Chapter 61
Chapter 61: Three Hundred Million for a Fake Painting, Meeting Face-to-Face
“Guest No. 7 bids ninety million!”
The auctioneer’s voice rang through the hall. “Ninety million, once!”
No. 7?
Zhou He Chen’s expression shifted.
He remembered the number—Box 7 was a VIP box.
Normally, he would have backed off. But earlier, he had watched Ye Wan Lan get summoned into that very box.
He couldn’t hear what was said inside, but a man and a woman alone behind a curtain… what else could be happening?
He didn’t want Ye Wan Lan.
That didn’t mean someone else could pick up what he’d discarded.
“One hundred million,” he said, forcing his anger down.
The auctioneer nearly shouted with excitement. “Guest No. 3 bids one hundred million! It seems Guest No. 3 also loves Princess Yong Ning’s work!”
In less than a minute, the room’s energy spiked.
The bids climbed so fast that other interested guests hesitated.
“Too fast—especially Box 7. Every raise is huge.”
“I know who’s in No. 3,” someone whispered. “River City’s Zhou Family, the second young master. But No. 7…”
Even the auctioneer had no idea who sat behind the curtain of Box 7.
But Ye Wan Lan’s earlier confrontation with Sheng Yun Yi had drawn plenty of eyes and ears. People couldn’t help speculating.
In Box 7, Yan Ting Feng took a slow sip of tea, then raised again, unhurried.
“One hundred and fifty million.”
Rong Yu’s scalp went numb. “Brother, calm down. It’s fake. If it ends up in your hands, you’ll lose your shirt.”
He could see it now—Yan Ting Feng wasn’t bidding for the painting.
He was bidding to make Zhou He Chen bleed.
But whether Zhou He Chen would take the bait was still unknown.
At the same time, Sheng Yun Yi tugged at Zhou He Chen’s sleeve. “He Chen, it’s too high. Don’t bid anymore. This was painted when Princess Yong Ning was twelve—her style wasn’t mature yet. It’s not worth this price. Whoever’s in Box 7 has deep pockets. We…”
Zhou He Chen ignored her for once. His eyes were cold, his voice squeezed tight through clenched teeth.
“Two hundred million.”
Rong Yu’s chest tightened. “Brother, don’t. If he doesn’t follow, you’ll—”
Yan Ting Feng didn’t even look up. His fingers tapped lightly against his palm, once, twice.
The auctioneer stammered with disbelief. “Guest No. 3 bids two hundred million! Two hundred million, once. Two hundred million, twice—”
“Two hundred and fifty million.”
Yan Ting Feng raised it again, adding fifty million in a single breath.
Rong Yu’s heart dropped straight through the floor.
Sheng Yun Yi turned paler. “He Chen, let it go. Zhou Family isn’t like Fang Family. If you spend hundreds of millions on a painting, the family will never agree.”
Anger surged through Zhou He Chen like fire. He laughed—sharp, furious.
“Three hundred million.”
The entire hall fell into stunned silence.
More than a few people stared, convinced he’d lost his mind.
In Box 7, Yan Ting Feng stood and lifted the curtain just enough for light to spill in.
Zhou He Chen finally caught a glimpse of the other bidder.
A tall young man, broad-shouldered and straight-backed. Even in the air-conditioned hall, he wore a coat and a scarf, as if June’s heat couldn’t touch him.
The opening was too narrow. Zhou He Chen still couldn’t see his face.
“I said three hundred million,” Zhou He Chen repeated, voice icy.
The auctioneer’s gavel shook in his hand. “Guest No. 3 bids three hundred million! Three hundred million, once. Three hundred million, twice…”
Everyone held their breath, waiting for Box 7 to raise again.
But Box 7 went silent.
“…Three times!” the auctioneer shouted, slamming down the gavel. “Congratulations to Guest No. 3 for winning Princess Yong Ning’s authentic painting!”
The knot in Zhou He Chen’s chest loosened at last.
So what if it was a VIP box?
In the end, it still couldn’t compare to him.
Yan Ting Feng’s gaze slid over, meaning unreadable. “Sir, what a bold hand. Then I’ll reluctantly give it up to you. Three hundred million for a Princess Yong Ning painting—very worth it.”
Only… the painting was fake.
Zhou He Chen frowned, suspicion stirring.
Yan Ting Feng smiled as if embarrassed. “I didn’t bring extra funds today. I only raised a few times on impulse. Forget three hundred million—I can’t even come up with thirty million. Sir is the one with true resources.”
Zhou He Chen’s jaw tightened.
How could he not understand?
He’d been played. The other man had been driving the price up on purpose.
If Box 7 had bid again, Zhou He Chen would have withdrawn and let the other side take the hit.
Instead, the hit landed in his own hands.
In Box 7, Yan Ting Feng lowered the curtain again and returned to his seat. “Three hundred million,” he said lightly. “A gift for Miss Ye.”
Ye Wan Lan looked at him without blinking.
His control of people—the way he measured greed, pride, and rage—was on a level Rong Yu couldn’t even reach.
And for the first time, something stirred in her chest.
It was the feeling of meeting a worthy opponent.
It made her want to fight.
“Sir.”
Bing He returned, silent as smoke, carrying a small box.
“This is the return gift,” Yan Ting Feng said, gesturing for Bing He to pass it over.
Ye Wan Lan opened it and lifted out the fragment. Her fingers traced the cold edge with a tenderness that didn’t match her face.
In her previous life, she had been born in a time of war. Her mother had been butchered by invading soldiers. The Prince of Yan, five years older than her, had dragged her out of the palace and kept her alive.
They had wandered the world outside the walls, relying on each other to survive.
The Prince of Yan wasn’t a man of many words, but he did more than anyone.
By the time she was five, Shen Zhou’s chaos had finally been quelled. Emperor Zhaozong had exhausted himself to bring the two lost royals back.
She entered the Eastern Palace with a crown placed on her head and became the Heir Apparent of Great Ning. The Prince of Yan stood at her side like a blade, cutting down every dissenting voice.
After that, he chose the Northwest. He guarded barren borders and hard mountains, holding the line so Shen Zhou could endure.
The armor fragment still bore scars—nicks and shallow gouges left by blades.
Ye Wan Lan couldn’t imagine the cruelty of that great war three hundred years ago, or the agony the Prince of Yan had suffered as he died.
Her heart shuddered. It felt as if a hole had opened in her chest, letting in a freezing wind. Even breathing tugged at a dense web of pain.
He was her blood.
And he had been murdered.
Now she stood three hundred years later in Shen Zhou, unable even to avenge him.
She wrapped the fragment carefully and tucked it away, then exhaled slowly. “A very good gift. Thank you.”
Yan Ting Feng watched her with clear eyes. His voice stayed casual, almost careless. “Miss Ye likes the Prince of Yan as well?”
Ye Wan Lan’s face returned to its usual calm. “I like many people. Not only the Prince of Yan. Princess Jing An, the Prince of Qin, the sect masters of the Six Great Sects…”
“Heroes and martyrs under heaven,” she added. “Men or women—I like them all.”
Rong Yu let out a low whistle. “No wonder you study history. You know so much. If you asked me who the sect masters of the Six Great Sects are, I couldn’t name them.”
“And your favorite?” Yan Ting Feng asked, voice soft.
Ye Wan Lan didn’t hesitate. “Princess Yong Ning.”
Yan Ting Feng blinked once, his smile gentle as springwater. “Then it seems Miss Ye and I share the same tastes.”
Rong Yu stuffed a pastry into his mouth, cheeks puffing.
Please. Half the country liked Princess Yong Ning. If sharing taste meant anything, then Yan Ting Feng and hundreds of millions of people were practically sworn brothers.
—
In Private Room No. 3, Zhou He Chen shut his eyes hard, trying to crush the anger down. It only made the pressure worse.
“He Chen…” Sheng Yun Yi squeezed his hand, careful and soothing. “It wasn’t your fault. He did it on purpose. They’re malicious.”
“No.” Zhou He Chen drew a slow breath. The angrier he felt, the clearer his mind became. “I was careless. I got played.”
“He Chen, he’s scheming. You really can’t blame yourself.” Sheng Yun Yi lowered her voice. “I asked around. VIP boxes can be bought. He’s probably just a nobody trying to look impressive.”
Zhou He Chen pinched the bridge of his nose.
He was already calculating how to explain this to Father Zhou and Madam Zhou.
Failing to partner with Quan Zhao Ning had already put him on thin ice. If Madam Zhou learned he’d spent three hundred million just to please Sheng Yun Yi, she would compare him to his brother until he couldn’t breathe.
“At least we bought an authentic Princess Yong Ning piece,” Sheng Yun Yi said, forcing brightness into her tone. “When we get back, I’ll study it properly. Then we can sell it to Fang Family. What do you think?”
Zhou He Chen nodded, exhaustion seeping through the cracks. “Fine. We’ll do that.”
There wasn’t a better option.
With the so-called authentic Princess Yong Ning piece selling for three hundred million, the remaining lots felt dull by comparison.
An hour later, the auction ended.
Zhou He Chen strode out and went straight to Box 7.
Zhou Family had never trained him as an heir. His manners were thin. He grabbed the curtain and yanked.
The box was empty. Only the teacups remained, their warmth not yet gone.
Gone?
Zhou He Chen’s fist clenched, and he slammed it into the wall.
This debt—he would remember it.
“Find out who attended today’s auction at the South City Arts Center,” he ordered, calling a subordinate.
“Yes, President Zhou.”
Zhou He Chen forced himself to breathe evenly again, then left with Sheng Yun Yi.
Ten minutes earlier, Ye Wan Lan, Yan Ting Feng, and Rong Yu had already departed.
“Miss Ye, lunch together?” Rong Yu asked, delighted. “That was satisfying. We have to celebrate properly.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Ye Wan Lan held her phone up. “You two helped me today. My teacher wants to treat you.”
“Your teacher?” Rong Yu blinked. “From No. 7 High School?”
Ye Wan Lan shook her head and led them into a restaurant she had reserved in advance. She handed them the menu. “Order first. Teacher will be here any minute.”
Five minutes later, the door opened.
Yan Ting Yue stepped in.