Chapter 9: Dearest to My Heart

Several experts standing nearby examined the painting at length before finally handing a contract to Zhong Huayan.

“We’ll take this painting, all of us. As for the price—one hundred and fifty thousand. Furthermore, we’d like you to create a series. We hope to sign a long-term collaboration contract with you.

Promotion and all other expenses will be our responsibility. The exclusive rights to your artist’s pseudonym will remain yours. What do you think, young lady?”

One hundred and fifty thousand for a single painting?!

The entire hall was stunned—it was the highest price of the day! For an unknown, ordinary artist, even the finest paintings would fetch only a few tens of thousands at most.

Painting required not only skill, but also depth and life experience. Yet here was a university student, surpassing all these seasoned masters and earning such an honor?

It was truly unprecedented.

Master Xiao had not acted on a whim. From a higher artistic perspective, Zhong Huayan’s work was indeed a stroke of genius. Without guidance from a seasoned artist or years of diligent practice, such a piece—loose in form but unified in spirit—would have been impossible to achieve.

“I’m very happy to sign with you,” she replied.

She was, after all, short of money at the moment. It was a blessing she had not sought, like a willow grown by chance now shading her path.

After carefully reviewing the contract and confirming its terms, she signed her name—two simple characters.

[Selfless]

It signified that from now on, she wished to live freely, unbound by self, roaming the vast world at ease.

Master Xiao, a devotee of Taoism, saw this pen name and felt as if he had finally met a kindred soul in the vast mountains and rivers.

They exchanged contact information, after which Master Xiao eagerly invited Zhong Huayan to visit the auction house downstairs to view some rare treasures.

She intended to decline, but his enthusiasm won her over.

“This auction is extraordinary—every item comes from the private collections of overseas Chinese. The treasures you’ll see here are seldom glimpsed by the world.”

The auction was held on the first basement level.

The atmosphere was tranquil, interspersed with dialects from all over, Cantonese and English murmured in soft exchanges. The ceiling above was adorned like a starry sky, elegantly understated.

It was arranged much like a grand cinema, each seat equipped with a telephone and a paddle. The items up for auction were listed online beforehand, allowing interested buyers to make prior arrangements.

Zhong Huayan was there only because Master Xiao had insisted she see these so-called rare treasures.

The buyers, clad in finery, were clearly of great wealth, buyers from around the globe, each either rich or of noble birth.

Each auction item started at over a million—a completely different league from the sales in the upstairs gallery.

“Nervous, young lady?” Master Xiao inquired.

She showed no sign of emotion. Although her dark green dress was the plainest in the room, her bearing was regal; she even drank water with effortless poise.

Nervous? At most, this was business as usual.

“Master Xiao, do you have your eye on a particular lot?”

“I may not win—among this crowd, I’m hardly the wealthiest.”

Zhong Huayan brushed her slender fingers along her chin; their seats were undoubtedly toward the back.

The closer to the front, the more distinguished the guest—those were the VIPs.

Only those who had spent a significant sum at this auction house were specially invited.

Before long, she spotted a familiar figure.

A man in a black suit, exuding the gravitas of someone long accustomed to authority. Even from afar, the gold embroidery at his cuffs and collar gleamed faintly; there was an air of composed, classical grandeur about him.

At a glance, Zhong Huayan recognized him—Fu Yanyan was here too!

A few auction house attendants in white gloves preceded him, carefully tidying his seat before inviting him to sit.

Beside him was a petite woman with wavy hair, carrying a peach-pink Hermès bag.

The woman seemed deliberately close to him, sitting side by side, conversing with an elegant, smiling ease.

Many in the hall were astonished. Fu Yanyan, who spent most of his time in temples, only leaving to manage his business or purchase rare antiques—when had he ever brought a woman so openly to buy art?

“This will be lively today—even Chairman Fu from the capital is here. If he and I set our sights on the same piece, I’m afraid I’ll have no chance at that treasure,” Master Xiao joked.

What struck Master Xiao most about the girl before him was not only her looks, but an indescribable aura.

Her gaze remained fixed on Fu Yanyan in the front row.

The woman beside him, though elegantly proportioned rather than a classic beauty, was clearly close to him.

“Welcome, honored guests. This is the debut auction of ‘My Heart’s Desire’ in the capital. Each lot is centered on the theme of eternal love, created by artists from various eras and nations.”

Throughout the auction, countless rare masterpieces were offered, each valued well over a million.

All the while, Fu Yanyan, except for sipping tea, never once raised his paddle.

The woman at his side fiddled with her phone, occasionally showing him amusing videos; they seemed intimately acquainted.

Many of the society ladies and heiresses in attendance had their eyes fixed on Fu Yanyan.

From a distance, he seemed surrounded by an invisible aura—every gesture measured and impeccably polite.

“Now, for our grand finale: Wu Guanzhong’s ‘Red Plum Blossom’! To love the plum, to love the winter, but even more to love the red plum in winter—love its fiery banner, a spark kindling the mountains to flame.”

Several attendants in cheongsam carried the painting to the stage with great care.

As the white canvas unfurled, the winter plums blazed like torches, their fervor nearly banishing all trace of winter’s chill—a spirit steadfast and unyielding, the soul of a nation shining strong. The applause was thunderous.

Zhong Huayan suddenly remembered: at twenty, she had begged her father to bid for this very painting.

But it had been unexpectedly swept away by an overseas tycoon. She had cried all night, and ever since, her heart had remained with this work.

“The starting bid—five million!”

At last, Master Xiao placed a call—five and a half million!

He and a noblewoman from the capital vied fiercely, the bidding skyrocketing to fifteen million!

Offers sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain; everyone was determined to have the painting.

Master Xiao kept pace, and the lot reached the highest price of the entire auction—fifty million!

Then, only after the woman beside Fu Yanyan murmured in his ear did he finally lift a hand. An attendant brought the phone to him.

“Lot 001—sixty million!”

No one in the room dared compete further. The reason was simple: none wished to offend the chairman of the capital’s chamber of commerce.

Master Xiao gave a rueful smile, a gesture of helplessness. “I love this painting, but in the end, I can’t compete with the wind whispered in Chairman Fu’s ear by a beauty.”

She replied with a courteous smile—the two of them, friends across generations, chatted amiably.

She escorted Master Xiao out, contract in hand, leaving the gallery.

From afar, she caught sight once more of the woman in the front row—radiant, high heels clicking, this season’s bespoke spring and summer gown.

Though she couldn't see her face, in the sunlight the woman shimmered with brilliance.

Fu Yanyan had at some point removed his suit jacket, now draped over his arm. His white shirt, perfectly tailored and embroidered, exuded a cold, ascetic restraint.

Accompanied discreetly by a few bodyguards, they boarded a luxury car together.

Zhong Huayan recalled what a certain driver had once said: Fu Yanyan had no interest in women; without exception, any woman who approached him was promptly ejected from the car.