, "Compared with the value of the unknown treasure itself in the box, the surprise when opening the box is the most precious, right?"

"No, you just don't want to spend money." Wei Ran ruthlessly exposes the stingy professor's trick that is almost useless.

"Stop talking nonsense, do you want it?" Alexa asked suddenly, changing into authentic Chinese, with his expression very much like his aunt's attitude when she got angry.

"If you want it, why don't you want it for nothing?"

Wei Ran said reluctantly, "If I had known, I would have made a stack of Soviet rubles from the other party." At least those waste papers that were not clear on the windows, even if they were priced at 50 yuan per piece after they were brought back to China, they would have been willing to buy them."

But this almost rusted iron box, not to mention whether its owner is a reporter, even if it is a reporter, it will be a question mark whether there is an old camera inside.

After leaving the market, Professor Alexei never mentioned the boating trip to Chacha Lake, and urged Wei Ran to drive the dirty Vaz van towards the direction of Volgograd city.

Wei Ran, who had known this result for a long time, didn't care. He drove straight to the urban area on the west bank of the Volga River more than 60 kilometers away.

When Wei Ran stopped the car downstairs in a high-end apartment, Professor Alexe pointed to the rear car before getting off the car, "Remember to check all the negatives after you go back."

Before Wei Ran opened his mouth, Professor Alexe, who had just left the car, patted his forehead, "Also, if you find any clues related to tanks or World War II in the photo, remember to send me a message."

"One more thing"

Professor Alexei, who had just walked for a few steps, ran back again, and then saw Wei Ran waiting for him with a bottle of gin and smiling.

"It's okay now." Professor Alexe took the gin with satisfaction and walked into the apartment gate.

"10,9,8..." Wei Ran, who was sitting in the cab, was not in a hurry to leave, but slowly began to count down.

Sure enough, before his countdown could be reached, Professor Alexei, carrying a bottle of wine, ran out of the apartment building anxiously.

"Why haven't you left yet?" Professor Alexe opened the car door while asking.

"You must have forgotten to get something again," Wei Ran responded with a expression he had guessed long ago.

"Then why don't you know how to send it to me?" Professor Alexe picked up a bouquet of roses he bought at the dock market. Without waiting for Wei Ran to respond, he turned around and walked into the apartment happily.

"It's almost done this time." Wei Ran did not restart the car until this time and headed straight for a workshop used to process canned fish in the Soviet era between the statue of the motherland's mother and the Volga River.

This old workshop, which is 50 meters long and nearly 15 meters wide, was bought by Professor Alexa at the end of last year with a high-priced loan. Most of the area was changed to a special homestay and travel agency by the master's wife, and the other half was changed to a studio where Professor Alexa took on private work.

As for Wei Ran, he usually either helped Professor Alexe in the studio or went to the next door to play a tour guide for a few days, taking domestic tourists to eat, drink and have fun, and by the way, he talked about the history of the Soviet Union learned from university.

Although such a life is overwhelming, the benefits are not low. At least the tuition fee this year has been back. And the most important thing is that living here is much more comfortable than the broken dormitory with bedbugs crawling around the ground at the National University.

After familiarizing himself, he parked the dirty Watz bread at the door of the studio. Wei Ran took out the key and opened the roller shutter door, and then moved the negative of the wooden box he bought a few hours ago to the workbench.

This chapter is not over, please click on the next page to continue reading! At the innermost side of this huge studio, there is at least one-quarter of the space filled with rows of bookshelves, and all the stored historical archives or old film negatives or even videotapes accumulated by Professor Alexei over the years.

As for the clients of this studio, there are various public or private museums, as well as diggers who wander in the wilderness to dig out war treasures. Of course, there are also some people sent by underground auctions.

Just like the T-34 tank that temporarily occupied the door of this studio, it was dug up from his backyard not long ago by a local collector.

Of course, no one cares whether it was really dug out of its backyard, and the reason why it was sent to this studio was just because the collector hoped that Professor Alexei could find out the history of the T-34 tank to participate in the war so that he could tell a good story or sell it for a good price.

Just like all the T-34 tanks produced from the city's tractor factory during the Battle of Stalingrad, it had no time to paint, let alone any number. But on the left side of its turret, there were five red paint handprints that remained to this day.

This is also Professor Alexei's only clue, but unfortunately, in the past half month, the teachers and students had not found any clues about this tank at all except for confirming that it was the manufacturer and the Stalingrad Tractor Factory. Even if Professor Alexei had not always had a way to sell the purchased information, the 500,000 rubles of activity provided by the collector would have spent all the funds for the activity.

"I hope these negatives can provide some valuable clues"

Wei Ran rubbed his hands, opened the wooden box, and took out the negative albums inside and placed them on the table.

Each of these negative albums is the size of A4 paper and is five or six centimeters thick. Even on the first page of each album, the shooting time and film specifications of these negatives are marked with neat pen words. Even next to each negative, the shooting location and the names of the person or objects are written in the same handwriting.

"Such meticulous work doesn't look like a Russian work."

Wei Ran made a joke in his own entertainment, then found the album taken in 1941, and from the first page, he pulled out the cut negative and stuck it on the copy board.

Turning on the power and pressing the switch, Wei Ran picked up a magnifying glass that was as big as a bowl, and carefully observed the content taken on each negative.

The moments recorded by these negatives taken more than half a century ago seem to have a long-lasting smell of gunpowder smoke. From the ruins of the ruins of the building to the streets full of corpses, to the smoke-filled suburban battlefields and muddy trenches, and even the wounded and busy nurses in the battlefield hospitals, the content recorded in each negative is particularly thrilling.

Looking at the negatives one by one, I was expected to find no shots about the T-34 tank. I still wanted to put these precious negatives back in place, and Wei Ran turned to the second page to continue the operation just now.

Soon, a whole negative album turned to the last page. Wei Ran rubbed his eyes that were shaking flowers. After a while, he took out the negative album of 1942.

In this boring repetition, the films ran past Wei Ran like a lantern. Occasionally, there were shots of T-34 tanks on the photo, so they quickly took them down and fixed them on the clip, scanned them into the computer for coloring. This is much more convenient than directly washing them into photos.
To be continued...