24. Breaking the Auction Record

"Lot 251: The Dharani Sutra burial shrouds of Hong Taiji and his beloved consort Harjol. Commissioned by the Suzhou Imperial Weaving Bureau in the third year of the Tianqi reign and completed in the first year of the Chongzhen reign. Crafted by imperial artisans over four years of meticulous labor. The opening bid is 88 million yuan, with each subsequent bid required to be a multiple of 1 million. The auction begins now."

As soon as Huang Ying finished speaking, a buzz of conversation erupted in the room.

The starting price clearly exceeded many people's expectations. While everyone anticipated a high opening, the previous Dharani Sutra shroud from the Qianlong era had started at 30 million and eventually soared past 130 million.

Soon, paddles began to rise.

"90 million," a middle-aged man in glasses in the front row bid.

"93 million," a woman countered.

"95 million."

"97 million."

Huang Qiong and the other girls were stunned. With the price nearing 100 million, their mouths hung open in disbelief that two pieces of silk could be worth so much. Today, item after item had continuously shattered their perception of the world.

Lu Zigang’s jade plaques, the paintings of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou, Huang Tingjian’s stone rubbings, Kangxi, Yongzheng, and Qianlong era famille-rose porcelain, and Ming Dynasty classical furniture—every piece had been exquisite and dazzling, ranging from tens of thousands to tens of millions. Here, Renminbi seemed to be the least valuable thing in existence.

Truly, poverty limits the imagination.

"My god, how many handbags could you buy with that?" Li Shasha exclaimed.

The price did not halt its ascent due to the girls' shock.

"100 million," an elderly foreign man with gray hair at the edge of the room bid.

A murmur rippled through the crowd; the atmosphere felt ignited. It had broken the hundred-million mark. Many recognized the man as a famous aristocratic collector from the United Kingdom.

"110 million," a voice called out, jumping by 10 million. It was the agent sent by a tycoon from Taiwan.

"120 million."

Sun Xing widened her eyes and looked at Yang Fan. Yang Fan was also inwardly thrilled; he truly hadn't expected these two "rags" to be worth such a fortune. It was no wonder Bo Bai had kept them hidden so closely on his person. Yet, his face remained as calm and placid as an ancient well.

Sun Xing’s admiration for her boss deepened. She wondered why, at the same age of eighteen, he was already a boss; this air of nonchalance was something most people could never achieve.

Foreign capital had entered the fray, as had tycoons from Hong Kong and Southeast Asia. It seemed Baoli’s estimate was spot on: the battleground for these giants truly began at 100 million and above.

In the blink of an eye, the price continued to soar.

"130 million."

"140 million."

Another stir went through the room; it had surpassed the 2013 Qianlong shroud. But no one was surprised; in the antique trade, a matched set typically doubles in value.

Soon, another round of intense bidding began.

"190 million."

"200 million."

This time, it was an agent representing a European tycoon. Westerners have long held the deepest research into Chinese antiques, particularly porcelain and silk. Since the days of Rome, these had been their favorites, symbols of status, and the ultimate luxury goods. Having played this game for two thousand years, they used them to flaunt their wealth and often understood these categories better than we did ourselves.

The young girls were too shocked to speak. Having not yet entered the workforce, they were completely dazed. Two hundred million—how much money was that? They hadn't even carried twenty thousand in their pockets. Converted into cash, it could probably fill their dormitory.

"I'm done for. I'm ruined. I can never go back. I want to make money; I, Ma Xiaoxiao, want to be a tycoon!" Ma Xiaoxiao muttered.

Li Shasha was also pouting. Once upon a time, she would be so excited about buying a handbag that she couldn't sleep all night, but looking at these people, she realized what true "players" were.

Lin Miao sighed. "The poor play with cars, the rich play with watches, and the extravagant play with computers. I guess I'm just a computer player."

As the group exchanged sighs, the situation shifted again. The competition had reached a fever pitch, and most people had fallen silent; this was no longer a game they could participate in. Only three parties remained. One was the agent for a veteran Hong Kong tycoon. Everyone in the industry knew his background. Another was the agent for a secretive Southeast Asian billionaire family, rumored to have a single bank under their control with assets exceeding 100 billion US dollars. The third was a woman in her forties whose background was unknown. She bid quietly, adding 3 million each time, calm and collected.

"270 million."

"270 million from this gentleman. Are there any higher bids?" Huang Ying’s voice trembled with excitement.

This was likely the highest price ever fetched for a textile at Baoli, perhaps even the highest in history. As the auctioneer, she would be written into the history books alongside this lot.

"290 million." The Hong Kong agent was losing patience. His limit was 300 million, and he was nearly there. He planned to jump by 20 million to scare off the other competitors.

"293 million," the middle-aged woman bid calmly, still adding her signature 3 million.

*Damn it,* he thought. *Where did this woman come from?* Before the auction, he had thoroughly investigated every serious buyer. No one had expected this unassuming woman to be such a dark horse.

"300 million." He raised his paddle decisively—his final gamble.

"310 million." The Southeast Asian tycoon’s agent knocked him out of the game. The agent shot him a provocative glance. They were old rivals at auctions, and this time, he had won the round.

With a sigh, he packed his things and left the room.

As he reached the door, he saw a young man standing there—thin, dark-skinned, and wearing clothes that weren't designer labels. Yet, there was a unique, indescribable air about him, even a faint hint of murderous intent. He was familiar with this temperament; the mercenaries around his own boss had that same scent—the smell of someone who had seen blood on the battlefield.

People like this were usually not to be trifled with, and he had no intention of provoking him. He was about to brush past when the beautiful girl next to the young man grabbed his arm and shouted excitedly, "Boss, Boss! The item we sent for auction has hit 300 million!"

He felt a sudden jolt. So, this young man—who couldn't have been more than twenty—was the one who had provided the star lot for Baoli this year.

*Truly, one cannot judge a person by their appearance, just as one cannot measure the sea with a bucket.*

He stopped in front of Yang Fan and said politely, "I am Huang Yiping, also in the collectibles trade. May I make your acquaintance? Here is my business card."

Yang Fan, who had been watching the whole time, knew this was the unlucky fellow who had just bid 300 million only to be shown the door. Although he was the loser of this auction, his influence was undeniable. Why not network?

"My name is Yang Fan. I just started a collectibles company. My cards are still being printed, but let's add each other on WeChat instead."