Chapter 65
Chapter 65: The Zhou Family’s Disappointment, Young Master Yan’s Gift
Jia Ting Auction House was the organizer of the auction held at South City Arts Center—an old, established house with a long-standing reputation.
Its catalog wasn’t limited to company consignments. A large portion came from private collectors as well.
Yesterday, in South City, Jia Ting Auction House set its highest total in history: 380 million yuan.
And of that, Zhou He Chen alone accounted for 300 million. Naturally, the auction house treated him like a guest of honor.
“What is it?” Zhou He Chen’s voice dropped. “Do you have any idea how busy I am? Where did you get my private number?”
“V-very sorry, President Zhou.”
The person in charge sounded plainly terrified. “This is extremely important. I—I can’t afford to take responsibility.”
Zhou He Chen’s brows tightened. “Then get to the point. I don’t have time to waste on you.”
“Yes, President Zhou. Yesterday you successfully bid on an original by Princess Yong Ning for 300 million.” The person in charge swallowed and rushed on. “We’re deeply grateful for your support, but we just received an urgent notice from the Yun Jing Art Association.”
Madam Zhou’s expression turned colder with every word.
If Madam Fang hadn’t come today and mentioned it in passing, she might not have known how long Zhou He Chen planned to keep her in the dark.
“What notice?” Zhou He Chen asked.
His eyes went glacial. “Don’t tell me they want me to donate it. Impossible.”
“N-no, not that!” The person in charge hurried to explain. “They’re saying the painting isn’t genuine. It’s one of several forgeries that leaked out of the Xing Man Federation Empire. This one is… special. It was made by an imitator from three hundred years ago.”
Zhou He Chen’s head rang. The color drained from his face until all that remained was blank shock.
Three hundred years ago…
A forgery?
“President Zhou, we’re truly sorry. We never expected this,” the person in charge said, apologizing rapidly. “The other party was too cunning. They used a top-tier fake to deceive buyers.”
Zhou He Chen barely heard him anymore. His fingers loosened, and with a sharp clatter, his phone dropped onto the coffee table.
“President Zhou? Are you still there?” the person in charge asked, startled by the sound. “We have a 30–70 split with the private consignor. The payment from yesterday has already been transferred to their overseas account. It will most likely be very difficult to recover…”
Sentence after sentence crashed down like thunder, blowing Zhou He Chen’s composure to pieces.
“All we can do is refund the remaining 90 million to you,” the person in charge said, barely daring to breathe. “But please don’t worry. The Yun Jing Art Association has already reported the case to Bureau 723. If they can track the person down, they’ll recover the full amount!”
It sounded comforting. In reality, it would never be that simple.
Even if the culprit was found, the funds could have been moved long ago—or converted into something else.
Zhou He Chen drew a deep breath, but his face still looked hollow.
“President Zhou? President Zhou? Are you listening?” the person in charge pressed. “We—”
Madam Zhou finally snapped. She cut the call and flung the phone to the floor.
Crack. The casing split, scattering pieces across the tiles.
“Zhou He Chen.” Her laugh was sharp and angry, sparks of rage flashing in her eyes. “Earlier, you said spending 300 million on an original by Princess Yong Ning was ‘worth it.’ And now?”
Her voice rose. “Fine. You spent 300 million on a fake that isn’t worth a single cent.”
She could admit it: she and the Zhou family head had always focused on raising Zhou He Yuan. Zhou He Chen and their daughter, Zhou Zhi Yun, were raised with a mix of neglect and loose discipline.
As long as Zhou He Yuan was there, the Zhou Group wouldn’t fall. Zhou He Chen and Zhou Zhi Yun could live off dividends for the rest of their lives and never worry.
But calamity struck overnight. Zhou He Yuan’s car accident left him in a vegetative state, and the Zhou Family had no choice but to shove Zhou He Chen into position and train him in a hurry. For the past few years, he’d performed well enough.
Lately, though, Madam Zhou had become thoroughly disappointed in him.
Zhou He Chen shook his head, voice hoarse. “Mom, I didn’t know…”
His thoughts were slowly crawling back into focus.
If that young man in Box 7 hadn’t kept bidding against him, he would never have been goaded into throwing out 300 million.
“You didn’t know?” Madam Zhou’s laugh turned colder. “Do you have no basic judgment? If it were truly an authentic piece by Princess Yong Ning, would it ever be auctioned off in South City?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Take it to Yun Jing and you’d sell it for even more. Zhou He Chen, let me warn you one more time: you didn’t earn that money.”
Zhou He Chen pressed his lips together. His face was pale as paper, humiliation and panic carved into every line. His heart seized hard enough to hurt.
“Get back to your room,” Madam Zhou said icily. “For now, you’re not going to the company. And don’t even think about seeing Sheng Yun Yi. Steward—take away all his devices. No internet, either.”
She had to rein him in properly, or the Zhou Family would collapse like a tower with its supports kicked out.
—
After lunch, Ye Wan Lan pushed open the door to the counseling room.
Only Yan Ting Feng was inside. He lounged in the single armchair by the window, still dressed in plain white. The simple color made his tall frame look even more refined.
Sunlight fell over him like new snow gilded with gold.
In daylight, he looked almost painfully clean—gentle, clear, and unblemished, as if slaughter and brutality had nothing to do with him.
“Miss Ye.” Yan Ting Feng set the book scroll in his hand onto the table, smiling softly. “I was busy today, so I didn’t have time to brew tea. But I brought what you wanted.”
He opened the prepared box.
Inside lay several jagged fragments of armor.
“Hmm?” Ye Wan Lan actually paused. “That fast?”
“Someone I know had them. He didn’t need them, so he had them shipped over by air.”
Warm amusement flickered in Yan Ting Feng’s eyes. “This is all I could get.”
“It’s already a lot.” Ye Wan Lan reached out, fingertips brushing the cold edges, and lowered her voice. “Really… a lot.”
[Royal Brother…]
She would mend his armor. She would take him home.
And she wouldn’t let the Prince of Yan and the others die in vain.
“Thank you.” Ye Wan Lan steadied the surge in her chest and looked up. “May I check your pulse?”
Yan Ting Feng lifted a brow and offered his right hand without hesitation. “With pleasure.”
Ye Wan Lan placed two fingers against his wrist.
Ten seconds. Fifteen.
Yan Ting Feng’s voice stayed mild. “What do you see, Miss Ye?”
Ye Wan Lan didn’t answer. She kept testing, brows drawn in concentration.
The pulse was strange—nothing like anything she’d ever encountered.
So tangled and layered it was almost absurd to find in a living person.
“And you…” Ye Wan Lan’s gaze darkened. “…you’re still alive. That can’t have been easy.”
For an instant, something violent flashed through Yan Ting Feng’s eyes, like lightning behind glass. His voice, however, remained gentle. “Why do you say that, Miss Ye?”
“I’m praising you.” Ye Wan Lan withdrew her hand. “I need to go look something up. Drink your medicine first.”
Yan Ting Feng’s expression smoothed back into its usual calm. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Ye.”
“No need. My teacher is looking for me.” Ye Wan Lan nodded once. “If you feel unwell, contact me anytime.”
He had helped her find the Prince of Yan’s relics. Treating him was only fair.
On the way out, she ran into Rong Yu. She gave him a brief nod and left.
Rong Yu had arrived three minutes earlier but hadn’t gone in. Now he stared after her, intrigued. “She can take a pulse? The way she felt for it… she’s steadier than a few Su elders I know.”
“Mm,” Yan Ting Feng replied.
“I thought she just asked her deskmate from the Su Family about medical things.” Rong Yu shook his head, baffled. “So she actually knows medicine herself?”
Yan Ting Feng rested his temple against his hand, smiling. “That’s why I’m getting more and more interested in her.”
Rong Yu didn’t dare comment. He only muttered, “Who knows what your ‘interest’ really means…”
A ringtone cut through the room.
Yan Ting Feng glanced at the screen, answered, and tapped speaker.
“Hello. It’s me.”
A voice came through, teeth grinding. “Yan, what the hell is this? Where are my Mystic Iron Gold-Thread War Armor fragments? Why did you take all of them?!”
“I collected for ten years,” the man raged. “Ten years—and I only got thirty-eight pieces. I went out for a drink, slept eighteen hours, and now my treasure is gone!”
“Mm.” Yan Ting Feng sounded unbothered. “I didn’t leave a single piece.”
“…!”
The other party seemed to choke. “What is wrong with you? You’re not even interested in the Prince of Yan’s relics!”
“I’m hanging up,” Yan Ting Feng said.
“Hey, you—” The call cut off.
Rong Yu leaned in. “Who was that?” Then his eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you cleaned out that brat from the Xiang Family’s collection…”
“It was him,” Yan Ting Feng said evenly.
Rong Yu sucked in a breath. “I knew it. Who else would have that many fragments? He’s a descendant of Madam Xiang’s royal line. You robbed the Old Ancestor Sect’s stuff—of course he’s going to fight you to the death.”
“Correction.” Yan Ting Feng’s smile returned. “It was an exchange. I left him something else.”
Rong Yu remembered the time Yan Ting Feng had traded a priceless Oracle Jade Bone for a Su Embroidery sachet and decided he had nothing left to say.
When you’re rich, you can do whatever you want.
—
At the same time, in the physics group leader’s office—
“This year, No. 7 High School has four spots for the Physics Competition Summer Training Camp,” Teacher Ren said to the three students in front of him. “If you perform well, you might even catch the attention of professors from Yun Jing University.”
He pointed at them one by one, beaming. “Xu Bai, Yi Wei, Jiao Jiao—do your best.”
All three nodded.
Xue Yi Wei asked, “Teacher, who’s the fourth?”
“Oh.” Teacher Ren grinned wider. “The last one is a classmate from Class 1—Ye Wan Lan. She isn’t in our physics class, but I invited her. She’ll be here in a moment.”
He’d fought the history group leader for this “treasure.” He wasn’t about to let her slip away.
Su Xu Bai and Xue Yi Wei exchanged a look. For once, their usually controlled faces showed the same mix of shock, disbelief—and anger.
Xue Yi Wei patted Su Xu Bai’s shoulder, her expression icy. “Teacher, if she goes, we won’t.”