Chapter 375: Qionglong Stone Shadows - Auction

My territory is Jiangsu and Zhejiang, and to be honest, the chances of running into an acquaintance in Beijing are pretty slim. My mind went blank and I couldn't recall who this person was. I just reflexively forced a smile. The man clearly felt the same way—he stopped, looked at me with a very surprised and puzzled expression, and smiled back.

Fatty looked back and forth in astonishment. All along the way, he'd been acting like he was the local guide and we were just following him, so he obviously hadn't expected me to be recognized here.

But we stood there grinning at each other dirtily for a good while without either of us figuring out who the other was. To be honest, I only found him familiar, like I'd seen him somewhere before, but when I tried to recall, that was it—I just felt he looked familiar.

This had happened before. In our circle, there was this guy everyone called Sixth Sister, who often appeared in the newspaper's antique appraisal and ancient interest columns. I didn't actually know her; I'd only seen her photo online. Later at a gathering, I met her and insisted we'd had a meal together somewhere, but I couldn't remember where, and in the end her husband got really pissed off.

But this guy—there was no way he looked like someone who appeared in the papers all the time. That sense of familiarity was vague, barely there; I couldn't even be sure.

The two of us stood there awkwardly for a bit, still unable to remember, and it got kind of embarrassing. The old attendant found it funny—he was a slick old Beijinger who'd seen it all—so he smoothed things over for us: "You two young gentlemen must be too important to remember every face? Don't worry, it's not like you met right here. No need to rack your brains. You're blocking the elevator. Come on inside, have a bowl of milk tea—maybe when you run into an acquaintance, it'll all come back to you."

As he spoke, he gestured the other man inside. The guy shook his head as if he found it unbelievable, gave me another lingering look, then turned and walked into the inner hall. After a few steps, he glanced back at me again.

Then the old attendant came over to us and escorted us in a different direction. He was a seasoned old hand—his intent was to seat us farther away from that guy. Since he was the one assigning seats, it covered all the etiquette and taboos. If we really couldn't remember, fine; if we did remember and it turned out the guy was a creditor or a father's murderer, at least we wouldn't start fighting immediately.

In this city of the Four Nines, under the shadow of the imperial palace, out in the open or behind closed doors, you have to follow every rule to the letter. You can't judge a book by its cover, and you never know the other person's background. Only by mixing seventy percent flattery with thirty percent principle can you stay unbeatable. That goes for officials and waiters alike.

As I entered the inner hall, I realized this was indeed a restaurant converted from an opera house. The hall had two floors—the bottom floor had regular seating, the top floor had private booths, with the open space between them rising two stories high. The stage was in the middle, and I could tell it wasn't just for Peking opera; usually, there were probably more folk art performances. A lot of old Beijingers loved listening to traditional stuff in this kind of setting. Back in the day, you could hear it for just a few coins on any street corner, but now it's become a pleasure only the newly rich can often enjoy.

The stage was cleared now, and something was being set up on it. Fatty glanced over and yelled out, "Luckier early than late—looks like there's an auction today."

"An auction? Auctioning what?" I asked curiously.

"What else could it be in a place like this? This is the top spot in Beijing for high-end antiques and fine furnishings. Compared to this place, Christie's in Hong Kong is just a street stall!" Fatty smirked. "But everything here is big-ticket, and normally you never see it on the open market. We can only get a whiff. I figure Old Mrs. Huo is here for the auction too—seeing us was just a side thing, so she wouldn't have to waste time on us separately."

I noticed his tone had completely changed—he was talking with a thick Beijing accent, which he hadn't had when we walked in. I was the same; my tongue felt clumsy. I thought to myself, the atmosphere of this place and these attendants really had some powerful mojo. The moment you walk in, it's pure old-Beijing flavor, and before you know it, you're caught up in the act. When someone plays up to you, you really start to think you're some spoiled young master from old Beijing. This was probably a skill in itself. When the auction started and the host worked the crowd with his Beijing accent, I figured even people who didn't want to raise their hands wouldn't be able to stop themselves.

The three of us were led to a seat by the window. I looked around unconsciously and saw the guy in the pink shirt heading straight upstairs—seemed like he was at a different level from us. Fatty asked me, "What's the deal with him? Love at first sight?" I shook my head, couldn't figure it out either. Damn it, where had I seen that guy before? I'd have to think it over when I got back. Meanwhile, Fatty ordered the cheapest tea—still eighteen hundred yuan a pot, plus a ten percent service charge. He downed it in one gulp and said, "This isn't even tea, it's Yang Guifei's spittle. Shit, I'll have to pack the tea leaves and soak them in liquor later."

The poker-faced guy stayed expressionless, acting like a very competent bodyguard. But for some reason, the more I looked at us, the more it felt like we were just three goons for some big boss.

We chatted while we waited, and before we knew it, we'd polished off three plates of melon seeds—luckily those were free. As we watched people coming in wave after wave, I noticed Fatty's face getting a bit uncomfortable. He kept zoning out, glancing elsewhere. I found it strange and asked him what was up. He said, "Damn, today's getting interesting."

"Interesting how? See a beauty?" I asked. I'd only spotted a few middle-aged women, though they were pretty well-maintained.

He swept his gaze toward the upper booths and a few people at the scattered tables downstairs. "You know who I just saw?"

"Who?"

"Liuli Sun," Fatty said quietly.

"Who's Liuli Sun?" I had no idea.

"You've never hung around Beijing, so you wouldn't know. He's a big shot—his family runs an investment company overseas. He used to deal in glass beads, then somehow made it big and became a high roller. This guy's house is full of treasures; he wouldn't bother with ordinary stuff. He only shows up for the real top-tier items. In Beijing, he's like a weather vane. Wherever he appears at an auction, it means there's good stuff there. Hell, he hasn't been seen in two or three years—what's he doing here?" Fatty couldn't sit still.

Fatty's talk got me a little excited too. I turned to look, and saw Liuli Sun was at least in his sixties, with graying crew cut, spinning two walnuts in his hands, and he sprinted up to the second floor like a shot. I suddenly felt a bit of longing for that upper level.

Fatty continued, "I tell you, I've been looking around since we came in—it's all big names in this business. We came to the right place. Today's gonna be a show, maybe once in a century. I can't take it anymore, Fat Master has to get an auction catalog and see just what the hell they're selling." He started to get up again.

I was about to remind him that we weren't here for the entertainment, but an attendant came over and said softly, "Three gentlemen, Old Madam Huo has arrived. Please come upstairs."