Eye of Insight

Juston smiled and nodded, placing his palm facing the plum blossom-shaped blue-and-white porcelain bowl on the table. His smile vanished as he said sternly, "A genuine blue-and-white plum blossom bowl from the Song Dynasty of China, made by the Hutian kiln. It is in perfect condition, starting price at two million US dollars, with each bid increment no less than one hundred thousand. Anyone interested may come forward to inspect it."

For Juston to use the word "genuine" meant that this blue-and-white bowl was undoubtedly authentic. The starting price of two million was just a baseline; a piece of Song porcelain in such perfect condition could easily sell for five million or more at an international auction, maybe even higher.

As soon as the attendees realized it was a genuine Song Dynasty piece, many of them couldn't sit still. One by one, they got up to inspect the item. Of course, they couldn't handle it directly—just getting a closer look was a privilege. That was the rule: if you really liked it and bought it, you could even smash it against a wall for the fun of it, and no one would say a word.

"Two hundred and twenty... no, let's make it two hundred and thirty thousand," a Chinese man in a traditional outfit called out, raising the price by thirty thousand in one go.

"Two hundred and sixty thousand," a suited middle-aged man followed, adding another thirty thousand.

"Three hundred thousand," said an elderly man with silver hair, raising it by another hundred thousand in one bid. In just three bids, the price had risen by one million, clearly showing the value of the item.

In any auction, it's usually best to avoid bidding early, as the most valuable items are often saved for last. But this private auction seemed to defy that norm, offering a top-tier Song Dynasty porcelain piece from the very start at a low starting price, making many wonder if there was a hidden strategy behind this move.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand," said the first Chinese bidder again, raising the price by fifty thousand this time, determined not to let go of the porcelain piece.

"Old Zhuang, you're being stingy. Let me add some spice," joked the silver-haired man, Samuel, who had bid earlier. He gave Old Zhuang a sidelong glance and said with a smile, "I'll offer five hundred thousand. That's about what it would fetch at an international auction."

"Samuel, are you afraid? That's why you're always a chicken. Juston, note it down, eight hundred thousand," retorted Old Zhuang, not backing down.

The price of this porcelain bowl was being driven up to astronomical levels by two men, both well past their prime. As spectators watched this "battle of the coffin lids" unfold, many who had hoped to score a bargain realized they had no chance, shaking their heads and withdrawing from the fight.

The two elderly rivals were going at it, which was amusing to watch. Juston and the seller of the porcelain couldn't have been happier, hoping the two men would drive the price even higher, ensuring the auction's success.

"Is eight hundred thousand a lot? I'll offer one million. This bowl would make a fine dish for my cat," Samuel quipped.

Not only had he raised the price by two hundred thousand in one go, but he also slyly jabbed at Mr. Zhuang, suggesting that even if someone else won the auction, all they'd get was a cat dish.

"Hmph! Big spender, huh? You think you're the only one who has a cat? I bid one million, one hundred thousand," Mr. Zhuang shot back, raising the price by another hundred thousand.

"One million, three hundred thousand," Samuel snapped, increasing the bid by two hundred thousand. By now, the price far exceeded the actual value of the antique; it had become a battle of egos between two old men.

Everyone in the room was now eagerly awaiting Mr. Zhuang's next move. Most people knew that Zhuang and Samuel had been business rivals for decades, so it was expected they would clash at such an event. The organizers likely invited both fiery-tempered men in hopes of exactly such a confrontation.

But just as the crowd prepared for more drama, Mr. Zhuang calmly waved his hand and strolled back to his seat, taking his time as he sipped his tea. "Congratulations on your cat's new dish," he said casually.

At the critical moment, Mr. Zhuang had made a surprisingly rational decision to quit the bidding. His exit left the crowd stunned, as no one had anticipated that the old man would bow out so easily. He looked as pleased as if he were the real winner.

Meanwhile, Samuel's face darkened. He gritted his teeth, pulled out his checkbook, scribbled a few lines, and slapped the check on the table.

Juston smiled warmly. "Congratulations to Mr. Samuel for winning the Song Dynasty blue-and-white plum blossom bowl. After the auction, your item will be delivered to your home."

Samuel gave a curt nod and stormed back to his seat, shooting a glare at Mr. Zhuang as he went.

Ethan, now mostly wide awake, stared at the porcelain bowl on the stage. He couldn't believe that such a small object had been sold for a sky-high price. It was simply unbelievable.

"Hey, buddy, let me tell you a little secret," Mr. Grant whispered to Ethan with a mischievous wink.

"What?" Ethan leaned in as Mr. Grant covered his mouth with his hand and whispered, "That Song Dynasty porcelain bowl? My dad bought it for sixty thousand. Same with the fake one we smashed earlier. Altogether, it cost one hundred and twenty thousand."

Ethan was shocked. Something bought for one hundred and twenty thousand had just sold for over thirteen million. That was insane! And they had smashed one, too. It was like printing money faster than robbing a bank!

Just then, Juston had the porcelain bowl removed from the stage and carefully took out another item—a bronze wine vessel with three legs about twenty centimeters tall. Its surface was tarnished with verdigris, but the overall shape was well-preserved. It was a rare and valuable antique.

Juston spread his hands and pointed to the bronze vessel, saying calmly, "A Shang Dynasty bronze 'Jue' wine vessel, starting price thirty thousand, with each bid increment no less than two thousand. Interested parties may come forward to inspect it."

"Hey, buddy, want to check it out?" Mr. Grant seemed intrigued by the vessel and casually invited Ethan to inspect it with him.

"Sure, might as well pretend I'm at a museum," Ethan replied, not one to stand on ceremony. He and Mr. Grant made their way to the front of the stage, with Old Louie trailing behind at a leisurely pace. If Mr. Grant was interested, Old Louie would naturally want to appraise the item's authenticity.

"Thirty-five thousand," someone called out, bidding on the bronze vessel before Ethan and Mr. Grant even had a chance to examine it properly.