Chapter Forty-Six: The Auction

The second time I saw Autumn Nuo was at the auction. Because of Fang Yanan's situation, I had almost forgotten about her. The last time we met, outside the police station, Autumn Nuo had intentionally apologized to me, but my mind was preoccupied with the red thread above Fang Yanan’s head, so I barely acknowledged her.

Thinking back now, I felt a bit guilty. I remembered seeing her inside Qingyang Palace, so adept and skilled in appraising artifacts, her expertise seemed entirely at odds with her age. I couldn't help but feel some admiration for Autumn Nuo, though she seemed too proud and aloof, giving off a sense of being unapproachable.

She was like a hedgehog, her eyes revealing a lack of security in anything or anyone. Whoever approached her, Autumn Nuo would instinctively bristle her spikes in self-defense.

“What are you staring at?” Yue Qianling noticed that beside her, my gaze was distracted, fixed on the front.

“I saw Autumn Nuo, and I was wondering whether I should go greet her,” I said, still looking ahead.

Yue Qianling’s face immediately darkened, her tone sharp and sarcastic.

“Is it every time you see a girl you lose control? If not for her, you wouldn't have gone to the police station, and if not for that, you wouldn't have met Fang Yanan, and if you hadn't met—”

“Heh, I just want to say hello. I ignored her last time at the police station, and feel bad about it. Where is your mind going?” I turned back with a bitter smile.

“Just sit here properly, don’t let your mind wander. Don’t forget why you’re here today.”

Originally, we planned to head up Mount Qingcheng together once Xiao Lianshan returned. He had come back, but Gu Anqi was held up by unexpected matters and would be delayed a few days. Xiao Lianshan was restless at home, insisting Yue Qianling take him out for a walk.

Coincidentally, the auction house had invited Professor Jiang from the Archaeological Research Institute as a guest for an auction. Professor Jiang was too busy to attend and had Yue Qianling represent him. When it came to antique appraisal, Yue Qianling was a complete outsider, afraid of embarrassing the Institute. Luckily, he had me at his side and, without waiting for my consent, simply dragged me along.

I disliked crowded events, always feeling especially constrained. Moreover, the people around us, glittering with jewelry and exuding wealth, were not true enthusiasts of antiques—just a flock of nouveau riche hoping to buy a few relics to elevate their own status.

“The first lot: a late Qing Dynasty copper-red snuff bottle depicting Zhong Kui, starting at one thousand yuan, with increments of five hundred!”

The auctioneer announced the start. Yue Qianling, seeing many people raise their paddles, whispered to me,

“What do you think of this item?”

“The artistry is fine and mature, the depiction vivid and lifelike. It’s not very old, but does have some collectible value,” I replied, absent-minded.

“How much do you think it’s worth?” Xiao Lianshan asked, bored.

“It’s a small piece, not made of precious material. The starting price is inflated—one thousand yuan is too much. At most, it’s worth three or four hundred.”

“Three or four hundred?” Xiao Lianshan stared, glancing at the people raising paddles all around, confused. “I thought everyone here was an expert, but apparently they’re not much better than me.”

“Heh, you can find these in droves at the Ghost Market. There, they’d fetch thirty or fifty yuan at most,” I laughed.

“That’s called packaging. The goods at the Ghost Market lack proper packaging, so they can’t command a price,” Yue Qianling said scornfully. “An auction house is formal—every antique is authenticated by experts, guaranteed genuine, and comes with certification. Naturally, things here cost more.”

“Save it. Only people pretending to know what they’re doing come here,” Xiao Lianshan sneered, glancing at those nearby.

The next few lots were insignificant. Yue Qianling kept urging me to explain each one; I spoke with familiarity, while a middle-aged man in the front row kept turning back to look at me, making me feel awkward.

“My friend, I’m Zhao Bin. You seem quite knowledgeable. I want to buy a few items myself, but I don’t know much. Would you advise me? Compensation is no issue,” Zhao Bin turned back, smiling and whispering.

“Heh, I’m just speaking casually. Which type of antiques are you interested in? If something suitable comes up, I’ll let you know,” I replied, smiling amicably.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s genuine and has collectible value,” Zhao Bin said politely, offering a stack of bills that looked to be several hundred.

I quickly pushed his hand back.

“No need for that. If you like something, I’ll just let you know.”

Zhao Bin insisted on handing it to me. Yue Qianling, seeing us push and pull, worried that people might think we were fighting, snatched the money from the middle-aged man’s hand.

“How can you just take someone’s money?” I glared at Yue Qianling.

“If you don’t accept his money, he’ll feel uneasy. Most people here are businessfolk; they trust money more than people. If you take his money, he’ll believe you’ll help him wholeheartedly. If you don’t, he’ll feel uncertain and think you’re just brushing him off.”

I had always scoffed at Yue Qianling’s reasoning, but seeing Zhao Bin’s satisfied smile, I couldn’t help but believe it a little. After all, businessmen value shared interests above all.

“The fifth lot: Tang Dynasty, Yan Lide’s ‘Portraits of Twelve Sages,’ starting at twenty thousand yuan, with increments of two thousand.”

I smiled, lips curling, savoring the moment.

“There’s actually an authentic Yan Lide here—a surprise to see it.”

“Is the painting really that good?” Yue Qianling looked at the piece on stage, curious. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“How ignorant—never heard of Yan Lide, and you claim to be in archaeology. He designed the Zhaoling Mausoleum; you tell me if he was remarkable,” I said with a wry smile.

“So he builds houses and paints? Didn’t you say every craft has its master? Is he the best painter among builders, or the best builder among painters?” Xiao Lianshan laughed, amused.

“Yan Lide was a Tang Dynasty architect, craftsman, and painter, born into an engineering family. From the reigns of Emperor Wu De to Zhenguan, he served as Imperial Garment Officer, Deputy Chief of Works, Chief of Works, and finally Minister of Public Works. He was entrusted with constructing Emperor Gaozu’s mausoleum, overseeing Cuiwei and Yuhua Palaces, building Zhaoling, and supervising the city walls and towers of Tang Chang’an. His expertise in craftsmanship and painting was profound; he also designed imperial attire and excelled in painting figures, landscapes, birds, and beasts,” I whispered, tilting my head.

“You really admire Yan Lide, but I haven’t heard of any of his paintings being famous,” Yue Qianling nodded, still puzzled.

“Heh, he lived in the shadow of his younger brother, so didn’t receive much attention.”

“His brother? Who’s that?”

“Yan Liben, renowned as the ‘Divine Brush of Painting,’ a pivotal figure in art history. His works include ‘Tribute of Envoys,’ and ‘Xiao Yi Retrieves the Orchid Pavilion,’ highly esteemed and considered masterpieces by contemporaries,” I replied calmly.

“Oh, now I understand. ‘The Scroll of the Empress,’ ‘Portraits of Ancient Emperors’—those are famous paintings. No wonder Yan Lide isn’t well-known; with such a brother ahead, it’s hard to surpass him,” Yue Qianling said, enlightened.

“But that’s not entirely fair. Yan Lide’s achievements in architecture overshadowed his accomplishments in painting. Looking at this ‘Portraits of Twelve Sages,’ you can see—its lines are bold and vigorous, the expressions lifelike, the colors dignified and ancient, the brushwork more delicate than Gu Kaizhi’s. The portrayal of the figures is meticulous, and compared to Yan Liben’s ‘Eighteen Scholars of Qin Mansion,’ this piece is equally, if not more, impressive.”

Zhao Bin, listening to my detailed explanation, asked excitedly,

“From what you’ve said, this painting has great collectible value?”

I nodded, smiling.

“If you’re a collector, ‘Portraits of Twelve Sages’ is an excellent choice.”

Zhao Bin, convinced by my certainty and previous comments, immediately raised his paddle. The painting, which had started at twenty thousand yuan, soon climbed to thirty-eight thousand.

Seeing so many people bidding, Zhao Bin became unsure and turned back to ask,

“My friend, could you estimate a fair price for this painting?”

“Well… that’s hard for me to say. I can judge the quality and authenticity, but pricing is not my expertise,” I smiled apologetically, calm. “Every item depends on personal preference—those who dislike it may find it worthless, those who love it may pay any price.”

Just as I finished, Zhao Bin gritted his teeth, raised his paddle, and shouted,

“Fifty thousand!”

The minimum increment was two thousand, but Zhao Bin suddenly jumped the price from thirty-eight thousand to fifty thousand, clearly determined to secure it.

His strategy was correct. With two-thousand increments, the painting’s price could have been driven much higher. By announcing a high price he could comfortably afford, he not only intimidated some competitors but also showcased his own strength.

Though Zhao Bin’s move seemed abrupt, it actually saved him a great deal of money. I couldn’t help but admire the unique mindset of a businessman.

All eyes in the hall turned to Zhao Bin.

When I looked up, I saw Autumn Nuo watching me, nodding with a faint smile. She always seemed cold; though I’d only met her twice, this was the first time I’d seen her smile. I’d never noticed how beautiful she looked when she smiled.

I nodded in return, smiling back. All this fell under Yue Qianling’s gaze, turning into a mysterious resentment. I didn’t notice her face growing darker and darker.

Not until the pain nearly made me cry out did I look down and see Yue Qianling’s high heel pressed heavily onto my foot.