Chapter 88: The Antique Worth Five Hundred Yuan

At the entrance, a grand stage had been erected, its upper edge adorned with a banner displaying eight bold characters: "Treasure Appraisal in a Flourishing Age, Splendor of the Ancient Capital." On either side of the stage, two rows of tables had been arranged, each with an elderly man seated behind it. These elders carried an aura of sage-like wisdom, their spirits lively and robust, clearly pillars of the antique world.

Front and center stood a massive table draped in red cloth, upon which several exquisite wooden boxes were placed. The treasures within remained a mystery.

“Brother Feng, look! That’s the judges’ table for this appraisal conference,” Zhang Hu pointed toward the elders flanking the stage. “I heard the one seated at the very center is none other than the legendary figure of antiquities—Master Zhao!”

Qin Feng offered a slight smile, yet his eyes betrayed no amusement, only a hint of disdain. These so-called old-timers, puffed up with self-importance, truly believed themselves to be someone of consequence. Pulling Zhang Hu along, he squeezed into the crowd and made his way to the registration desk.

There, a young woman dressed flamboyantly and scantily sat idly behind the table, her fingers—painted a vivid red—drumming impatiently on the surface.

“Registration fee: ten thousand. Cash, check, or card,” she announced, never glancing at Qin Feng, not even lifting her eyelids, as if everyone owed her millions.

“Ten thousand?!” Zhang Hu exclaimed, aghast at the exorbitant fee. The surrounding crowd began to buzz with complaints, many lamenting the astronomical cost.

“If you’re broke and expect to join the appraisal conference, maybe you should take a good look at yourself in a mirror!” sneered a corpulent man with slicked hair, a heavy gold chain hanging from his neck, glaring at the crowd with contempt.

“That’s right. If you don’t have money, don’t make a fool of yourself!” echoed the heavily made-up woman beside him.

Qin Feng responded with a cold smile. Is wealth all it takes to do as one pleases nowadays? He casually produced a bank card from his pocket and slapped it on the table. “Card.”

The woman glanced at the card, surprise flickering in her eyes. This was no ordinary card—it was a black platinum card reserved for those whose assets exceeded a hundred million. Her demeanor shifted instantly, a fawning smile spreading across her face.

“Sir, here is your number badge. Please keep it safe.”

Qin Feng took the badge without so much as a glance at her and strode directly into the venue.

Inside, the hall was ablaze with excitement, bustling with people. Rare and precious artifacts dazzled the eye everywhere one looked. After all, in the capital’s appraisal conference, collectors from across the country brought their treasures for authentication—both to increase the value of their antiques and to enhance their own reputations.

For instance, a certain dealer might possess a famous Song Dynasty painting.

Qin Feng walked straight to a table and produced the painting he had prepared in advance: Tang Bohu’s “Seeking Verses Amid Jealous Flowers.” Those nearby eyed his actions with scorn.

“Who is this kid? Still wet behind the ears and already pretending to play with antiques?”

“Look at his shabby appearance—he probably can’t even name the era of that incense burner.”

“Young people nowadays are too restless, never serious about learning, always trying to take shortcuts.”

The comments grew harsher, and soon people were pointing and criticizing Qin Feng outright. He paid them no heed, as if the world around him had nothing to do with him. He was fishing for attention, waiting for someone influential to give him the publicity he needed.

“Little brother, that painting is quite something!” came an elderly voice nearby.

Qin Feng turned to see a spirited old man in traditional attire looking at him with a warm, smiling gaze.

“Sir, you think the painting is decent?” Qin Feng asked calmly.

“Decent? It’s far more than decent—it’s a rare treasure!” the elder exclaimed, excitedly. “If I’m not mistaken, this must be Tang Bohu’s ‘Seeking Verses Amid Jealous Flowers!’”

His words instantly set off a commotion.

“What? Tang Bohu’s painting?!”

“Is it real?”

“If it is, it’s worth a fortune!”

The crowd’s attitude toward Qin Feng shifted from disdain to envy and awe.

“Sir, are you sure you’re not mistaken?” Qin Feng feigned surprise. “I just picked this up at a street stall for five hundred yuan.”

“Five hundred?!” The crowd was once more stunned, staring at Qin Feng as if he were some kind of freak.

“Five hundred for Tang Bohu’s ‘Seeking Verses Amid Jealous Flowers’? What kind of luck is that?!”

“Damn, had I known, I would’ve scoured the stalls myself!”

“Little brother, you’re unbelievably lucky!”

The elder, too, was incredulous, unable to help but marvel aloud. Zhang Hu, who had been watching, was dumbfounded. Wasn’t this painting bought when Qin Feng was with Master Yan? How did it become a five-hundred-yuan bargain? Still, he wasn’t foolish—seeing the gathering crowd, he understood Qin Feng’s intention. Without buzz, even the best treasure would go unnoticed.

“To buy such a treasure for five hundred—you’re blessed beyond belief!”

“Lucky?” Qin Feng sneered inwardly, but on the surface he remained modest. “Perhaps.”

“Little brother, would you be willing to sell me the ‘Seeking Verses Amid Jealous Flowers’?” the elder suddenly asked. “I’m prepared to offer five million!”

“Five million?!” The crowd was once again stunned by the astronomical figure.

“He’s about to strike it rich!”

“Five million for Tang Bohu’s painting? Aren’t you going to inspect it more thoroughly, just in case it’s a fake?”

Qin Feng looked at the elder with a half-smile.

The old man paused. Although he had seen Ming Dynasty paintings before, Tang Bohu’s work deserved careful scrutiny. He moved closer and began to examine the painting meticulously.

As the scroll unfurled, the elder squinted, scrutinizing every stroke. He first observed the paper—aged yet resilient, its hue subtly yellowed, exuding a rustic charm. Next, he studied the brushwork, noting Tang Bohu’s distinctive “Wumen School” style, vividly portraying the springtime contest of blossoms and the refined scholars seeking inspiration.

“Indeed, the brushwork is fluid yet powerful, the colors understated but full of vitality. Without doubt, this is an authentic Tang Bohu,” the elder nodded, his eyes alight with excitement. “Moreover, the painting is exceptionally well-preserved, barely touched by the passage of years—its value is beyond estimation.”

The crowd listened, entranced, casting envious glances at Qin Feng. Some began to regret their own luck, wishing they had found such a treasure at a street stall themselves.