Last month I moved. Moving is nothing if not a massive exercise in shedding and sorting. But because both of the big bulky things I had to get rid of went to new homes smoothly and happily, I thought I'd write a quick record of the two sales. Prices and details included, just in case you're the sort of secondhand enthusiast who cares deeply about condition, how long something was used, and what it went for.
The shelf
In a piece I wrote last year about going offline during the age when I most loved being online, I mentioned buying a five-tier shelving unit. It measured 180 × 100 × 40 cm and cost 100 yuan. That shelf gave me endless headaches: even fully disassembled, it was 20 centimeters longer than the cargo space of the moving van I'd booked. Rescheduling for a medium-sized van that cost 150 yuan more just for that? Not worth it. And my new place, one size smaller than the old one, hadn't been measured for it either — it was simply too big (I'd assumed I'd stay there at least two years).
So the priority in the days before the move was getting rid of the shelf:
Info
Bought for 100 yuan, sold for 50 yuan (buyer picked up)
In and out: purchased last October, sold before this September.
In the listing I mentioned I could lend my drill to make assembly easier for the buyer — mostly, let's be honest, so I could show off that I own a drill.
I posted the shelf on Xiaohongshu about a month before the move. Xianyu got zero interest. After a week of silence I figured it was hopeless, and I was idly scrolling online in the middle of a garbage-strewn apartment and a schedule so tight the house could have been on fire — when someone on Xiaohongshu asked if they could come look at it and take it if it worked out. A few messages later, they were already downstairs.
It was nearly evening by then, getting dark. The tone of the messages made me nervous it would be a guy showing up alone. The more I thought about it, the more I agreed with that internet saying about "men in their prime with no dog, no kids, no girlfriend being the lowest tier of purely social interaction." But when I went down, he'd brought a woman with him. Instant relief.
The shelf was still fully assembled when they arrived. It takes 120 pairs of screws, so I assumed they wouldn't be taking it that day. But — I have never sold anything so fast in my life. I brought them up, they looked at it for five minutes, and said they'd take it. I cleared off the bits and pieces, pulled out my drill bit and small screwdriver, and the buyer got to work like a pro. I brought a towel to wipe the dust and marks off the shelves. Took about half an hour. On the last tier the drill died, so we hand-tightened a dozen or so pairs of screws. The woman paid, and the two of them carried it off, chatting and laughing.
While they were dismantling, we chatted about rent, utilities, and how much light the apartment got. Talked about my place, then theirs, then the place I was about to move into (lol). These are just the standard social topics in this city, nothing unusual. Sounded like they'd just finished dinner and were walking around nearby when they saw my post — so it seems Xiaohongshu can resurface a two-week-old post to people who happen to be close by.
All in all it was a wonderfully pleasant experience. Getting half the price back on a shelf I'd used for nearly a year, and saving myself a load of hassle — I'd even looked up the cost of large-item furniture disposal those days. So selling it made me very happy.
The bike
After the move, my commute suddenly included two brutal stretches of uphill and downhill. Cycling became miserable. In October I switched to an electric scooter. Naturally, the bicycle became idle.
Once I had the scooter, I listed the bike on Xianyu with a very detailed description — mostly because the photos of my bike were just that pretty. Someone messaged quickly. Two people wanted to come see it the next day. One arranged to come after work, which meant it would be dark again, but they seemed urgently in need of a bike for their daughter. They sent me their location — over forty kilometers away — which made me nervous too (they said they'd already had one failed trip that day and didn't want another). I described the bike's condition in detail: the chain and various parts had some rust, the plastic casing on the derailleur was cracked. When they arrived I introduced the gears like a proud mother, and they asked whether it was a six-speed or one-speed setup. I was like, just ride it and you'll see.
Sure enough, they rode it around the block and came back speechless — completely won over by how smooth and powerful the bike felt. They took it without another word. I asked, "So? Rides great, right?" They nodded enthusiastically, and I laughed my goose laugh, heh heh heh, yeah, right? (The bike did have rust in various places, but I'd decided beforehand that if they said anything bad about it I would point at their nose and scold them on the spot.)
And so this bike — which had been with me since October 2023, carried me through two full years of commuting, at least fifteen hundred kilometers, and plenty of happy memories of riding through the wind — found a very good home.
Before they came, I'd actually ridden it to the repair shop, spent one yuan on air for the tires, and removed some parts I didn't need. A bike that hasn't had air in a long time always feels reborn after pumping. So I rode it that one last time with that feeling, and it really did still ride beautifully. I'd only ridden it for half a month after moving, then spent over a week on the electric scooter at home, and when I came back to this bicycle, everything — the handlebar position, the feel of the seat, the speed — felt a little unfamiliar. Leaving the repair shop, riding this bike one last time down a dark road, left a body memory that moved me deeply. I said to myself: I want everything to be like this. I want all endings to be as lovely as beginnings.
This is the last photo of my bike in my camera roll.
Info
Bought for 400 yuan, sold for 240 yuan.
In and out: October 2023, October 2025.
About where the bike came from. I bought it two years ago from a neighbor. They'd paid a thousand yuan including accessories, and it was actually very new (just look at the wheels in the photo above!). But the front brake was completely broken. I bought it secondhand for 400 yuan, spent five yuan on new brake pads, and it was good as new. Rode it through wind and rain for two years, maintained it well, and sold it thirdhand for 240 yuan. Who's not going to call me a secondhand genius? It was originally 250, but after some back-and-forth we settled on knocking off 10 yuan as a highway toll. But it was a great deal, no? I want the buyer to know: driving fifty minutes to take my bike home was absolutely worth it. You couldn't find another one like it anywhere in all of Guangdong! (Though when I saw they'd driven 43 kilometers, okay, fine, maybe it was a bit far. Ten yuan off, fine.) But my bike was worth way more than 240 yuan! And so pretty. The lighting here is dim and you can't see it well, but I still gave it one last proper wipe-down.
Why did this make me so happy? Because things being properly used feels really, really good. After I moved, my bike sat downstairs for just over half a month without being ridden, and I was already worried. There's no bike shed, and left outside without being used, a bike ages and breaks down fast — the chain rusts and stiffens and gets brittle, the tires slowly go flat, even the grips start to get sticky. Anyone who rides knows a frequently ridden bike rides better than one that just sits. That's just how it is. So the fact that it's now being used by someone else makes me extremely happy. And I figure only someone within two kilometers of my daily life would come buy my bicycle...
The night I sold it, I was actually still working at home until nearly one in the morning (two hours gone just tidying the bike, sorting documents, scrolling my phone, and looking at pretty people in magazines!). But because I'd handed off my beloved bike, my mood was still very, very good — I even felt a sense of accomplishment. And it was well-earned, wasn't it? At least that day, I was a responsible former owner who had properly rehomed something.