Chapter 47: Offering Flowers on Behalf of Another

“Sixty thousand!”

At this moment, the focus of everyone in the auction hall was no longer on Zhao Bin, but had shifted to the young man in white sitting next to Qiu Nuo. Whether in terms of attracting attention or sheer presence, the young man was far more effective than Zhao Bin.

The atmosphere in the auction hall was abuzz, as if the entire event had become a stage for a duel between Zhao Bin and the young man. Instinctively, all eyes turned to Zhao Bin.

“Sixty-two thousand!” Zhao Bin raised his hand again, but this time lacking his former confidence. Clearly, this price had far exceeded his expectations, but with so many watching, pride would not let him back down just yet.

The young man, however, smiled faintly and raised his hand with utter ease, his gesture relaxed and unhurried.

“Seventy thousand!”

Another wave of astonishment swept through the room. The young man had single-handedly pushed the atmosphere and excitement to their peak.

Zhao Bin hesitated, uncertain whether to continue. It was obvious his opponent’s strength and determination far outmatched his own.

“Let it go. It’s just a painting—no need to force it,” I whispered with a smile in his ear.

Zhao Bin seemed relieved to find a way out, offering a sheepish smile as his bidding paddle remained firmly down.

When the auctioneer finally announced that the “Portrait of the Twelve Sages” had been won by the young man, the room erupted in applause. The painting was handed to him, but without even glancing at it, he passed it directly to Qiu Nuo.

“Heh, so there is someone else who knows the value here. Don’t think you’re the only one,” Yue Qianling glanced at me, her tone cool and indifferent.

“So it’s just a case of presenting borrowed flowers to Buddha—no wonder he went to such lengths to buy that painting,” I replied, my eyes never leaving the young man in white, as if I hadn’t heard Yue Qianling at all.

“And who exactly is he trying to please?” Xiao Lianshan asked, bored.

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s clearly trying to win over Qiu Nuo. Just look at how he handed her the painting—he knows nothing about antiques.”

“My, but you sound rather sour,” Yue Qianling teased with a half-smile. “This is called style—knowing how to win a woman’s heart by appealing to her interests. Of course, explaining this to you is like playing music to a cow; you’ll never learn it.”

I could only offer a wry smile, ignoring her jab, but I watched the young man more closely.

After this brief interlude, the auction continued. However, the young man no longer raised his hand for every item. Instead, whenever anything from the Tang dynasty appeared, regardless of its artistic or commercial value, he would bid high and win it, then pass it to Qiu Nuo.

By the halfway point in the auction, various antiques had piled up beside Qiu Nuo—an array of Tang-era objects. Yet her face remained unmoved, cold as frost, as if everything before her were of little consequence.

Recalling her reaction to the pottery figurines at Qingyang Palace, I suddenly understood: Qiu Nuo had a particular fascination for Tang dynasty artifacts—a passion for which the young man was clearly catering.

“The seventeenth piece: a Tang dynasty silver cup with eight-petal flower design. Starting bid: ten thousand, with each increment at two thousand. Please place your bids.”

On the auction block, the silver cup’s body unfolded into eight petal-like segments, the rim adorned with a string of pearls, its curved belly and lower half protruding with eight raised lotus petals. The trumpet-shaped foot was similarly ringed with pearl decoration. The handle, circular and single, bore a ruyi-shaped cloud motif, with an incised image of a sika deer at its base, surrounded by floral scrollwork.

Each petal on the cup represented a panel, each engraved with figures—some of court ladies, some hunters. The scenes included ladies playing with children, dressing, dancing, and at leisure, while the hunting scenes depicted three images of horsemen chasing deer and one of an archer aiming at a wild beast. The lower lotus petals were filled with honeysuckle patterns.

At the bottom of the silver cup, waves were carved as a backdrop, with a makara head and three small fish engraved in the center. Alternating among the sunken petals were engraved flowers and grasses. When wine or water was poured in, it gave the illusion of fish swimming and aquatic plants floating in a rippling pond, transforming a mundane act of drinking into an aesthetic pleasure, a design so exquisite as to inspire awe.

I smiled faintly, which must have been a rare sight, for Yue Qianling asked with curiosity, “Is this silver cup really valuable?”

“It’s not especially rare—many such cups have been unearthed, and it’s nothing unusual in itself. But this particular cup is tied to a legend. I thought it lost to history, but to see it here is quite unexpected,” I replied with a smile.

“It’s just a silver wine cup, so why such a big reaction?” Xiao Lianshan asked, puzzled.

“Tell us the story behind it,” Yue Qianling pressed, more interested in the tale than the cup itself.

“You studied archaeology. Let me test you—which woman in history is most famous for her smile?” I asked, amused.

Yue Qianling answered without hesitation, full of confidence. “Can’t you ask something more challenging? That’s easy—the most famous smile belongs to Yang Guifei, favorite consort of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang. Renowned for her beauty and musical talent, she was so beloved that the emperor spared no effort to please her. Every lychee season, he had fresh, dew-covered lychees delivered in relays, just so she could enjoy them in the Huaqing Palace—‘A dust-stirred courier rides, the beauty smiles, none knows the lychees come.’ One can only imagine how moving a scene it was when Yang Guifei tasted the lychees in the palace.”

“So she was a foodie, then!” Xiao Lianshan laughed heartily.

“‘A backward glance, a hundred charms arise; the six palaces’ beauty pales in comparison,’” I quoted, savoring the words. “This cup is perhaps the most valuable artifact so far. It was a gift from Emperor Xuanzong to Yang Yuhuan—a set of one gold wine pot and five silver cups. She loved it dearly and carried it everywhere. After her forced suicide at Mawei Slope, the cups’ whereabouts became unknown.”

“What?!” Yue Qianling looked at me in amazement. “This… this was once used by Yang Yuhuan?”

I nodded indifferently. “It’s recorded in history that Yang Yuhuan was fond of wine. With her famed beauty and charm, she enjoyed the emperor’s devotion, yet there was a time when she fell from favor and drowned her sorrows in drink, losing herself in the process.”

“You mean the story of the drunken concubine?” Yue Qianling blinked.

“Everyone knows the story, but few know its connection to this set of wine cups.”

“Stop keeping us in suspense—what does the drunken concubine have to do with this silver cup?” Yue Qianling demanded impatiently.

“One day, Emperor Xuanzong and Yang Guifei agreed to meet for a banquet at the Hundred Flowers Pavilion. Yang Guifei arrived early, prepared the feast, and waited, but the emperor didn’t show. Instead, word came that he was with Consort Jiang. Distraught and unable to contain her sorrow, she drank herself tipsy. But the emperor, missing her, soon arrived at the pavilion and found her in a state of drunken longing. Amused and moved, he had this set of wine vessels made for her as a gift.”

Yue Qianling glanced back at the silver cup on the auction block. If my account was true, its value was indeed beyond reckoning.

My gaze drifted again to the young man beside Qiu Nuo. Given her knowledge of Tang dynasty artifacts, she would certainly recognize the cup’s provenance and worth. With her passion for Tang relics—especially one used by Yang Guifei—the young man would not miss this opportunity to win her favor.

“Thirty thousand!”

Just as I had expected, the young man raised his hand, instantly increasing the bid by twenty thousand—a gesture as extravagant as Emperor Xuanzong’s own efforts to please his beloved.

It was clear the auction house had underestimated the cup’s value. Though I wasn’t intimately familiar with the market, an artifact with such history and cultural significance was truly priceless.

Given the young man’s previous lavishness, his immediate jump to thirty thousand silenced the crowd; only whispers passed between audience members. No one else dared bid.

“Thirty-two thousand!”

A calm, steady voice from the back row. Everyone, myself included, turned. It came from an elderly man in plain attire.

“Ah, another connoisseur,” I murmured with a faint smile.

“Forty thousand!” The young man raised his hand nonchalantly.

“Forty-two thousand!” The old man remained expressionless as he too raised his hand.

“This is getting interesting. Seems these two are ready for a showdown. Who do you think will win?” Xiao Lianshan asked gleefully.

“My money’s on Mr. Wei,” Zhao Bin replied with confidence. Clearly still smarting from losing out earlier, he seemed delighted to see someone finally challenge the young man.

“Who’s Mr. Wei?” Xiao Lianshan asked.

“The man who just bid—Wei Youcheng. He’s a big shot in the Southwest business world, deals in steel. Supplies all the major infrastructure projects in Sichuan and Chongqing. Everyone in the trade calls him Mr. Wei,” Zhao Bin whispered.

“Fifty thousand!” The young man raised his hand without looking back.

“Fifty-two thousand!” Wei Youcheng calmly followed suit.

Finally, the young man couldn’t resist glancing over at Wei Youcheng. The latter’s understated, deliberate bidding contrasted starkly with the young man’s flamboyance. Yet, from the young man’s perspective, Wei Youcheng seemed to be deliberately opposing him, never raising the bid by more than two thousand.

“Eighty thousand!” the young man blurted out, his composure slipping.

“Eighty-two thousand.”

Wei Youcheng’s movements remained steady and unhurried, as if nothing the young man did could faze him.

I noticed Qiu Nuo tugging at the young man’s sleeve, apparently urging him to stop. Given her perpetually indifferent expression, it seemed she did not appreciate his current behavior.

When it comes to matters of pride, reason often yields. People fight for a breath, gods for a stick of incense—it’s all for show, especially before the girl one wishes to impress. I knew this contest would not end so easily.